Frank Furedi

Review: Together: The Rituals, Pleasures and Politics of Cooperation
Informal links keep society strong but, Frank Furedi finds, we don't make them like we used to.

Richard Sennett, author of the magisterial sociological text The Fall of Public Man, has always been interested in the way that relationships are mediated through the changing contours of cultural exchanges. In Together: The Rituals, Pleasures and Politics of Cooperation, Sennett embarks on a fresh exploration of one of the oldest conundrums facing social theory, which is how cooperation between people is forged and maintained. A long time before Georg Simmel asked “how is society possible?”, philosophers and scholars tried to discover the secret of cooperation. In the 18th century, Bernard Mandeville and Adam Smith took the view that pursuit of self-interest led to cooperation. A century later, Karl Marx enthused about how cooperation expressed the creation of a new force, “the collective power of masses”.

Since the late 19th century, social theorists have been more concerned with addressing the problem of the absence or decline of cooperation, rather than its presence. At a time when society is often diagnosed as selfish and greedy, it is increasingly difficult to be enthusiastic about the potential for cooperation. In line with contemporary experience, Sennett is sensitive to the difficulty that contemporary society has in giving meaning to cooperation. Through presenting the reader with a series of contrasting vignettes between the past and the present, Sennett leaves us in no doubt about the erosion of society’s capacity to cooperate. “We are losing the skills of cooperation needed to make a complex society work,” he warns.

Historical experience shows that cooperation thrives through the deepening of informal links between people. The flourishing of cooperation is paralleled by the growth of taken-for-granted habits and attitudes. Although validated through the force of custom, real cooperation always retains a voluntary and subjective dimension. It also requires trust. Simmel describes mutual trust as “both less and more than knowledge”. It is on the basis of learned expectations that people feel empowered to trust and are prepared to make the leap of faith required for cooperation.

Although Sennett deals with a range of symptoms of the current fragility of cooperation, his most significant contribution is his attempt to draw attention to the difficulty that people have in forging and sustaining informal relationships in contemporary society. In his study of working-class families in Boston in the 1970s - published in 1972 in The Hidden Injuries of Class, co-authored with Jonathan Cobb - Sennett found that one of the most important cultural resources that manual workers had at their disposal was the informal ties they had created. These allowed the workers that Sennett interviewed to deal with their alienation, the demands of their work and their employers. These informal networks also helped consolidate “mutual respect and cooperation during a crisis”. The positive contribution that informality can make to the life of a community is particularly evident in an emergency. In an unexpected crisis, the formal rules and ways of doing things often prove to be inadequate for the new circumstances. Research carried out on how communities respond to a disaster indicates that informal networks are far more flexible than formal institutions in handling the situation. Sennett writes that “moments of crisis” reveal the “fragility of formal organization and correspondingly the strength of informal collaboration”.

When Sennett interviewed former white-collar workers on Wall Street, 40 years after his Boston study, he found that a very different dynamic prevailed. The bonds of informality were conspicuously feeble. Together does not quite provide a convincing account that explains the demise of informality, but it gives a compelling account of its consequences. The book argues that informality can flourish only when it is underpinned by long-established and durable institutions. Pointing to the reorganisation of capitalism since the early 1980s, the author contends that with the shake-out of industry, the rise of part-time work and the loss of shared time, “people’s experience of one another and knowledge of their institutions has shortened”.

Explanations that rely on structural innovation to account for the decline of cooperation no doubt had an influence on undermining informality. But organisational instability need not undermine cooperation. Industrial instability, punctured by periods of unemployment, coexisted with a robust culture of informal cooperation in many working-class communities in the 19th and early 20th centuries. What corrodes informality may well be cultural influences that are hostile to its existence. Sennett develops a more promising line of enquiry when he reflects on the distinction made by the financier George Soros between a momentary “transaction” and sustained “relationships”, and how the latter has been displaced by the former.

When relationships are displaced by an ethos of transaction, it fosters a culture that explicitly devalues the role of informality. The clearest manifestation of the displacement of relationships by transactions has been the rise of process. The juridification of different areas of social experience means that people are left with little discretion to make their way. They are expected to follow procedure rather than cooperate. The expansion of process through codes of conduct leads not only to the micromanagement of behaviour, but also to the stigmatisation of informal networks. Terms such as “peer culture”, “canteen culture” or “old boy network” are morally devalued and invariably treated as something to be banned or regulated. Yet back in 1970s Boston, such networks constituted some of the most significant informal networks through which cooperation gained definition.

Today, informality and spontaneous behaviour are often regarded as a potential breach of contract by human resources departments. This formalisation of relationships is not a by-product of overzealous managerialism, but a symptom of society’s estrangement from the uncertainties associated with informality. Sennett rightly observes that “formality favours authority and seeks to prevent surprise”. Informal relations are by definition fluid and unpredictable. Precisely because such relations involve an element of give and take, their pursuit could lead to unpredictable outcomes. The reason why Sennett’s Boston workers cultivated relations of cooperation is because, through that interactive dynamic, they gained a measure of self-respect and a glimmer of agency.

One insidious manifestation of formalisation is that it seeks to bind informal relations to its own logic. Through colonising people’s life world, the managerial imperative empties informality of content and then recycles it as a tool of management. In numerous organisations, a managerial variant of cooperation is encouraged through orchestrating “teamwork”. In some cases, teamwork is imposed on otherwise isolated individuals. Is it any surprise that business schools and consultants offer coaching in “how to display cooperativeness as a team player”? It appears that the more that real cooperation declines, the more people are exhorted to perform their role as “team players”. “Short-term teamwork, with its feigned solidarity, its superficial knowledge of others”, notes Sennett, represents the very opposite of cooperation.

So can something be done to restore informal trust relations and foster a climate in which cooperation can thrive? Sennett does not accept that the situation cannot be reversed. He is aware that there are no simple solutions to this problem. He sees the “de-skilling” of people in the practice of cooperation as constituting the central obstacle to overcome. The problem that confronts us is that a skill required for the conduct of human relations - such as cooperation - needs to be learned but cannot be taught. We have a long journey ahead of us, and Sennett reminds us that we had better start practising it.

First published by Times Higher Education, 2 February 2012

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How atheism became a religion in all but name
It was only a matter of time before someone proposed an ‘atheist temple’, given the religious-like zealotry and dogma of the New Atheists.

There was a time when it was very dangerous not to believe in God. In ancient Athens, Socrates was hounded and eventually executed for questioning the city-state’s gods. Throughout most of history, to be ‘godless’ was considered a form of moral decadence deserving punishment. In the seventeenth century, even John Locke, the great liberal philosopher who promoted the idea of religious toleration, regarded atheism as intolerable. He said atheists should not be tolerated because ‘promises, covenants, and oaths, which are the bonds of human society, can have no hold upon an atheist’.

Paradoxically, today, when atheism enjoys unprecedented respectability, it is being turned into a new cause. Over the past decade, books celebrating atheism and denouncing belief in God have frequently appeared on bestseller lists. In Western societies, intellectual and cultural life has been very responsive to the arguments of the so-called New Atheists, including Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens and Daniel Dennett, who have discussed at length the moral failings of organised religion. Their outlook is widely endorsed in popular culture. Dan Brown’s mega bestseller, The Da Vinci Code, recycles the dominant cultural narrative that depicts organised religion as complicit in institutional abuse, moral corruption and dishonesty.

Where atheism was once depicted as a dangerous and subversive creed, today it is often portrayed as an enlightened outlook that perches on the moral highground. But what is often overlooked is that the growing cultural affirmation of atheism has been paralleled by a big transformation in its meaning.

It is important to note that, historically, atheism was not a standalone philosophy. Atheism does not constitute a worldview. It simply signifies non-belief in God or gods. This rejection of the idea of a god could be based on scepticism towards the notion of a higher being, an unwillingness to follow dogma, or a commitment to rationality and science. But whatever the motive, atheism reflected an attitude towards one specific issue, not a perspective on the world. Most atheists defined themselves through an assertive identity, whether they called themselves democrats, liberals, socialists, anarchists, fascists, communists, freethinkers or rationalists. For most serious atheists, their disbelief in god was a relatively insignificant part of their self-identity.

Today, in contrast, atheism takes itself very seriously indeed. With their zealous denunciation of religion, the so-called New Atheists often resemble medieval moral crusaders. They argue that the influence of religion should be fought wherever it rears its ugly head. Although they demand that religion should be countered by rational arguments, their own claims often verge on the irrational and hysterical. Of course, there has always been an honourable atheist tradition of irreverence and irreligious contempt for dogma. But today’s New Atheism often expresses itself through a doctrinaire language of its own. In a simplistic manner it equates religion with fanaticism and fundamentalism. What is striking about its denunciation of fundamentalism is that it is frequently made in the dogmatic, polemical style of those it claims to oppose. The black-and-white world of theological dogma is reproduced in the zealous polemic of the atheist moraliser.

Of course, the language used by atheist moral crusaders avoids the theological vocabulary of the religious. Instead, it prefers a more scientific-sounding narrative, demonising religion through the idea of medicalisation. In this vein, Richard Dawkins has described religion as a form of child abuse in his book, The God Delusion, and in other writings. He claims that instructing children about hell damages them for life. He claims that ‘religions abuse the minds of children’ and says ‘we should work to free the children of the world from the religions which, with parental approval, damage minds too young to understand what is happening to them’.

The claim that religion scars children for life is symptomatic of the tendency of New Atheists to express themselves through the language of victimhood and therapeutic culture. Time and again, they use the idiom of therapy to pathologise religion. Their use of terms such as ‘toxic faith’ and ‘religious virus’ are symptomatic of their medicalisation of strong religious commitment. It has even been suggested that people who have too much faith may be suffering from a condition called ‘religious addiction’. Father Leo Booth, in his book When God Becomes a Drug, warns of becoming ‘addicted to the certainty, sureness or sense of security that our faith provides’. John Bradshaw, one of the leading advocates of the American co-dependence movement, has produced a self-help video titled ‘Religious Addiction’. ‘These tapes describe how co-dependency can set up for religious addiction, and how extrinsic religion fosters co-dependency’, notes the blurb advertising the video.

The New Atheism is very selective about who its targets. So although it claims to challenge irrationalism and anti-scientific prejudice, it tends to confine its anger to the dogma of the three Abrahamic religions. So it rightly criticises creationism and ‘intelligent design’, yet it rarely challenges the mystifications of deep environmentalist thinking, such as Gaia theory, or the numerous varieties of Eastern mysticism that are so fashionable in Hollywood. Since the New Atheism is culturally wedded to the contemporary therapeutic imagination, it is not surprising that it has adopted a double standard towards spiritualism.

Historically, atheism has sometimes co-existed with opportunism towards religious and spiritual belief. The French philosopher Voltaire hated religious fanaticism but nevertheless believed that religion was useful for pacifying the masses. In a similar vein, in the nineteenth century, the French social theorists Henri de Saint-Simon and Auguste Comte believed that social stability required them to invent a new religion. Invariably, such attempts to construct a secular religion are really about trying to endow human experience with meaning.

It was inevitable that sooner or later the New Atheist crusade would mutate into a quasi-religion. Alain de Botton’s recently published Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion is an attempt to absorb into atheism the current therapeutic and spiritual fads that influence Western elite culture. De Botton has proposed building temples for atheists through the UK. ‘It’s time atheists had their own versions of the great churches and cathedrals’, he says. Unlike the New Atheists, De Botton does not adopt an aggressive approach towards religion, which means his attitude does at least contrast to that of Dawkins or Harris.

Not surprisingly, many New Atheists have strongly criticised the idea of an atheist temple. The explicit formulation of ‘religion for atheists’ is abhorrent to those who have made a religion out of their disbelief. But for all that, in all but name the New Atheism has transformed itself not only into a secular religion but into an intensely intolerant and dogmatic secular religion.

As a humanist, I am distressed by the corruption of the idea of atheism. Genuine humanists are critical of the influence of creationism and of religious fanaticism. Yet while attempts to reverse the separation of church and state are always a cause for concern, the real challenge facing humanists today does not emanate from organised religion. Rather, it is now often secular movements that promote the idea that human beings are powerless, vulnerable and victims of their circumstances. So instead of the religious belief in original sin, today we are confronted with the therapeutic claim that children are easily damaged and scarred for life. All the old religious sins have been recast in a secular, medical form. People are no longer condemned for lust but rather are treated for sex addiction. Gluttony has been reinvented as obesity. And envy and avarice have been rebranded as illnesses brought about by our ‘addictive consumer society’.

The real question confronting us is not the status of any god but the status that we assign to humanity. And the most powerful threat to the realisation of the human potential today comes, not from religion, but from the moral disorientation of Western secular culture.

Frank Furedi’s On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 1 February 2012

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Parents must be free to chastise and also to smack
Tottenham MP David Lammy should be commended for stating that parents need to have the right to smack their children in order to restrain them from anti-social behaviour.

Well done too Boris Johnson, who echoed Lammy’s plea and called for a change in the law to underline the right of parents to smack children.

Campaigns against smacking have put many parents on the defensive about exercising any form of restraint. Politicians often complain that parents do not take enough responsibility for the behaviour of their children. But at the same time parents are told that they should not smack their children.

This point is reinforced by an army of so-called experts who claim that discipline is repressive and results in dysfunctional children. The term “discipline” now implies an abuse of power. And a well-deserved smack on the wrist or backside is portrayed as a crime against humanity.

For far too long British parents have faced criticism and been threatened with intervention by social services if they physically discipline their child. The real target of these agencies is not smacking but parental authority. Punishment has become a dirty word, smacking has become stigmatised and parents who raise their voice at children are denounced for “emotional abuse”.

Campaigners who stigmatise punishment assume parental discipline constitutes a danger to a child.

If the truth be known, the objective of elements of the no smacking lobby is to restrain the exercise of parental authority. The wider agenda of an influential group of anti-smackers is to undermine the right of parents to discipline their children at all.

Many opponents of smacking believe that parents who withdraw affection as an alternative may cause even more damage to a child and that punishments designed to make children feel uncomfortable or undignified are just as emotionally dangerous as the physical kind.

Campaigners who stigmatise punishment assume parental discipline constitutes a danger to a child. They continually warn mums and dads to negotiate with their children instead of punishing them. Parents who punish their children’s misbehaviour are made to feel the moral inferiors of those who rely on negotiation.

The main outcome of their crusade is to undermine the capacity of parents to control their youngsters. It is almost impossible to exercise parental authority if you lack the option of physically restraining a disobedient child.

Many parents of children arrested during last summer’s riots have expressed a sense of powerlessness regarding the behaviour of their offspring.

One mum of a 13-year-old boy who appeared in court said: “You can’t say what your child is doing 24 hours a day, no matter how good a parent you are.”

Her statement was the cry for help of a mother who is all too conscious of the fact that she lacks the means to contain the misbehaviour of her child. Unless parents have a variety of options for disciplining their children – including the occasional smack – they will lack the resources necessary for exercising authority.

Tragically, well-intentioned government policies have undermined the right of parents to discipline children. Parents are confused about what is expected of them and often believe that they can be prosecuted if a smack merely causes “reddening of skin”.

One 40-year-old dad asked me: “Do I let him get in trouble or do I get in trouble with ChildLine?”

Is it any surprise that parents who are confused about their authority often find it difficult to gain their children’s respect and obedience?

So what do we actually know about the consequences of smacking? Opponents claim that research conclusively shows it has long-term negative effects on behaviour. There may be good arguments for opposing smacking but they are not to be found in the realm of scientific research.

Despite dozens of studies on the subject, nobody has established a causal relationship between smacking and long-term negative consequences. Indeed, there is some evidence to suggest that in certain circumstances smacking can be an effective disciplinary tool.

However, it is difficult to have a sensible discussion on smacking. Campaigners define smacking as violence against children. They assert that violence can only lead to more violence.

Such an argument is superficially plausible. However the equation of smacking with violence is a trick designed to associate it with abuse. Parents who occasionally spank their children are not being violent. Violence is physical force intended to cause injury.

Caring parents who administer a smack in response to a child’s act of wilful defiance or unacceptable behaviour are actually behaving responsibly. The erosion of parental authority is one of the greatest challenges facing our country. Experience shows that the diminishing of parental authority leads to a deterioration in relations between the generations.

In such circumstances adult authority itself becomes negotiable. The reluctance to restrain children really means ducking the job of socialising younger generations.

That is why the statements of Lammy and Johnson are so important. Until now many sensible people have feared to publicly express their views in case they are castigated as apologists for abuse. That’s a pity because surveys indicate that most parents continue to use smacking to regulate their children’s behaviour.

Politicians should listen to parents and clarify the law. Parental authority must be restored.

First published by Daily Express, 31 January 2012

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Message to EU meddlers: Hands off Hungary!
Brussels’ culture war against the ‘white savages’ of Hungary is destroying democracy and helping to boost reactionary right-wingers.

Thirty or 40 years ago, the way that the EU and the IMF are behaving towards Hungary would have been described as a classic example of neo-colonial pressure. Unlike Greece, Hungary is not simply being lectured about the need to sort out its economy - it has also been subjected to a veritable culture war. As far as the EU and the Western media are concerned, the real crime of the Hungarian government is not so much its inept economic strategy as its promotion of cultural and political values that run counter to what is deemed correct in Brussels.

The Brussels bureaucracy has long regarded Hungary as a society in danger of being engulfed by white savages. In 2006, when people in Budapest rioted against their corrupt government, the EU and sections of the Western media described the demonstrators as right-wing mobs posing a threat to democratic values. At the time, Brussels weighed in to support its man in Budapest, Ferenc Gyurcsany, the Socialist prime minister. The fact that Gyurcsany had lied to cover up the scale of Hungary’s massive budget deficit, and that he had admitted his dishonesty to some of his close colleagues, did not stop his mates in the EU from singing his praises. Poul Nyrup Rasmussen, president of the Party of European Socialists, was quick to rush to Gyurcsany’s defence, claiming he was the ‘best man to make the reforms that Hungary needs’.

What the Western media overlooked was that the corrupt Gyurcsany government was complicit in creating the conditions for mass demoralisation and cynicism. It was this EU-backed regime that did much to unravel and damage public life in Hungary. Gyurcsany’s humiliating electoral defeat in 2010, and the triumph of Viktor Orban and his Fidesz party, meant that the EU’s placeman was replaced by an autocratic nationalist and populist prime minister.

As has been widely noted by the media, the legislative programme of the Orban government is a product of autocratic ambition. Its economic programme is a confused mix of pragmatism and nonsense – privatisation of industry, slashing welfare benefits while nationalising people’s pension schemes, and so on. In the domain of politics, the Orban government’s key impulse is to centralise control over the key institutions of public life, including the media and the judiciary. The Orban government has also passed new electoral laws that seem designed to entrench its power for years to come. This authoritarian approach is justified by the government in the name of upholding traditional Hungarian values. The new constitution reads like a caricature of a 1930s Balkan autocracy. It is thoroughly anti-liberal (in the classical sense of that term) and appeals to the Christian heritage of Hungary, the family and the nation.

Critics of this illiberal constitution rarely acknowledge that, for all its flaws, it is the first Hungarian constitution to be enacted within a parliamentary framework after a free election. In other words, this constitution has been put together by a government with a massive democratic mandate. Moreover, the Western media overlook the democratic deficit that preceded the Orban regime - namely that the earlier constitution of Hungary lacked any democratic mandate. The pre-Orban constitution was enacted on 20 August 1949 as part of the consolidation of the Moscow-dominated Stalinist regime in Hungary. No one in the EU appears to think it odd that an undemocratically enacted constitution imposed on Hungary by a former superpower should be considered morally superior to one based on a democratic mandate.

But then, the EU itself has no inhibitions about imposing its values on to its target audiences. It, too, does not want its constitutional proposals held up to public scrutiny. Sometimes it rules by decree and refuses people’s requests to hold any referenda on EU-related matters, on the basis that the issues are far too complex for ordinary people to understand. Evidently, the EU commissioners have read their Voltaire. To recall – it was Voltaire who praised the Russian absolute monarch Catherine the Great’s invasion of Poland and celebrated her ability ‘to make fifty thousand men march into Poland to establish there toleration and liberty of conscience’. The EU does not have 50,000 men but it does have many other resources for executing its culture war. Voltaire was tragically mistaken in his belief that deploying coercion was a legitimate tool for forcing people to change their beliefs – but at least he actually believed in tolerance and freedom of conscience. In contrast, the EU technocracy has little time for genuine tolerance.

Moreover, a genuine democratic ethos is not something that the European Commission is particularly passionate about. Its offensive against the Hungarian government has little to do with defending democratic rights. When it finally decided to match its threats of sanction with action, Brussels appeared to be most concerned about the fate, not of Hungary’s electorate, but of its unelected central bankers, unelected judges and the technocrats who run the data-protection agency. On 17 January, Brussels dispatched three letters of formal notice, warning the Orban regime to alter or get rid of recently enacted laws which failed to guarantee the independence of these three institutions. It seems that Brussels technocrats, who cherish their independence from the electorate, are annoyed by the Orban government’s self-serving attempt to cut their colleagues down to size.

What’s next for Hungary?

Faced with enormous economic and political pressure from the EU and the IMF, it appears the Hungarian government is ready to compromise and is likely to alter legislation that undermines the independence of the central bank, the data-protection agency and the judiciary. However, such a compromise will neither solve Hungary’s domestic problems nor restrain the EU from continuing to wage its culture war against this nation.

The Hungarian economy is in dire straits and the Orban regime faces growing hostility from an increasingly desperate electorate. Numerous commentators have pointed out that as a result of the massive scale of economic dislocation and disquiet about the new draconian laws, the Orban government has lost some of its electoral support. The large anti-government demonstration held in Budapest in early January was presented as proof that the base of support for Orban has eroded.

The reality is that, at present, there is no credible democratic alternative to Orban. Opposition to the new constitution, and to the Fidesz regime more broadly, has been both opportunistic and incoherent. A placard on the January demonstration summed up the problem. Written in English, it said: ‘Hey Europe, sorry about my prime minister.’ Clearly, the author of this placard was not addressing the people of Hungary but rather the Western media. Similarly, a statement written by 13 former dissidents protesting against the Orban government’s actions was clearly intended for foreign consumption. It ended with the line: ‘The desperate situation of present-day Hungary should be a warning for all of us: if Europe is prepared to help Hungary, it will also help itself.’

Sadly, imploring Europe to help opponents of the Orban regime is really a statement of irresponsible impotence. Brussels has no political role to play in Hungary other than to use undemocratic coercive pressure against a freely elected government. Worse, by appealing to foreign institutions to sort out Hungary’s domestic problems, the opposition betrays the same democratic deficit that it claims to see in the Orban government. The most likely result of this call for help from Europe will be to reinforce nationalist resentment at external interference. At a time when a sense of national victimhood has widespread resonance, the opposition’s plea for external intervention is likely only to confirm this prejudice.

In the present circumstances, the main beneficiary of the Orban government’s difficulties is not the Socialist opposition but the very unpleasant xenophobic Jobbik Party. It is likely that Jobbik – ‘the movement for a better Hungary’ – now enjoys greater electoral support than the Socialist Party. Jobbik has succeeded in mobilising a significant section of the people who have lost out in the process of transition from the former Stalinist regime to the corrupt post-Communist one. Unlike the ageing constituency of the Socialist Party, many of the supporters of Jobbik are young and relatively energetic. Jobbik’s platform consists of a mixture of populist xenophobia - against Roma people and Jews - with a nineteenth-century reactionary embrace of parochialism and national self-sufficiency. However, when I talked to a group of Jobbik voters last October, what struck me was not their nationalist fervour but their powerful conviction that they had ‘lost out’, had been forgotten and treated with contempt by institutions they could not trust. They support Jobbik because this movement reminds them that they exist.

To a significant extent, the relative success of Jobbik is a legacy of the wasted years of the post-Communist era. During this time, successive governments refused to settle scores with Hungary’s Stalinist past. The new elite – which had strong links with the previous nomenklatura – had one priority: securing its self-interest. Its alliance with the EU technocracy helped to foster an illusion of a reforming prosperous liberal democracy… but as we now know, the reality was far more complicated.

The most useful contribution that Europeans can make to help Hungary is to resist the temptation to ‘help’. It is up to the people of Hungary to determine their political future and hopefully to embrace the values of an open society. Most important of all is the need to recognise the right of people to work out for themselves the norms and values they wish to live by. That’s why the advocates of EU cultural correctness need to be told: ‘Hands off Hungary!’

Frank Furedi’s On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 23 January 2012

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Racism no longer an objective act of oppression but an inherently subjective accusation
The promotion of the idea that racism is prevalent and that its unwitting variant is even more widespread prompts people to interpret each other's behaviour and language through the prism of race.

Hold up your hands if you are a racist! It is unlikely that many of you would comply, since relatively few of us define ourselves as a racist. A century ago the response to the command would have been very different.

During the 19th century and the early decades of the 20th century many prominent individuals boasted about the superiority of the white race. The idea that some races were superior to others was rarely contested. The sense of racial superiority was so powerful that it served as a source of pride throughout Western societies.

Life used to be relatively straightforward when people had no inhibitions about openly and confidently affirming their racial pride. Today, the self-professed racist has been consigned to the margins of public life. Even the “I am not a racist, but ... “ character rejects the charge of racism. Paradoxically, the sharp decline in the advocacy of race pride is paralleled by a massive increase in public accusations of racism.

The absence of any public endorsement for a racist world-view means that accusations of racism are less about what people actually said or did than about their motives. Debates about racism often take the form of a mind game designed to establish whether or not a particular word or act is racially motivated.

Because motives are notoriously difficult to define, the Australian public may never know for sure whether Coalition spokeswoman for citizenship Teresa Gambaro’s recent advice to migrants to wear deodorant was racially motivated. Similarly, how can we judge whether Tasmanian MP Andrew Wilkie’s condemnation of the “racism that eats at the Liberal Party” expressed a profound insight into the psyche of this party or the juvenile behaviour of a playground politician?

To charge someone with racism is a risk-free enterprise. Since motives are complex and difficult to interpret it is simply impossible to prove that an accusation of racism is erroneous.

The meaning of racism has been subtly transformed into a psychological problem. The redefinition of racism from an act of conscious oppression to a problem of the mind was boosted by the former British High Court Judgente William Macpherson’s 1999 report on institutional racism.

In his definition of institutional racism, Macpherson declared that it “can be seen or detected in processes, attitudes and behaviour which amount to discrimination through unwitting prejudice, ignorance, thoughtlessness and racial stereotyping which disadvantage minority ethnic people”. The key word here is “unwitting”: an unconscious response driven by unspecific emotions. The idea that people could be racists unwittingly means that literally anyone could be a racist whether they knew it or not.

In Australia, the concept of unwitting racism has served to expand the potential targets for accusation. Take Tasmania’s Department of Education report “Without Prejudice. Guidelines For Inclusive Language”. After explaining that words are often used to “portray certain groups as inferior or superior to others”, it adds that “sometimes this usage is unwitting and stems from the continued dominance of mainstream culture”.

If racism can be unwitting, who decides whether or not an individual is guilty as charged. Typically, the answer is that it is the accuser. The complexity of psychological motivation was resolved by Macpherson in the following terms: “a racist incident is any incident which is perceived to be racist by the victim or any other person”.

So what counts is not the act, but how it is perceived. The principle that an offence is in the eyes of the beholder lends the charge of racism a highly subjective character. Such subjective standard of proof lends the accusation of racism automatic credibility. That is why authors of poor arguments frequently seek to clinch their case by indicating that “by the way, he is also a racist”. When Climate Change Minister Greg Combet charged Opposition Leader Tony Abbott with having a racist climate change policy, he showed that he had read his Macpherson.

The charge of racism now provides a resource for discrediting an opponent. So when West Australian Police Commissioner Karl O’Callaghan released crime statistics that showed high levels of involvement by Aboriginal youths he was accused by the head of the Aboriginal Legal Service of inciting racial hatred. Since the making of such accusations carries such little risk, it is likely they will flourish in the years ahead.

There was a time when racism was expressed through the language and acts of racial superiority. Racism expressed the dehumanisation of those deemed inferior. It led to systematic discrimination and oppression and denied people’s basic democratic rights.

The restriction of non-white immigration to Australia - which ended only in the 1970s - was a clear example of racial discrimination. In contrast to former times, racist attitudes and behaviour today voices the resentments of those who fear that Australia has left them behind. Racism no longer speaks the confident language of superiority, but expresses the silent anxiety of those who are lost.

So why is it that at a time when cultural affirmation for racism is at an all-time low the federal government has sought to devote resources to organise a national campaign against it?

Why have Race Discrimination Commissioner Helen Szoke and the Australian Human Rights Commission been charged with developing and implementing a comprehensive anti-racism strategy for Australia? It appears that politicians and opinion leaders feel far more comfortable with promoting anti-racist multiculturalism than with addressing the question of what it means to be Australian.

The institutionalisation of anti-racism and its transformation into a culturally sanctioned etiquette is not simply a harmless exercise in impression management. The promotion of the idea that racism is prevalent and that its unwitting variant is even more widespread has the effect of racialising everyday life. It prompts people to interpret each other’s behaviour and language through the prism of race. Racialisation breeds an intense sensitivity towards cultural difference and inevitably fuels mistrust and suspicion.

The unintended accomplishment of the anti-racist industry is to make it difficult for people from different ethnic backgrounds to trust one another.

First published by The Australian, 21 January 2012

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Social Inclusion Unit? Leave me out
Far from being a desirable objective, social inclusion is an unusually vapid idea.

Since the election of the Labor government in November 2007, social inclusion has been a central focus of policy. Now, not before time, the very idea of a Social Inclusion Unit has become the subject of debate. Most of the arguments have focused on whether this unit should be scrapped. But one crucial point overlooked is that, far from being a desirable objective, social inclusion is an unusually vapid idea.

Supporters of the unit claim their objective is to fight social exclusion. But it is far from evident what such exclusion means. Since the term was invented in France in the 1970s there has been little consensus on its meaning. When the British government launched its Social Exclusion Unit in December 1997 it adopted the practice of labelling anyone with a problem—people with low self-esteem, single parents, disabled people, immigrants, elderly, the vulnerable, the mentally ill, pregnant teenagers, the educationally challenged, the unemployed, the poor—as part of the vast army of socially excluded. That’s a lot of people with a lot of different problems to be subjected to one policy orientation.

Lack of clarity about the meaning of inclusion and exclusion has not inhibited its promiscuous application to virtually any problem afflicting society. At a recent seminar discussion on policy we were informed that, far from being a health issue, obesity was about gaining social inclusion.

There is now a virtually uncontested consensus in the social policy, cultural and education establishment that social inclusion should be at the heart of their institutions’ missions. At conferences, officials and administrators routinely demand that schools, hospitals, universities, libraries, museums or sport facilities should place inclusion at the centre of their activity.

One driver of social inclusion policy is the relentless expansion of state bureaucracy. It is worth noting that supporters of this policy claim their “ joined-up” social inclusion approach helps get around the ineffective government bureaucracy. This argument was voiced by David Cappo, former chair of the South Australian Inclusion Board. But no sooner did he take a swipe at bureaucracy than he called for “a social inclusion lever that has the authority of the head of government to put pressure on the bureaucracy to make a joined-up plan work”.

In other words, Cappo wants more inspectors—officials—to supervise colleagues pursuing joined-up social inclusion targets.

The other, more important driver of social inclusion policies is the growing tendency of the state to move away from the provision of traditional welfare policies to the therapeutic management of social problems. One of the underlying features of this approach is the belief that it is the task of public authority to offer recognition and esteem to alienated individuals. Principally, inclusion is offering recognition to otherwise invisible or excluded groups and individuals. The right to be esteemed has become an officially endorsed entitlement to everyone in society. In its caricatured form, the turn towards the therapeutic management of the electorate was most strikingly expressed through the proclamation of the “respect agenda” of the former Brumby Labor government in Victoria. In January 2010, the premier appointed the country’s first minister charged with promoting respect in the community.

John Brumby announced that the state’s minister for the “respect agenda” would confront the problems of alcoholism, anti-social behaviour and racism. The bizarre idea that people who enjoy high levels of respect become angels would come as a surprise to the hierarchy of the Mafia.

The provision of an entitlement to respect is based on pure psychobabble. “If you respect yourself, you don’t go out and binge drink,” stated Brumby. One question Brumby and advocates of therapeutic policymaking fail to explain is how governments possess the power to force people to respect themselves. The original respect agenda was, like the idea of the Social Exclusion Unit dreamt up by Tony Blair’s advisers, underpinned by the conviction that the principal task of social policy is to make people feel good about themselves. Blair defined his vision of a good society as one committed to “belief in the equal worth of all”.

This recognition of the primacy of equal worth represents an important shift from the previous concept of social equality to that of “equality of esteem”. Equal worth has little in common with previous ideas about the liberal ideal of equal opportunity or the socialist aim of equality of outcomes. It works as a form of flattery—everyone is respected, esteemed and endowed with equal worth and therefore “included”.

The consequence of the politics of flattery is that it continually strives to establish the lowest common denominator as the cultural norm. Inclusion is represented mainly as a psychological process of validating people to make them feel good. The corollary of this is that public bodies, including cultural and educational ones, should do everything possible to avoid undertaking any initiatives that may make people feel bad. As a result, schools must ensure their pupils never experience failure or lack affirmation. Everything must be done to ensure that children possess a high level of self-esteem. A similar imperative is at work in universities. Lecturers are pressured to mark positively and provide a climate of support where no undergraduate feels intimidated. Galleries and museums are charged with affirming visitors and ensuring they don’t feel overwhelmed by their experience.

Advocates of social inclusion never pose the question of “inclusion to what?” If they did, they would have to acknowledge the fact that “ inclusive education”, like “inclusive art” or “inclusive sports” has no virtue other than providing no challenge to the “excluded”. The very demand to become inclusive represents a call to alter the standards and integrity of an institution. But the newly included have not suddenly become the recipients of genuine respect or esteem, for the simple reason such qualities cannot be provided through a government grant.

First published by The Australian, 14 January 2012

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Eurokrise: Wohin mit der lästigen Demokratie?
In den vergangenen Monaten ist deutlich geworden, dass die Europäische Union nicht bloß unter einem Demokratiedefizit leidet.

Vielmehr hat sich gezeigt, dass die Regierungseinrichtungen in dem derzeit von Krise und Unsicherheit gezeichneten Klima vom Druck der Öffentlichkeit abgeschirmt und beschützt werden müssen. In Brüssel und unter den einflussreichen Seilschaften der europäischen Meinungsmacher wird die Vorstellung, dass einfache Menschen die Fähigkeit zur Selbstbestimmung haben, bestenfalls als naives Vorurteil abgetan und schlimmstenfalls als Anzeichen für rechten Populismus.

Wir werden sehen, dass der Wunsch, sich einer legitimierten Repräsentation zu entziehen keineswegs auf EU-Technokraten beschränkt ist. Es wird niemanden überraschen, dass auch viele Geschäftsleute und Banker die neuen ungewählten Regierungen Griechenlands und Italiens gegenüber Regierungen bevorzugen, die ihrer Wählerschaft gegenüber verantwortlich sind. Und diese Verachtung der Eliten für die demokratischen und repräsentativen Einrichtungen der einzelnen Staaten wird auch geteilt von etlichen Linken und Intellektuellen. So hat etwa Jürgen Habermas, der einflussreichste linke Philosoph Deutschlands, in seinem Beitrag zur Krise der Demokratie nationale Wählerschaften als „Reservat des rechten Populismus“ abgetan und behauptet, dass nur Rechtspopulisten sich noch nationale Großsubjekte vorstellen können. [1]

Es sind bemerkenswerterweise nicht die altmodischen konservativen Gegner der Masse, die die Speerspitze der derzeitigen kulturellen Wende gegen demokratische Willensbildung sind – nein, die linken Anwälte technokratischer Expertenherrschaft sind inzwischen die deutlichsten Ankläger der Demokratie. Der derzeitige politische Angriff auf das Prinzip der repräsentativen Demokratie gründet sich auf drei Voraussetzungen. Erstens wird behauptet, dass der Bevölkerung nicht zugetraut werden kann, politische Entscheidungen zu unterstützen, die notwendig sind zur Erhaltung und Verbesserung der Gesellschaft. Zweitens wird suggeriert, dass man eine bedeutende Abwägung vornehmen muss zwischen Demokratie und Effizienz, und dass in Krisenzeiten letztere sich gegenüber ersterer durchsetzen müsse. Und schließlich glauben antidemokratische Ideologen, dass Regierungen, insbesondere demokratisch gewählte Regierungen, die Fähigkeit verloren haben, die grundlegenden Probleme zu bewältigen, die sich Gesellschaften in der heutigen globalisierten Welt stellen.

Die lästige demokratische Rechenschaftspflicht

Regierungen in ganz Europa fürchten sich davor, mit ihrer Wählerschaft offen über das Ausmaß der Probleme ihrer Gesellschaft zu sprechen. Sie glauben, dass sich die Bevölkerung gegen sie wenden wird, wenn sie die heftigen Sparmaßnahmen durchführen, die notwendig sind, um das wirtschaftliche Auseinanderfallen abzuwenden. Deshalb ist ihr wichtigstes Ziel, sich vom öffentlichen Druck zu schützen.

Zahlreiche Kommentatoren haben fälschlicherweise behauptet, dass dieses Vorhaben, eine politische Brandmauer zwischen Bevölkerung und Regierung zu errichten bloß die Antwort auf den Druck der Kräfte des Marktes ist. Darum wurden die unblutigen Technokraten-Putsche in Griechenland und Italien dem Neoliberalismus und den globalen Märkten in die Schuhe geschoben. „Die Politiker in aller Welt prägen nicht mehr den Lauf der Dinge, sondern antworten lediglich noch darauf wie Hörige der Kräfte des Marktes“, schrieb ein Kolumnist des Observer. Auf gleiche Weise schreibt Oliver Nachtwey in der taz von einem “Finanzmarkt-Staatsstreich” und Paul Vallely vom Independent über einen „Markt-Putsch“, der „die Demokratie in Griechenland ausgesetzt, wenn nicht gar abgeschafft hat.“ Kein Zweifel: Die Finanzmärkte haben enormen Druck auf die Regierungen in Griechenland und Italien ausgeübt. Doch den politischen Eliten der EU mussten nicht von den Märkten etwas aufoktroyiert werden – sie waren mehr als froh, sich ihrer Verantwortlichkeit entziehen zu können, indem sie sich hinter Technokraten und Experten verstecken.

Wie üblich war es der EU-Kommissionspräsident José Manuel Barroso, der die Notwendigkeit technokratischer und unabhängiger Entscheidungsfindung rechtfertigte. Er erklärte, dass die undemokratisch ernannten Regierungen Italiens und Griechenlands eingesetzt wurden „nicht nur weil sie Technokraten sind, sondern weil es einfacher ist, unabhängige Persönlichkeiten zu bitten, politischen Konsens herzustellen.“ Barroso musste nicht ausdeuten, warum diese „Persönlichkeiten“ unabhängig sind, denn es ist ziemlich offensichtlich, dass ihr größter Vorzug ist, dass sie von der Wählerschaft unabhängig sind. Für Barroso bedeutet erfolgreiche Politikgestaltung, die Ablenkungen loszuwerden, die durch den Prozess öffentlicher Verantwortlichkeit aufgebracht werden.

Die Neigung, demokratische Rechenschaftspflicht als etwas äußert Mangelhaftes, Unvorhersehbares darzustellen, gründet in der Überzeugung, dass einfachen Menschen das intellektuelle Vermögen fehlt, mit den komplizierten Herausforderungen umzugehen, denen sich politische Entscheidungsträger stellen müssen. Gemäß der traditionellen, aristokratischen Version dieses Arguments ist es, angesichts dessen, dass die Menschen unausweichlich schwere Entscheidungen ablehnen werden, weitaus sinnvoller, wenn jemand anders ihnen diese Entscheidungen abnimmt.

In den vergangenen Jahrzehnten wurde diese Behauptung durch eine neue These ergänzt: dass einfache Leute durch die Medien, die Kirche oder eine andere Einrichtung so fehlgeleitet sind, dass sie schlichtweg nicht mehr wissen, was in ihrem besten Interesse liegt. „Dass Menschen ihre grundlegenden Interessen verfehlen, ist das Wesen amerikanischer Politik“, behauptet Thomas Frank in seinem einflussreichen US-Bestseller What’s the Matter with Kansas? How Conservatives Won the Heart of America (Was ist mit Kansas los? Wie die Konservativen das Herz von Amerika eroberten). Wenn dem nicht so wäre, argumentiert Frank, warum in aller Welt würden die Amerikaner denn sonst Republikaner wählen?

Verachtung der intellektuellen und moralischen Fähigkeiten der Menge führt stets viele der selbsternannten „aufgeklärten“ Kommentatoren dazu, der Öffentlichkeit zu misstrauen. Solche Gefühle der Gegnerschaft gegen die Öffentlichkeit werden oft von Umweltschützern zum Ausdruck gebracht, die einfache Leute für viel zu selbstsüchtig oder zu konsumorientiert halten, als dass sie sich für einen politischen Kurs einsetzen, der von ihnen fordert, diejenigen Opfer zu bringen, die „den Planeten retten“ könnten. So hat etwa der australische Wissenschaftler Clive Hamilton festgestellt, dass „die Praxis der Demokratie sich bisweilen nicht gut verträgt mit dem besten Rat der Qualifiziertesten und Sachkundigsten.“ Da sich Hamilton selbst unter die „Qualifiziertesten und Sachkundigsten“ rechnet, sorgt er sich „um die Leichen von Wissenschaft, Vernunft und Sachverstand, die Demokratie hinterlässt.“

Wenn man die Autorität der „Qualifiziertesten und Sachkundigsten“ aufrechterhalten will, führt das notwendigerweise zu einer Minderung demokratischer Autorität. Ein Anwalt des sanften Zwangs auf die Menschen, der grüne Journalist Johann Hari, hat eingewandt, dass da „wir den Planeten nur retten, wenn wir dazu gezwungen werden“, Zwang notwendig ist, um uns zum Wohlverhalten anzuhalten. Er rechtfertigt den Gebrauch von Zwang damit, dass das Thema Umwelt viel zu wichtig ist, um darüber mittels der unberechenbaren Einrichtungen der Demokratie entscheiden zu lassen. „Selbst die heftigsten Libertären stimmen dem zu, dass deine persönliche Freiheit da endet, wo du aktiv die Freiheit eines anderen verletzt“, schreibt Hari zur Verteidigung des Zwangs zu einer grünen Lebensweise.

Die Enttäuschung über die intellektuellen und moralischen Fähigkeiten einfacher Menschen bedeutet nicht, dass Thomas Frank oder Clive Hamilton anti-demokratische Ideologen sind. Aber ihr Verlust an Vertrauen auf die Demokratie bringt eine pragmatische und prinzipienfreie Haltung gegenüber den Idealen politischer Repräsentation zum Ausdruck.

Wie Banker und EU-Entscheidungsträger haben sie größeres Vertrauen in Technokraten und Experten als in die Wählerschaft. Der Instinkt, den Einfluss der öffentlichen Meinung zu beschränken, wird auch vom Herausgeber der liberalen Diskussionswebsite openDemocracy, Anthony Barnett, zum Ausdruck gebracht, dem unwohl wird bei der Vorstellung, dass das britische Parlament eine Entscheidung über die Todesstrafe treffen könnte. Er ist beruhigt, dass das gewählte Parlament Großbritanniens „zwar über die Todesstrafe debattieren, sie aber nicht einführen kann“, weil der Europäische Menschengerichtshof „entschieden hat, dass die Todesstrafe gegen die Europäischen Menschenrechtskonvention verstößt“. Der einzige Unterschied zwischen Barroso, Barnett und Hamilton ist der, welche Experteninstitution ihrer Meinung nach den demokratisch rechenschaftspflichtigen vorzuziehen sei.

Wenn es darum geht, eine Entscheidung über Sparmaßnahmen, die Umwelt oder die Todesstrafe zu fällen, müssen die Ansichten der Wählerschaft jetzt offenbar den Standpunkten der „Qualifiziertesten und Sachkundigsten“ weichen.

Die Abwägung zwischen Demokratie und Effizienz

Denker, die sich gegen demokratische Rechenschaftspflicht aussprechen, behaupten oft, dass Volksvertreter wesentlich weniger kompetent sind, komplizierte Schwierigkeiten zu bewältigen, insbesondere im Vergleich mit Technokraten und Experten. Selbstverständlich ist jede moderne politische Institution auf den Rat und die Sachkenntnis von Wissenschaftlern, Technikern und Experten angewiesen. Doch was die Fürsprecher der aktuellen technokratischen Wende fordern, ist nicht bloß, dass Politiker diesen Rat in ihre Erwägungen mit einbeziehen, sondern, dass sie sich ihm unterwerfen, dass sie sich verneigen vor der Weisheit des Experten. In seiner am meisten überzeichneten Form, nimmt diese technokratische Wende den Charakter eines expertengeführten Gemeinwesens an. So hat etwa der ehemalige deutsche Außenminister und der „grand old man“ der Grünen Joschka Fischer über die Notwendigkeit einer „Avantgarde der Vereinigten Staaten von Europa“ gesprochen.

Fischers Avantgarde würde aus den siebzehn Regierungschefs und den Spitzen der Fraktionen und des Parlamente der Eurozone bestehen, die de facto eine europäische Regierung bilden würden. Für diese „Euro-Kammer“ wären weitreichende Souveränitätsübertragungen von den nationalen Hauptstädten nach Brüssel nötig. [2] Auf diese Weise könnte der Anschein nationaler Rechenschaftspflicht gewahrt bleiben, während die Tapferen Siebzehn Europa regieren könnten ohne die Mühsal, sich mit politischen Argumenten und politischem Druck abgeben zu müssen. Dieses vorgeschlagene Model abgeschirmter Entscheidungsfindung steht wahrscheinlich ganz oben auf der Wunschliste eines jeden EU-Technokraten.

Die Förderung der Technokratie wird häufig gerechtfertigt mit dem Hinweis, dass insbesondere in Krisenzeiten die Notwendigkeit von Effizienz den Bedarf an politischer Rechenschaftspflicht überwiegt. So begann eine neuere Rechtfertigung von Technokratie mit den Worten: „Es ist auf jeden Fall eine Überlegung wert, dass eine vorübergehende Herrschaft der Technokraten durchaus eine akzeptable, vielleicht sogar notwendige Einrichtung in Krisenzeiten ist.“ Der beinahe unmerkliche gedankliche Sprung von „akzeptabel“ zu „notwendig“ lässt erkennen: Wenn Demokratie einmal gegen Effizienz austauschbar geworden ist, können Griechenland und Italien zu Modellen für die Zukunft werden.

Historisch hat die Vorstellung einer Abwägung zwischen Demokratie und Effizienz zu der Rechtfertigung geführt, dass in Mussolinis Italien die Züge wenigstens pünktlich waren. Vielleicht waren sie das. Aber die Frage, um die es eigentlich geht, ist die, ob eine auf der Zustimmung der Bevölkerung basierende Legitimität ein Luxus ist, der verzichtbar ist, wenn die Gesellschaft vor einer Herausforderung steht. Die Wahrheit ist, dass demokratische Legitimität nicht etwa erfolgreiches Regieren behindert, sondern vielmehr das unverzichtbare Fundament erfolgreichen Regierens ist. Der Versuch, durch Technokraten-Herrschaft politische Probleme in administrative zu verwandeln, schiebt nur die Probleme in die Zukunft auf. Eine Regierung, die nicht das Volk repräsentiert, ist immer eine Einladung zu politischer Instabilität und Unruhe.

Der Abbau von Regierung

Technokratie bringt ein deutliches Misstrauen in eine Regierung durch Repräsentation zum Ausdruck. Im vergangenen Jahr hat Barroso seine Verachtung für jegliche Idee eines Referendums zu Angelegenheiten der EU und für demokratische Rechenschaftspflicht etwas allgemeiner gerechtfertigt mit dem Hinweis, dass „Regierungen nicht immer Recht haben“. Er fügte hinzu: „wenn Regierungen immer Recht hätten, wären wir nicht in der jetzigen Situation“ und „Entscheidungen, die von den meisten demokratischen Institutionen der Welt getroffen werden, sind sehr oft falsch“. Das grundsätzlich unbestrittene Argument, dass Regierungen nicht immer Recht haben, dient hier als Vorspiel für den Vorschlag, dass es besser sei, den Schaden, den sie anrichten, zu begrenzen, indem man der Europäischen Kommission mehr Machtbefugnisse gibt. Der Subtext von Barrosos Aussage ist, dass ungewählte Technokraten im Unterschied zu Regierungen viel eher die richtigen Entscheidungen treffen.

Andere behaupten, dass Regierungen es nicht so oft versäumen, das richtige zu tun, da sie ja in der globalisierten Welt keine wesentliche Rolle mehr spielen. Das Argument, dass Regierungen irrelevant sind, ist eine umständliche Art zu behaupten, dass Volkssouveränität keine Rolle spielt. Heutzutage behaupten die Anwälte der Technokratie, dass Regierungen durch Repräsentation veraltete Überreste des alten nationalstaatlichen Zeitalters sind. Jürgen Habermas‘ Ansicht nach sind die Grenzen, die die Nationen voneinander trennen, eine politische Fiktion geworden. „Der Unterschied zwischen innen und außen beginnt zu verschwimmen“, stellt er fest.

Von den luftigen Höhen von Habermas‘ elitärem Elfenbeinturm aus gesehen, ist der europäische Nationalstaat und das Bewusstsein der Zugehörigkeit zu einer nationalen Gemeinschaft eine Phantasie von Populisten. „Nach einem halben Jahrhundert Immigration sind auch die europäischen Staatsvölker angesichts ihres wachsenden ethnischen, sprachlichen und religiösen Pluralismus alles andere als kulturell homogene Einheiten“, schreibt er. Habermas mag es schwierig finden, sich vorzustellen, dass Staaten und Nationen ihren Bürgern ein Zugehörigkeitsgefühl vermitteln, doch viele einfache Menschen haben keine Schwierigkeiten, sich in ihrer kulturell pluralistischen Umwelt zuhause zu fühlen. Der Versuch, die bestehende Loyalität und Zugehörigkeit der Menschen zu untergraben durch die Konstruktion einer, wie Habermas es nennt, „transnationalen Demokratie“, würde lediglich die derzeitigen Formen der Repräsentation des Volkes zugunsten technokratischer Vorherrschaft schwächen.

Die Abwertung der Rolle nationaler Regierungen wird oft als etwas Aufgeklärtes und Fortschrittliches dargestellt, als eine Art, überholte und heruntergekommene Institutionen in Frage zu stellen. Es ist jedoch wichtig, dass man begreift, dass der Angriff auf die Institutionen nationaler Regierung nicht bloß ein Angriff auf nationale Souveränität ist, sondern auch auf die des Volkes. Die Behauptung, dass Regierungen nicht funktionieren, ist eine andere Art zu sagen, dass demokratische Repräsentation im Kontext eines Nationalstaates nicht funktioniert. Die vorgeschlagene Alternative ist ausnahmslos weniger Demokratie, nicht mehr. Habermas‘ transnationale Demokratie steht für die Institutionalisierung der Herrschaft einer kosmopolitischen Elite, was lediglich eine Variante der technokratischen Oligarchie ist, die kürzlich den Völkern Griechenlands und Italiens aufgezwungen wurde.

Aus dem Englischen übersetzt von Clemens Schneider.

Frank Furedi ist Professor für Soziologie an der Universität von Kent und Mitbegründer des Manifesto Club. Zuletzt ist von ihm das Buch “On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence” erschienen (Continuum 2011, 216 S., EUR 18,99). Seine Website findet sich unter frankfuredi.com. Der Artikel ist zuerst beim britschen Novo-Partnermagazin Spiked erschienen.

Anmerkungen

[1] Jürgen Habermas: „Europa am Scheideweg“, in: Handelsblatt.com, 18.6.11: „Nur noch der Rechtspopulismus entwirft die Karikatur von nationalen Großsubjekten, die sich gegeneinander abkapseln und eine grenzüberschreitende demokratische Willensbildung blockieren.“

[2] Joschka Fischer fordert „Avantgarde‘ der 17 Euro-Staaten“, in: Zeit Online, 9.11.11

First published by Novo Argumente, 11 January 2012

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Declaring war against bluster and rhetoric
In 2012, Frank Furedi will be writing a monthly column on the hollow words and thoughts of twenty-first-century political life. This month, he reclaims the word ‘conversation’.

I never thought I would have an allergic reaction to the word ‘conversation’. I have very happy recollections of the intense emotions that can be provoked through delicious, thought-provoking conversations with people on one’s own wavelength. Through intimate conversations, we cultivate the signals that give our personal communication special meaning. Even small talk plays a role in the interchange of thoughts and ideas. Sadly, however, ‘conversation’ has been hijacked by public figures who try to repackage their monologues as genuine dialogue.

Increasingly, the word conversation is used in an entirely rhetorical fashion and has become disassociated from the intimate act of talking between engaged individuals. In the hands of public figures, ‘conversation’ has become a self-conscious, pre-planned exercise in impression-management. I remember feeling that a very human word had been corrupted when Tony Blair launched New Labour’s ‘Big Conversation’ in November 2003. He said his aim was to initiate the biggest-ever consultation exercise with the electorate. In the real world, however, you launch boats, not conversations.

The very idea of ‘launching’ a conversation shows how meaningless and hollowed-out the concept has become. Conversation emerges from human interaction; it is not something that needs to be announced, promoted or celebrated. A public conversation is a contradiction in terms. The real aim of a ‘public conversation’ is to influence public opinion. Those who initiate such an exercise are really taking part in a public performance. Such performances often take the form of an animated public figure having a Q&A with a handpicked audience. Conversation with a capital C has been embraced by a variety of interest groups desperate to convey the idea that they are concerned about our views. But when you have a Big Conversation, can Big Brother be far behind?

Big Conversations are often promoted by people who use that disingenuous term: deliberative democracy. Adherents to the idea of deliberative democracy present it as an enlightened alternative to representative democracy. Deliberative democracy usually involves having a small forum where people can engage in face-to-face conversation and allegedly have time to reason with one another. It is said that deliberative democracy gives meaning to participation, since the participants are involved in a dialogue that directly leads to a discernible outcome. But the consequences these decisions have are rarely discussed. This is not surprising, considering that deliberative democrats believe that deliberation is an end in itself. The focus on consultation displaces the old idea that democracy should be an instrument for genuinely involving the public in the running of society, and replaces it with a stultified, formal ‘conversation’. As one academic study has argued, this approach ‘renders the concept of democracy redundant’ as it turns it into a ‘purely consultative process’ (1).

In these situations, ‘consultation’ is turned into a tool of management masquerading as genuine deliberation. The demand for deliberation always comes from above, and the terms of these ‘public conversations’ are always set by professional consultants. The process of deliberation depends on ‘procedures, techniques and methods’ worked out by experts (2). The exercise itself is overseen by professional facilitators, whose rules are really designed to assist in the observation and management of the participants. These phoney conversations are not forums where the participants interact as equals – rather, skilled facilitators are employed to create the right kind of environment and desirable outcomes. One writer sings the praises of ‘citizens’ juries’ – a common form of deliberative democracy – by saying that such juries rely on ‘trained moderators’ who ensure ‘fair proceedings’ (3). With zero self-consciousness, the writers endorses such a highly manipulative environment as being superior to ‘liberal institutions’, which apparently only encourage passivity amongst citizens (4). What we have is a pretence of deliberation and a reality of manipulation.

Deliberative democracy is neither deliberative nor democratic. Rather, it is about promoting propaganda through the pretence of having an open conversation. However, when it comes to manipulating the public imagination, ‘deliberative polling’ beats deliberative democracy to the finishing line. Deliberative polling stage-manages an allegedly open discussion on a controversial issue in order subliminally to alter people’s views and convictions. According to one account of its use, the beauty of this exercise is that ‘many participants changed their voting intentions as a result of the dialogue’. The author, Carne Ross, offers a scenario where, prior to an exercise in deliberative polling, 40 per cent of people surveyed said they would vote for mainstream centrist parties, 22 per cent for socialists, nine per cent for centrist liberals and eight per cent for greens. However, by carefully finessing the wording of the choices available to the participants, the deliberative manipulators successfully increased the number of participants who wanted to ‘emphasise the fight against climate change’ from 49 to 61 per cent (5).

Deliberative democrats are not shy about acknowledging that their support for conversational forums is contingent upon the participants reaching the ‘right’ decisions. Deliberative democracy is often promoted on the basis that it provides an environment conducive to changing people’s minds and having them adopt the ethos of the forum’s organisers. Deliberation is the preferred method of communication, because it can be a useful tool for transmitting the outlook of the organisers. To ensure that this objective is achieved, the group’s interpersonal dynamic is carefully controlled. To prevent the spontaneous emergence of informal group leaders, ‘most moderators are alert to the manner in which deliberations can be dominated by confident and outspoken individuals’, assures one assessment of deliberative democracy (6). It appears that deliberative democracy works best when ‘confident and outspoken individuals’ are put in their place.

The depiction of an exercise in brainwashing as a new form of democracy shows that political rhetoric is just that these days – empty rhetoric. It is a sign of the times that a procedure that could have come straight out of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four can be presented as an enlightened alternative to representative democracy. The assumption that the professional facilitator has the moral authority to determine how people should think and emote speaks volumes about the patronising attitude of today’s ‘deliberators’.

Orwell, in his famous 1946 essay, ‘Politics and the English Language’, rightly expressed concern about the standard of political rhetoric in his time. He was also perturbed by the way in which jargon was used to obscure reality. ‘In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defence of the indefensible’, he observed. He noted how things such as British rule in India, the Stalinist purges or the dropping of the atom bomb on Hiroshima were justified through euphemisms and meaningless phraseology. Today, too, political rhetoric continues to be used to justify the indefensible.

My new year’s resolution is to devote more time towards exploring the public language of twenty-first-century society. To that end, I will be writing a monthly column on spiked titled ‘Hollow Thoughts’. The aim will be to re-appropriate the sort of language that could help ensure that public debate really is a debate, rather than an exercise in manipulation and impression-management.

In February’s ‘Hollow Thoughts’ column: Inclusion.

(1) Gorg, C. & Hirsch, J. (1998) ‘Is international democracy possible?’, Review of International Political Economy, vol. 5, no.4.p.598

(2) Pimbert, M. & Wakeford, T. (2001) ‘Overview – deliberative democracy and citizen empowerement’, PLA Notes, 40, February, p23.

(3) Smith,G. & Wales, C. (2000) ‘ Citizens’ Juries and Deliberative Democracy’, Political Studies, vol.4, p.55.

(4) Smith & Wales (2000) p.52.

(5) See Carne Ross (2011) The Leaderless Revolution, Simon and Schuster ; London,p.106.

(6) Smith & Wales (2000) p.60.

First published by spiked, 9 January 2012

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Attitudes towards protesters show depth of our moral vacuity
All that is asked of potential moral role models today is that they complain, voice their emotion and make a public statement.

When Time magazine proclaimed that 2011 was the year of the protester, it lent its prestige to the recently constructed prejudice that believes a loss of moral and cultural purpose can be recovered through the actions of people on the streets.

Communities have always honoured those who made sacrifices to help others. Throughout history, acts of outstanding heroism and duty served as moral exemplars for others. In very rare instances, such deeds have been represented as saintly and memorialised by generations to come.

Today, little is required of potential moral role models. All that is asked is that they complain, voice their emotion and make a public statement.

The occupiers of St Paul’s Cathedral were still eating their Christmas pudding when Richard Chartres, the Bishop of London, the third most senior cleric in the Church of England, told them their deed should be memorialised and turned into a spiritual legacy for the future.

“We are looking for ways of honouring what has been said when the camp moves on,” he said. One suggestion is to erect a tent in the church itself so that worshippers could come together and discuss how to make the world a better place.

Usually, rendering an experience sacred does not occur while it is unfolding. Such haste in pronouncing an act worthy of memorialisation betrays a loss of historical time. There is also something tawdry about a senior cleric promising a group of would-be saints that their acts would soon be honoured by Britain’s national church.

It is worth recalling that St Paul’s has traditionally served as the site of state funerals of British military leaders, including the Duke of Wellington, Horatio Nelson and the wartime prime minster, Winston Churchill. This is a church where those who have made an outstanding contribution to the life of the nation are celebrated and laid to rest. St Paul’s contains the tombs of such distinguished figures as the architect Christopher Wren, the scientist Alexander Fleming and the sculptor Henry Moore.

One does not need to be a worshipper of great individuals to find repulsive the suggestion that the current occupation should be sanctified as a national legacy for future generations. So what has driven senior church leaders and politicians to represent this year’s acts of protest as possessing such elevated moral authority? And why is it that political figures across the ideological divide find it difficult to question or criticise the groups of demonstrators that occupy urban spaces in many parts of the Western world?

For some time now, the disengagement of people from public life, especially the domain of the political, has become an inescapable fact. Politics is rarely upheld as an honourable profession. Even politicians attempt to distance themselves from their colleagues by insisting that they are outsiders. Moreover, cynicism towards the key institutions of society is not confined to a small group of malcontents. Mainstream opinion leaders, religious and cultural figures regularly articulate an anti-political world view.

Politics is rightly associated with interest. But the pursuit of interest - be it individual, sectional, class or national - is invariably associated with selfish, corrupt and immoral behaviour.

The inability to give moral and intellectual content to interest transcends the political divide. Left-wing activists rarely speak the language of the interest of class. Their dissociation of politics from interest is often matched by their conservative opponents, who are hesitant about explicitly promoting the interest of the nation. In both cases, the reluctance to explicitly pursue interests is a response to the difficulty of expressing such sentiments through the language of political ideals.

The Western protester is the progeny of the present moral impasse. One of the principal features of this protest is its self-conscious disavowal of the politics of interest. Protest is conducted through a rhetoric that seeks to represent the pursuit of interests as an act of the morally depraved.

More important, its refusal to formulate any clear objectives represents a roundabout way of indicating its distaste for politics. As a result it mirrors the anti-political stance of the establishment.

However, what has led to the cultural affirmation of the protester is that it appears to possess the resources for expressing a cause. At a time when society appears unable to motivate its citizens through an intellectually responsible idea of national purpose, a cause that can move people to act appears as a condemnation of its moral failures. It does not matter that the protesters are more suitably characterised as complainers or rebels without a cause. It does not matter that the protesters have no cause other than to protest. To the elites, the protester appears as the personification of a cause.

The moral impasse has led numerous opinion leaders to regard any expression of cause-driven activity as possessing a greater potential for moral authority than their own disoriented world view. That was why Giles Fraser, the former canon of St Paul’s, responded to the occupation of his church as a kind of second coming of the Saviour. Back in October he stated that he could “imagine Jesus being born in the camp”.

What kind of mind imagines the Messiah born in a protest camp in the year 2011? Such fantasies are symptomatic of a profound sense of moral exhaustion and loss of conviction. It is only from the standpoint of paralysis and despair that the protester appears to have any morally redeeming features.

Outwardly this was the year of the protester. But scratch the surface and what becomes evident is that most of the time in the West this was a case of protesters venting their anger at an open door. Back in 1919, the poet William Butler Yeats reminded us in his poem The Second Coming that the “best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity”. This is the year when the prophetic quality of Yeats’s premonition turned into a sociological commentary on public life.

First published by The Australian, 31 December 2011

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The year when the word ‘progressive’ lost all its meaning
After the events of 2011, radical humanists will have to fight hard to reclaim the p-word.

After the experiences of the past 12 months, it is difficult to give meaning to the idea of a ‘progressive worldview’. Throughout history, progressives came in many shapes and sizes, but whatever their differences might have been, their convictions were similar - they were driven by a positive view of change, innovation and experimentation and by a belief that the world could be a better place tomorrow than today. Despite clashes of opinion over what progress would look like, they assumed that the future could be influenced by political action.

In 2011, the classical ideal of progressivism died, having been displaced by a zombie version that has little to do with the forward-looking, transformative outlook of progressives of the past. The only practical context in which the term progressive is used today is in relation to taxation. Progressive taxation makes sense, of course, because society is entitled to expect greater material contribution from those who earn more than others. But in recent times, progressive taxation has been transformed from a sensible fiscal policy into a naive instrument of social engineering. Historically, the aim of progressives was to realise a positive transformation, whereas today their objective is merely to rearrange the status quo through redistribution.

In recent years, the zombie version of progressivism has become closely linked with the idea of ‘social justice’. Social justice can be defined in many different ways, but in essence it expresses a worldview committed to avoiding uncertainty and risky change through demanding that the state provides us with economic and existential security. From this standpoint, progress is proportional to the expansion of legal and quasi-legal oversight into everyday life. From the perspective of those who demand social justice, the proliferation of ‘rights’ and redistribution of wealth are the main markers of a progressive society.

Paradoxically, the idea of social justice was historically associated with movements that were suspicious of and uncomfortable with progress. The term was coined by the Jesuit Luigi Taparelli in 1840. His aim was to reconstitute theological ideals on a social foundation. In the century that followed, ‘social justice’ was upheld by movements that were fearful of the future and which sought to contain the dynamic towards progress. Probably one of the best known advocates of social justice was Father Charles Edward Coughlin. This remarkable American demagogue and populist xenophobe set up the National Union of Social Justice in 1934. Through his popular radio broadcasts, which regularly attracted audiences of 30million, he became one of the most influential political figures in the United States. Coughlin praised Hitler and Mussolini’s crusade against communism and denounced President Roosevelt for being in the pocket of Jewish bankers. Here, ‘social justice’ was about condemning crooked financiers and putting forward a narrow, defensive appeal for the redistribution of resources.

Today’s campaigners for social justice bear little resemblance to their ideological ancestors. They’re far more sophisticated and middle class than the followers of Fr Coughlin. But they remain wedded to the idea that the unsettling effects of progress are best contained through state intervention into society. They also maintain the simplistic notion that financiers and bankers are the personification of evil. The current Occupy movement would be horrified by Coughlin’s racist ramblings, yet they would find that some of the ideas expressed in his weekly newspaper, Social Justice, were not a million miles away from their own.

The confusion of social justice with progressivism is symptomatic of today’s implosion of classical political vocabulary. Although this trend transcends left-right political affiliations, its most striking manifestation is in the disintegration of the language of the progressive. Recently, Francis Fukuyama, in his essay ‘The Future of History’, remarked that ‘something strange is going on in the world today’ - which is that despite the intensification of the global crisis of capitalism, anger and frustration have not led to an ‘upsurge in left-wing alternatives’. This ‘lack of left-wing mobilisation’ is down to a ‘failure in the realm of ideas’, he argued.

What 2011 has confirmed is that the way in which the term progressive is used today has little to do with how it was used in the past. The most striking manifestation of this can be seen in the utter estrangement of the left from the idea of progress. The left, classically a movement that was associated with change and progress, has gradually lost its capacity to believe in the future. For most of its existence, the left looked upon the future as a place that would probably be significantly better than the present day. Social change was perceived to be, on balance, a positive thing, and the left tried to harness it towards the realisation of progressive objectives. The present was seen as something which had to be improved upon, reformed or transformed. Today, by contrast, what remains of the left is just as uncomfortable with the future as are other sections of the political class.

Sadly, the confused state of the political lexicon was turned into a virtue in 2011. Political illiteracy came to be celebrated as ‘the new radicalism’. This was the year when commentators extolled the strength of a movement that ‘defies simple characterisations’ - that is, the Occupy movement. Many claimed that the virtue of these occupations is that they refuse to communicate a distinct political message. Instead of serving as a reminder of contemporary disorientation and confusion, political illiteracy was rebranded as a new and subtle form of communication.

2011 was the year when Hal Ashby’s 1979 comedy-drama movie, Being There, provided the model script for political communication. The film follows Chance, a simpleton played by Peter Sellers, whose banal words are interpreted as wise insights springing from a powerful mind. Suddenly, through a series of accidental events, this former gardener becomes a celebrity whose confused musings are held up as a new brand of prophetic insight. Today, ‘being there’ forms the entire basis of the new radical politics. And it is those who question the incoherent ramblings of the characters of ‘Being There 2011’ who are dismissed as hopeless simpletons. ‘Those who deride [Occupy] for its lack of concrete demands simply don’t understand its strategic function’, lectures Gary Younge of the Guardian. Apparently, its strategic function is to ‘create new possibilities’. One can almost hear Chance wowing his audience with inane talk of ‘creating new possibilities’.

The tendency to dismiss clarity of purpose and objectives as old-fashioned and unnecessary represents an acquiescence to confusion and ignorance. It is one thing to lack the political and intellectual resources necessary to formulate a new visionary politics - it is quite another to depict this deficit as a positive thing. When the American political consultant George Lakoff said ‘I think it is a good thing that the Occupy movement is not making specific policy demands’, he gave expression to a zeitgeist that is pleased just to ‘be there’.

But of course, being there is not enough. Public life needs to be refocused around the future, and the reconstitution of progressive politics and ideals is the precondition for making this happen. In the end, what matters are not the words we use to describe ourselves; no, the differences that really matter today are where one stands in relation to the past and the future. Those who are interested in the reconstitution of progressive politics must help to free humanity from its fixation with the present. They need to reacquaint the younger generations with humanity’s history and the lessons of the past, and also adopt a more robust and active orientation towards the future. In 2012, let’s not just pass time being there…

Frank Furedi’s On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Pre-order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 29 December 2011

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Forget Scrooge, it’s the scaremongers who ruin Christmas
One of the most unattractive features of our culture of fear is that it encourages pressure groups to make us scared about people we love and experiences that we cherish.

The most unremarked but for all that a very significant target of scaremongers is Christmas.

It is not surprising that Christmas has been repackaged so that it now often comes with a health warning.

For millions of people it is a deeply meaningful event in their life. It is one of those rare occasions when for many folks the family really means something unique.

Parents know that for young children Christmas is a very special moment and they make great sacrifices to ensure it becomes a memorable one.

Fear entrepreneurs understand the significance of Christmas for the public and use it as an opportunity to influence people. Scare stories gain people’s attention. That is why so many advocacy organisations and pressure groups try to turn season’s greetings into a call for alarm.

Virtually everything to do with the celebration of Christmas has been turned into a threat to the Australian way of life.

The National Electrical and Communications Association has warned people to buy only rights that comply with Australian standards, and apparently you need to follow the association’s seven safety tips. If you disregard the tips you are reminded by Dominic Feenan, the association’s media and communication manager, that “it’s always better to be safe than sorry”.

The Australian Federal Police has issued a press release warning parents about the risks associated with gaming consoles. “To ensure Australian children remain safe online leading up to Christmas” it says it “wants to alert parents, carers and children to the possible risks gaming consoles may pose.”

A disproportionate number of the fear appeals are directed at parents, but you don’t need to have a child to be a target.

Warnings directed at pet owners possess a strange resemblance to the ones communicated to parents.

“Christmas is an exciting time for the family but it always pays to take some extra precautions with our pets”, warns the website Cat World. It provides an extensive list of the perils facing a pet owner, which include such insightful statements as “any toy that is small enough for your cat to swallow is dangerous and should be avoided”.

Pregnant women have always been a favourite target, so it is not surprising that they receive their fair share of alarmist messages.

They are fully briefed about the risks of enjoying their favourite Christmas treats.

“If you’ve been taking care over what you’ve been eating while pregnant you may be worried that the festive season has all sorts of hazards lying in wait,” observes an expert on the web page of BabyCentre.

It notes that if “someone offers you a slice of homemade Christmas cake you may want to check whether the icing has been made with raw eggs” .

And that’s not all. “Be extra careful with buffet salads too” it advises. “Only eat leafy green salads at home or at friends’ and relatives’ houses, where you can be sure they have been washed thoroughly.”

Better still, have a risk-free Christmas and avoid eating at all.

In and of themselves, these banal warnings are relatively harmless attempts to gain our attention for a particular message. They are simply a variant of the normal scaremongering that characterises the culture of fear.

But there are other more insidious forms of fearmongering that seek to diminish people’s confidence in their humanity and in their intimate relationships.

Such messages have the destructive consequence of turning Christmas into an experience that is likely to make us emotionally unwell, depressed, suicidal and violent towards one another.

For some time now, advocacy organisations have used these alleged risks associated with Christmas to create a demand for their services.

Is it really helpful for Richard Kidd, president of the Australian Medical Association in Queensland, to inform the world that the traumatic legacy of Queensland’s natural disasters could lead to a spike in suicides during the Christmas season?

Although the message was packaged as a reminder that the first anniversary of last January’s floods was approaching, it also communicated a wider story about the risk that Christmas poses for people’s mental health.

“There is a very dark side to the festive season, sadly, and we see an increase in suicides this time of year” Dr Kidd warned earlier this month.

During the past two decades, the concept of the “dark side” of Christmas has gained considerable force through the work of misanthropic moral crusaders.

So the website of Family Relationship Services helpfully informs us, “research suggests that family violence increases in warmer months and at Christmas”. It claims that “increased alcohol consumption, more family contact and financial pressures all appear to be factors, combined with access to children and the higher incidence of relationship breakdown that occurs around Christmas time”.

Numerous other advocacy groups reinforce the message that suspicion towards those closest to you is the sensible way of negotiating the perils of the festive season.

Using a less alarmist formula, the Better Health Channel instructs its audience that since “stress, anxiety and depression are common during the festive season” you might as well “reassure yourself that these feelings are normal”.

But the pathologisation of Christmas is no more normal than its deification. The normalisation of this pathology is the accomplishment of scaremongering.

How we experience this event depends on the way society chooses to regard people’s humanity, their capacity to deal with the pressures of everyday life and to give meaning to community rituals. Don’t let them turn you into a wreck.

First published by The Australian, 24 December 2011

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Exposed: the snobbery and intolerance of the EU elite
The chattering classes’ hysterical reaction to David Cameron’s veto of a revised Lisbon Treaty reveals the dark heart of pro-EU sentiment.

As I drive along listening to the BBC Radio 4 show, The World At One, I am left in no doubt as to this programme’s deep hostility to prime minister David Cameron’s decision to veto changes to the EU Lisbon Treaty.

When the presenter, the usually sensible Martha Kearney, asks Andrus Ansip, the prime minister of Estonia, if he thinks there is increasing anger in the EU over Cameron’s actions, I realise that something very weird is going on. Why ask the leader of a small Baltic state how he feels about the prime minister of Britain? Since when have the emotions of foreign political leaders been a serious topic of concern for a programme titled The World At One?

Kearney does not simply pose the question to Ansip; she prefaces it with comments about how other EU leaders are very angry at Cameron. Nevertheless, her attempt to incite her interviewee to reinforce the BBC consensus on the state of European emotionalism doesn’t quite succeed. ‘I am not angry’, replies Ansip. Possibly he is too ‘old Europe’ and too old school to be conversant in the values of today’s communications clerisy, which cleaves to the doctrine of emotional correctness. Ansip disagrees with Cameron but he does not suffer from the emotional incontinence demanded of him by the BBC.

At first sight, it is difficult to understand the intense level of anger and outrage directed at Cameron by opinion formers and cultural entrepreneurs. Since when have the EU and the Lisbon Treaty acquired such a sacred status among the clerisy? The EU is many things, but it has never been a much-loved institution. So why is it that, all of a sudden, scepticism towards this institution is treated as the moral equivalent of Chamberlain’s act of treachery in Munich in 1938?

It is one thing to accuse Cameron of committing a diplomatic faux pas or the Foreign Office of ineptitude. But the criticisms currently being made of Cameron verge on the hysterical. When I listen to the hyperbole about what will apparently be the consequences of his destructive behaviour, it almost sounds as if he has committed an act of political betrayal in order to appease a handful of incorrigible reactionary Eurosceptics.

Why this over-the-top reaction to what could turn out to be a relatively minor case of diplomatic miscommunication?

Outwardly, the anger of the cosmopolitan clerisy is directed at Cameron’s alleged appeasement of Tory Eurosceptics. The term Eurosceptic has a special meaning for the adherents to cosmopolitan policymaking. In their view, Euroscepticism is associated with values they abhor: upholding national sovereignty, Britishness and a traditional way of life. The moralistic devaluation of these values was vividly communicated by the New York Times columnist Roger Cohen, who this week characterised Tory Eurosceptics as the ‘pinstriped effluence of an ex-imperial nation’. He seeks to dehumanise these people by arguing that this ‘specimen’s ascendancy’ was reflected in Cameron’s behaviour during the treaty negotiations. Cohen’s moral devaluation of Eurosceptics, his dismissal of them from the ranks of humanity, is captured in his description of them as a ‘bunch of insular snobs who seem to have a hard time restraining their inner fascist’.

The intemperate language suggests that the venomous anger directed at Eurosceptics cannot simply be driven by the clerisy’s love affair with the European ideal. Rather, what is at issue here is the clerisy’s preference for the technocracy-dominated and cosmopolitan-influenced institutions of Brussels. From their standpoint, the main virtue of the EU is that its leaders and administrators speak the same language as the UK clerisy. They read from the same emotional and cultural script, which they believe to be superior to the script and values associated with national sovereignty. That is why it isn’t surprising that a BBC journalist can casually ask the Estonian prime minister to have a go at her own national leader. The UK-based communications clerisy has a greater affinity with the outlook of EU technocrats and political administrators than it does with the outlook of its own people.

Of course, Cameron may be isolated in the corridors of power in Brussels - but the clerisy is more than a little out of touch with popular sentiments in Britain. Indeed, their visceral castigation of Eurosceptics is actually a roundabout way of morally condemning what the old oligarchy used to call ‘the little people’. The main sin of Euroscepticism is that it has the potential for mobilising popular sentiment. And certainly, the anger of the cosmopolitan elite does not resonate with people getting on with their lives in Birmingham, Newcastle or Leeds. Those who want to expose the heinous Eurosceptic plot to undermine the EU should remember that opinion polls demonstrate that the majority of the UK electorate does not like the EU, and when the Mail on Sunday carried out a poll asking ‘was Cameron right to use the veto?’, 62 per cent of respondents said ‘yes’.

In Britain, even at the best of times the EU has rarely been conceptualised as anything more than a pragmatic convenience. Historically, significant sections of both the left and the right have been critical of the bureaucratic ethos of this institution. Even those of us who love Europe, its history and its culture, and who strongly value the coming together of European peoples, have never had much affection for the institutions of the EU.

One final point: the cosmopolitan values of the clerisy have no progressive content. They contain no real universalist aspirations but rather reflect the sectional outlook of a cultural oligarchy that revels in drawing distinctions between itself and the great unwashed. The clerisy’s alternative to national sovereignty is not some other form of democratic decision-making; on the contrary, it fervently advocates insulated decision-making. The pro-EU elite continually tries to establish institutions that insulate decision-makers from citizens, and it prefers the rule of technocrats and experts over elected representatives.

Scepticism towards the EU is a legitimate, democratically informed standpoint. Scepticism towards Europe is not, of course. Some of my German friends are more than a little astonished to have discovered that a small number of English towns have decided to cancel twinning arrangements with local authorities on the continent. Yes, some of these arrangements were administratively orchestrated and did not genuinely bring together the peoples of Europe. But on balance, we need to be reaching out to our fellow citizens across the continent, to show that Europe is not an artificially constructed institution but is its people!

Frank Furedi’s On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum in August 2011. (Pre-order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 14 December 2011

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Lecture: Leadership, liberty and the crisis of authority
Frank Furedi gives the 2011 John Bonython Lecture to the Centre for Independent Studies.

In this insightful and humorous lecture, delivered in Australia on 15 November 2011, Professor Furedi examines how leadership has become commodified and professionalised – now available for sale in hard cover rather than being a personal trait hard-won through experience and responsibility. He also looks at the ramifications for freedom when management is by procedures manual rather than personal risk-taking and judgement.

Watch a film of the lecture here.

First published by Centre for Independent Studies, 13 December 2011

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A vision of art for art’s sake, not for measuring individual political agendas
In the real world art does not in the least resemble the role of a community pain relief assigned to it by officialdom.

For politicians vision is a bit like good sex. The less they have it, the more they talk about it.

No government publication is complete without several references to what president George W. Bush called the “vision thing”. Julia Gillard frequently makes references to her many visions, which invariably turn out to be less then prophetic. So her recent assertion, “my vision for Australia is for a nation that rewards hard work” is a statement of the obvious.

When public figures hold forth about their visions, do not expect the insights traditionally associated with a visionary. The banality of vision rhetoric is strikingly communicated by the government’s National Cultural Policy: A Discussion Paper. The tone of this document is set in the introductory message from Arts Minister Simon Crean.

“Your comments on this paper will assist in shaping a 10-year vision,” he reassures his reader. A 10-year vision that can be shaped by the public is a monument to Orwellian doublespeak.

There was a time when, as the Oxford English Dictionary stated, vision meant “something which is apparently seen otherwise than by ordinary sight”. A real visionary such as Jules Verne could transcend the limitations of his time and see the outlines of the future. His vision is very different to one that can be manufactured through a consultation exercise. Real visions catch visionaries unaware. Today we have vision constructed to a timetable through the medium of a public-relations exercise. It is evident that whatever the minister incites us to “shape” or “articulate” has little to do with a prophetic insight.

Political jargon does not merely signify an absence of clarity, it is also used to obscure reality. And the reality the National Cultural Policy attempts to mystify is that it is actually indifferent to art and culture as accomplishments that ought to be valued in their own right.

Crean is interested not in art but on its policy effects on social and economic life. That’s what he means when he promises that his government’s policy will show how “arts and culture can contribute to achieving Australia’s goals by helping to build an inclusive society, delivering an arts education to young Australians, creating career pathways, providing avenues for expression for our citizens, driving innovation and contributing to productivity”. A minister who actually believes that art can be delivered is unlikely to value the qualities that are integral to the cultural experience.

One would hope that a minister for the arts would regard as his core mission the promotion of art as something to be valued in its own right. Real art transcends conventional boundaries and excites the imagination so that it cannot be translated into the technical jargon of policy making. That is why the attempt to assess art and culture through a template of output figures betrays the philistinism of someone for whom art has no inner meaning.

When art is treated as a medium for achieving a policy objective, its impact will be translated into the language of figures. So inevitably the discussion document insists that the “progress” of Australia’s future cultural policy “must be measurable”.

But how do you measure culture? Apparently by throwing money at it. The consultation paper promises that government will “invest in ways to assess the impact that the National Cultural Policy has on society and the economy”. So the apparition projected by this 10-year vision is an expanded bureaucracy devoted to cultural accounting.

That is some vision! Taxpayers’ money will be spent on inventing auditing instruments that will audit something that thankfully defies quantification. How long before authors, artists or filmmakers are assessed on the basis of their officially designated personalised impact factor?

In an enlightened and civilised society it is human creativity, the spirit of experimentation and of imagination, that encourages the flourishing of the arts. Through people’s response and engagement with such creative accomplishments a common culture is forged. So what will determine the quality of Australia’s art and culture is the freedom and affirmation it gains to develop in accordance with its autonomous instincts.

It is not the job of government to transform art and culture into an instrument for promoting its values and policies. Yet that is precisely what defines the agenda of the present government. The policy document advocates art education because it “encourages academic achievement and improves students’ self esteem”. Apparently it also leads to “higher school retention rates”. Art policy not only helps compensate for the problems of schooling, it also develops community and social cohesion.

According to the authors of the discussion paper, art and culture possess formidable properties that can also cure the malaise that afflicts communities. It claims that “there is strong evidence to support the principle that fostering creativity at a young age will build the foundations of a strong, resilient population, armed with capacities for critical inquiry, lateral thinking, innovative solutions and powerful communication”. From this perspective, art is interpreted as an all-purpose antidote to the failings of society.

In the real world art does not in the least resemble the role of a community pain relief assigned to it by officialdom. There is no doubt that arts and culture stimulate the imagination and enhance the quality of life. But the creative tension contained within art and culture drives the imagination in unexpected directions. Its very unpredictability, together with its capacity to disturb, challenge, inspire and disrupt, means that so often art subverts the intentions of officialdom.

It is not always the case that art and culture raise self-esteem or encourage the project of social inclusion. Some forms of art and culture can overwhelm the individual and undermine their assumptions. Art can truly disturb and distract and may not foster “lateral thinking” or “innovative solutions”. Experience shows that far from being inclusive, great art and cultural innovation may well offend and alienate parts of the community.

The attempt to harness the power of art to achieve policy objectives invariably threatens to empty culture of its aesthetic meaning. What serves as a vehicle of state propaganda has as much to do with art as a prophetic revelation with the vision of the arts minister. But thankfully Australia does not need a national cultural policy. In fact, the greatest contribution that policymakers can make to the flourishing of art and culture is to stop intervening in this domain of human experience.

Instead of turning culture into a vehicle for the promotion of poorly thought-out social engineering, they should devote their energies towards working out policies that address social and educational problems in their own terms. Just pause and think - do we really want government to be arbiters of culture?

First published by The Australian, 9 December 2011

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Do good, but do it our way
Volunteering has been turned into an institution that is promoted on the grounds of its benefits for the volunteer and for the community, and its meaning has been thoroughly transformed.

Not so long ago volunteering was associated with a genuine ethos of service and with an act of altruism.

What endowed volunteering with an attractive moral quality was that people performed an action or provided a service to others without any compulsion. This was an act based on one’s own free will and motivated by the conviction that it was the right thing to do.

The act of volunteering continues to retain its inspiring moral qualities to this day, and we rightly regard the volunteer who helps others as more virtuous as someone whose behaviour is entirely dominated by self-interest. When the ethos of service appears to be conspicuously absent in much of public life it is not surprising that volunteering is celebrated as a highly valued accomplishment.

Regrettably, volunteering has been turned into an institution that is promoted on the grounds of its benefits for the volunteer and for the community. Consequently the meaning of volunteering has been thoroughly transformed. When governments self-consciously promote and administer volunteering schemes it is evident that it has nothing to do with the exercise of free will.

Take the organisation Volunteering Australia. It was established by the government’s Office for the Not-for-Profit Sector. Volunteering Australia claims to “represent the diverse views and needs of the volunteer community while promoting the activity of volunteering as one of enduring social, cultural and economic value”.

The preposterous concept of a volunteer community is testimony to the professionalisation of what was at one time perceived as a spontaneous act. A community of professional volunteers would be a clearer representation of the lobby that Volunteering Australia speaks for. What’s even more disturbing is that volunteering is advocated not because it is something that is good in itself but because the Australian government “recognises” that it “delivers a number of key social and economic benefits”.

The institutionalisation of volunteering destroys the meaning of an altruistic act. Anyone visiting the website of Volunteering Australia could be excused for interpreting volunteering as an instrument for skills acquisition and enhancing one’s career opportunities. The website declares that “good quality, appropriate training and skills development is something (that) Volunteering Australia champions”. It runs a National Volunteer Skills Centre and places a great emphasis on training people to be volunteers.

“As a volunteer, you have the right to be provided with sufficient training to do your job,” it tells potential candidates for the volunteering profession.

And just in case you are worried about paper qualifications, Volunteering Australia provides certificates I, II and III in active volunteering, which it claims “are the first of their kind: nationally recognised qualifications for volunteers”.

The official promotion of volunteering is motivated by the recognition that the disengagement of large sections of society from public life represents a very real challenge for governments. Attempts to confront the problem of civic disengagement often turn into desperate efforts to invent quick-fix administrative solutions to what is a fundamental cultural process of social and moral disenchantment.

It is worth noting that policymakers throughout the Western world have embraced volunteering as something of a “big idea” for getting the public to re-engage with society. The European Union designated this year as the European Year of Volunteering. Speaking a language that echoes that of Volunteering Australia, the EU’s official document asserts that volunteering “can provide people with new skills and competencies that can improve their employability”. It adds that “this is especially important at this time of economic crisis”.

Unfortunately, the bureaucratisation of volunteering makes it hard to promote as a public virtue. People who genuinely feel inspired to volunteer do so because they feel strongly about the need to contribute to their community.

A sense of social obligation to the community and the desire to help others has encouraged millions of people to volunteer in the past. Today’s volunteering professionals do not believe that people can still be expected to serve others out of a sense of civic duty.

In the so-called volunteering community, acts of solidarity motivated by altruism are often caricatured as “traditional” volunteering. Terms such as “anachronistic” and “traditional” are used to disparage volunteering that is driven by the impulse to do good for others. The ideals of selfless volunteering are dismissed as a luxury that only the rich can afford. Civic virtue has been recast as an elitist indulgence.

In Britain, advocates of the professionalisation of volunteering argue their so-called “inclusive” approach permits the benefits of volunteering to be enjoyed by people on low incomes. Their advocacy of a more inclusive approach to volunteering is based on the patronising assumption that, unlike the great and the good, working-class people need economic incentives to act virtuously. It overlooks the fact, historically, people suffering deprivation have been more than ready to sacrifice their time to support causes in which they believed. What drove the unpaid union organiser or the official of a co-operative society were strong convictions and a sense of civic virtue. They did not require a certificate I in volunteering to give up their time to help others. The so-called elitist traditional approach was far more inclusive than contemporary schemes that bribe people to pretend to volunteer.

What is truly tragic about the professionalisation of volunteering is that it implicitly evades the challenge of motivating people - especially the young - through appealing to their sense of solidarity and community. Society needs to motivate its youth to possess a sense of civic duty precisely because it is good in and of itself. We can’t always do good, and certainly not all of the time. The impulse of self-interest is always an important element of human behaviour. But self-interest notwithstanding, a vibrant community must always attempt to foster a climate where altruistic behaviour is accepted and affirmed.

Thankfully, despite the attempt to bureaucratise a fine old civic virtue, real volunteers are still doing the business. They are those unassuming and often anonymous individuals who don’t possess paper qualifications as mentors or facilitators or animators. Let them thrive.

First published by The Australian, 3 December 2011

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How the EU oligarchy has downsized democracy
ESSAY: So-called liberals and leftists have become obsessed with constructing a political firewall between the elite and the multitude.

Over the past month, it has become clear that the European Union doesn’t simply suffer from a democratic deficit; rather, it has decided that in the current climate of crisis and uncertainty, the institutions of government must be insulated and protected from public pressure. In Brussels, and among an influential coterie of European opinion-makers, the idea that ordinary people have the capacity to self-govern is dismissed as at best a naive prejudice, and at worst a marker for right-wing populism.

As we shall see, this desire to renounce the politics of representation is by no means confined to EU technocrats. To no one’s surprise, many businesspeople and bankers also prefer the new unelected governments of Greece and Italy to regimes that are accountable to their electorates. And such elitist disdain for nations’ democratic representative institutions is also shared by sections of the left and the intelligentsia, too. So in his contribution on the crisis of democracy, Jürgen Habermas, the leading leftist German philosopher, writes off national electorates as ‘the preserve of right-wing populism’ and condemns them as ‘the caricature of national macrosubjects shutting themselves off from each other’.

Indeed, it isn’t the old-fashioned conservative detractors of the multitude who are at the forefront of the current cultural turn against democratic will-formation – no, it is liberal advocates of expert-driven technocratic rule who are now the most explicit denouncers of democracy. The current political attack on the principles of representative democracy is founded on three propositions. First it is claimed that the people cannot be trusted to support policies that are necessary for the preservation and improvement of society. Secondly, it is suggested that there is an important trade-off to be made between democracy and efficiency, and that in a time of crisis the latter must prevail over the former. And finally, anti-democratic ideologues believe that governments, especially democratic governments, have lost the capacity to deal with the key problems facing societies in today’s globalised world.

The inconvenience of democratic accountability

Governments across Europe fear talking openly to their electorates about the scale of the problems in their societies. They believe that if they introduce the punitive austerity measures required to stave off the disintegration of the economy, their people will turn against them. Consequently, their principal objective is to insulate themselves from public pressure.

Numerous commentators have mistakenly argued that this project of constructing a political firewall between the people and the institutions of government is simply a response to the pressures of market forces. So, the soft technocratic coups in Greece and Italy have been attributed to ‘neo-liberalism’ and the global markets. ‘The world’s statesmen no longer shape events but merely respond to them, in thrall of market forces’, says a columnist for the Observer. In the same vein, the Independent’s Paul Vallely wrote of a ‘market coup’, which has ‘suspended, if not overthrown, democracy in Greece’. No doubt the financial markets placed tremendous pressure on the governing institutions of Greece and Italy. But the EU’s political elites did not need to be ‘dictated’ to by the markets; they were more than happy to evade their responsibilities by hiding behind technocrats and experts.

As usual, it was the European Commission president José Manuel Barroso who explained the necessity for technocratic, insulated decision-making. He explained that the non-democratically appointed governments of Italy and Greece have been installed ‘not just because they’re technocrats, but because it [is] easier to ask independent personalities to construct political consensus’. Barroso did not need to spell out what these ‘personalities’ were independent of, because it is pretty evident that their main virtue is that they are independent of the electorate. For Barroso, effective policymaking means getting rid of the distractions thrown up by the process of public accountability.

The tendency to depict democratic accountability as a deeply flawed, unpredictable thing is based on the belief that ordinary people lack the intellectual resources to deal with the complicated challenges facing policymakers. According to the traditional aristocratic version of this argument, since people will inevitably react against taking difficult decisions, it makes far more sense simply for someone else to take those decisions on their behalf.

In recent decades, this claim has been supplemented by a new thesis: that ordinary people are so misguided by the media or the church or some other institution that they simply do not know what is in their best interests anymore. ‘People getting their fundamental interests wrong is what American political life is all about’, asserted Thomas Frank in his influential US bestseller What’s the Matter with Kansas? How Conservatives Won the Heart of America. If this wasn’t the case, Frank says, then why on earth would they vote for the Republicans?

Contempt for the intellectual and moral capacities of the multitude invariably leads many self-proclaimed ‘enlightened’ commentators to distrust the public. Such anti-public sentiments are often expressed by environmentalists, who regard ordinary folk as far too selfish or too in thrall to consumerism to vote for policies that will require them to make the kind of sacrifices that might ‘save the planet’. So Australian academic Clive Hamilton has argued that the ‘practices of democracy at times do not sit comfortably with the best advice of those most qualified and knowledgeable’. As someone who considers himself to be among the ‘most qualified and knowledgeable’, Hamilton feels concerned ‘about the corpses of science, reason and expertise that democracy is leaving in its wake’.

Upholding the authority of the ‘most qualified and knowledgeable’ invariably leads to the downsizing of democratic authority. One advocate of soft coercion of the people, the green journalist Johann Hari, has argued that since ‘we’ll save the planet only if we’re forced to’, coercion is necessary in order to make us behave. He justifies the use of compulsion on the grounds that the issue of the environment is far too important to be decided through the unpredictable institutions of democracy. ‘[E]ven the most hardcore libertarians agree that your personal liberty ends where you actively harm the liberty of another person’, argued Hari in defence of compelling people to adopt a green lifestyle.

Disappointment with the intellectual and moral resources of ordinary people doesn’t mean that Thomas Frank or Clive Hamilton is an anti-democratic ideologue. But what their loss of faith in democracy expresses is a pragmatic and unprincipled attitude towards the ideal of political representation. Like bankers and EU policymakers, they have greater faith in technocrats and experts than in the electorate. The instinct to restrain the influence of popular will is even expressed by Anthony Barnett, editor of openDemocracy, who is uncomfortable with the idea of the UK parliament taking a decision on the death penalty. He feels reassured that Britain’s elected parliament ‘may debate but it cannot in fact introduce the death penalty’, because the European Court of Human Rights has ‘ruled that the death penalty does in fact contravene the European Convention [on Human Rights]’. The only difference between Barroso, Barnett and Hamilton is which expert institution they uphold as being preferable to the institutions of democratic accountability.

When it comes to making a decision about economic austerity, the environment or the death penalty, apparently the views of the electorate must now give way to the views of the ‘most qualified and knowledgeable’.

The democracy/efficiency trade off

Thinkers who argue against democratic political accountability often assert that representatives of the people are far less able to deal with complex issues, certainly in comparison with technocrats and experts. Of course, every modern political institution requires and depends upon the advice and input of scientists, engineers and experts. But what the advocates of the current technocratic turn demand is not simply that politicians consider such advice, but that they defer to it, that they bow before the wisdom of the expert. In its more caricatured form, this technocratic turn assumes the character of an expert-dominated polity. So Joschka Fischer, the former German foreign minister and grand old man of the Green Party, has talked about the need for an ‘avant garde of the United States of Europe’.

Fisher’s avant garde would consist of 17 leaders of Eurozone countries who would de facto constitute a government of Europe. The main accomplishment of this scheme would be that ‘parliamentary powers of control would be taken along to Brussels from the European capitals’. In this way, the pretence of national accountability could be maintained while the brave 17 could govern Europe without the hassle of having to deal with political arguments and pressure. This proposed model of insulated decision-making is probably at the top of every EU technocrats’ wish list.

The promotion of technocracy is frequently justified on the basis that, especially during crisis situations, the dictates of efficiency outweigh the need for political accountability. So one recent defence of technocracy stated that ‘it might just be worth considering that temporary technocrat rule may well be an acceptable, perhaps necessary process at times of crisis’. The almost imperceptible conceptual leap from ‘acceptable’ to ‘necessary’ indicates that once democracy becomes a commodity to be traded in exchange for efficiency, Greece and Italy can become models for the future.

Historically, the idea of a democracy and efficiency trade-off led to the apology that at least in Italy under Mussolini the trains ran on time. Perhaps they did. But the real issue at stake is whether legitimacy based on popular consent is a luxury that can be dispensed with when a society is put to the test. The truth is that, rather than undermining effective government, democratic legitimacy is the indispensable foundation of effective government. The attempt to convert political problems into administrative ones, through technocratic rule, only stores up problems for the future. An unrepresentative government always acts as an invitation to political instability and unrest.

The downsizing of government

Technocracy expresses an active mistrust of representative government. Last year, Barroso justified his disdain for the idea of any referendum on EU matters and for democratic accountability more broadly by reminding people that ‘governments are not always right’. He added that ‘if governments were always right, we would not have the situation that we have today’ and that the ‘decisions taken by the most democratic institutions in the world are very often wrong’. Here, the otherwise non-contentious point that governments are not always right serves as a prelude for the proposition that it would be better to limit the harm they cause by giving greater power to the European Commission. The subtext of Barroso’s statement is that, unlike governments, non-elected technocrats are far more likely to take the right decisions.

Others claim that governments do not so much fail to get things right as they are irrelevant in the contemporary globalised world. The argument that governments are irrelevant is a roundabout way of claiming that popular sovereignty is irrelevant. These days, advocates of technocracy claim that representative governments have become outdated vestiges of the old era of the nation state. As far as Jürgen Habermas is concerned, the boundaries separating nations has become a political fiction. ‘The difference between domestic and foreign is beginning to blur’, he has stated.

From the lofty heights of Habermas’s elitist ivory tower, the European nation state and the consciousness of belonging to a national community is a populist fantasy. ‘After half a century of labour migration, even the European peoples, given their growing ethnic, linguistic and religious pluralism, can no longer be conceived as culturally homogeneous entities’, he wrote. Habermas may find it difficult to conceive of communities and nations providing their citizens with a sense of belonging, but many ordinary people have no difficulty in feeling at home in their culturally pluralistic environments. The attempt to undermine people’s existing loyalties and affiliations through the construction of what Habermas calls a ‘transnational democracy’ would simply diminish the prevailing forms of popular representation in favour of technocratic domination.

The demotion of the role of national government is often presented as an enlightened and progressive thing, a way of challenging outdated and decrepit institutions. However, it is important to understand that the denunciation of the institutions of national government is not simply an attack on national but also on popular sovereignty. The claim that governments do not work is another way of saying that democratic representation within the context of a nation state does not work. The alternative that is proposed is invariably to have less democracy, not more. Habermas’s transnational democracy represents the institutionalisation of the rule of a cosmopolitan elite, which is merely a variant of the technocratic oligarchy that has recently been imposed upon the peoples of Greece and Italy.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Buy this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 29 November 2011

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Instead of drugs, children need a good dose of parenting
As far as the American Academy of Pediatrics is concerned you can never drug children early enough.

In their recently published guidelines they recommend that children as young as four can be treated with the psycho-stimulant drug Ritalin.

These new guidelines issued by the academy at its annual conference in Boston proposed that preschool children who show symptoms of inattention and hyperactivity should be evaluated for pharmacological intervention. “Treating children at a young age is important, because when we can identify them earlier and provide appropriate treatment, we can increase their chances of succeeding in school,” was how Mark Wolraich, one of the authors of the guidelines, justified this proposal.

The targeting of preschoolers by the academy is an integral part of a disturbing tendency to advocate medical and pharmaceutical intervention as a legitimate option for the management of childhood behaviour. The campaign, which has as its premise the conviction that children’s behavioural problems represent a marker for mental illness, implicitly assumed a coercive and intrusive form. In Australia, draft guidelines being considered by the National Health and Medical Research Council threaten parents who refuse to medicate children diagnosed with ADHD with being referred to child protection authorities. The proposed guidelines assert that “as with any medical intervention” the “inability of parents to implement strategies may raise child protection issues”.

Regardless of whether these authoritarian draft guidelines will be accepted by the NHMRC, they demonstrate a dangerous tendency to transform child-rearing into a form of professionally dominated behaviour management. The guidelines should not be seen as simply the work of a handful of insensitive and zealous Ritalin promoters. Parents throughout the Anglo-American world face considerable pressure to medicate their children. In the US and Britain, numerous parents have been given an ultimatum by their children’s school either to start giving their child Ritalin or leave. Consequently the number of children diagnosed as suffering from ADHD is continually on the increase. According to the academy, one in 12 children suffer from this condition.

It is important to realise that what drives the steady expansion of the diagnosis of ADHD among children is not the discovery of a hitherto unknown medical condition, but the cultural redefinition of some of the normal existential problems of childhood. In the eyes of the supporters of early-years medicalisation, virtually every manifestation of a child’s behaviour can be diagnosed as a medical issue. That is why they argue that doctors should evaluate children from four onwards for signs such as fidgeting, excessive talking, reluctance to concentrate and abandoning homework or chores. Apparently such normal forms of misbehaviour are symptoms of ADHD. So according to these experts, ADHD is characterised by many of the traits that would, in the absence of a medical definition, be frowned on as bad behaviour: inability to concentrate, lack of application, unruliness.

Although most sensible people are likely to be appalled by the proposal to drug preschool children, it is likely that the medicalisation of childhood will continue to gain institutional support. The main reason why children’s behaviour has become a target for pharmacological intervention is because of the difficulty that adults have in exercising authority over the life of young people. Parents have always found it difficult to deal with their toddler’s defiance and with adolescent discipline. Today, however, this age-old problem has become far more difficult to manage because of the tendency to devalue adult and parental authority.

The most striking manifestation of the devaluation of adult authority is the tendency to represent the punishment of children in an entirely negative light. Parenting experts insist that discipline should be exercised only through reasoning with a child. But as every mother and father knows, reasoning is not always enough. Since anything that goes beyond reasoning can be labelled as a form of emotional or physical abuse, many parents have no idea what to do after their words fail to have the desired effect.

The stigmatisation of the exercise of adult power over children also erodes discipline in the classroom. In such circumstances both parents and teachers face a dilemma of not knowing how to deal with young people’s misbehaviour. This is where the promotion of the medicalisation of childhood kicks in. Children’s disobedient behaviour is rendered acceptable by the tendency to treat it as a medical condition. Take the discovery of oppositional defiant disorder in 1980 by the American Psychiatric Association. Frequent tantrums, displays of angry behaviour, verbal hostility towards parents and defiance of adult authority by children as young as three are symptoms of this disease. Medical labels such as ADHD and oppositional defiant disorder allow the adult world to avoid facing up to the consequence of its inability to exercise discipline by turning misbehaviour into a medical condition.

For some parents, the discovery of new childhood disorders provides a welcome explanation for their children’s bad behaviour or poor performance in school: “she isn’t naughty, she is ill”. Given the predicament they face, many parents are all too easily reconciled to accept the diagnosis of ADHD as the cause of poor behaviour and school performance. It is also evident that numerous teachers are promoting the diagnosis of ADHD as an alternative to managing bad behaviour in the classroom by exercising discipline and authority. Failure to finish homework, inability to focus on class discussion, and boredom in school are regularly blamed on ADHD.

Without the exercise of adult authority, young people’s normal defiance, testing of boundaries, and misbehaviour are often uncontained by the wisdom of their elders.

When adults fail to hold the line, children’s disobedience can easily acquire an antisocial form. And once rendered acceptable through a medical label, children can readily learn to live the life of an outpatient. So children really do suffer from the downsizing of adult authority!

Which is why children need not Ritalin but a larger dose of adult authority.

First published by The Australian, 26 November 2011

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Leadership, liberty and the crisis of authority
Leadership has become one of the central questions of our time. Since the beginning of the 21st century, the demand for strong authoritative leadership has been palpable.

I remember participating in a NATO sponsored workshop in 2002 on the psychological impact of terrorism.

One of the challenges thrown at the participants was to imagine they were facing a major incident akin to 9/11 and to decide who could be trusted with the task of informing the public about what had happened and what needed to be done. In other words, who would provide communicative leadership at a time when society was facing an unprecedented catastrophe?

The very posing of this question caught most of the participants unaware. It was evident that many of the elected leaders of European nations would prove unsuitable for this task. Could the Italian people trust the reassurances of a Berlusconi? How would the Greeks or the Belgians respond to the instructions of their prime ministers?

Even the UK-based participants were at a loss and suggested someone like the TV broadcaster Trevor Macdonald should be assigned this task because his words were more trustworthy than those of officially designated political leaders.

Since this workshop, I have become far more aware of the absence of leadership than its presence. Dramatic events like the Eurozone crisis continually remind me of the question posed at that NATO workshop: Where do you look for effective leadership? Similar queries are posed by people in a businesses, public sector organisations, and cultural institutions.

That there is a widespread recognition of the feeble state of leadership is demonstrated by the flourishing of a veritable industry devoted to its cultivation. Seminars, training courses and conferences promise to turn uninspiring executives into dynamic leaders. Go to any good book shop and you will see dozens of texts with titles like The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership: Follow them and People Will Follow You.

Alternatively you can learn everything that there is to know by reading The Leadership Book: How to Deliver Outstanding Results or How to Lead: What You Actually Need to Do to Manage, Lead and Succeed. For the down to earth there is Leadership: Plain and Simple and for the touchy-feely amongst you the book to read is Primal Leadership: Learning to Lead with Emotional Intelligence.

There is only one small problem with these self-help texts: there is no formula for authoritative leadership. Experience shows there are many things in life that need to be learned but cannot be taught. Sadly, leadership is not a skill that can be learned from clever teachers. If only it could be acquired through attending a training course we would all be leaders. Rather, it is a quality and attribute gained through learning from experience and the struggle of life.

The art of leadership

Back in the ancient times, it was recognised that authoritative leadership was tied to the exercise of certain characteristics, particularly the willingness to initiate. In fact, the ancient Greek word for government, arche, in its etymological sense means the beginning or a person who initiates or commences. It means a person taking steps in such a manner that others will follow – a fundamental attribute of a leader.

The Latin word for authority - auctoritas - also hints at the importance of initiation. It means many things – such as to author – but above all it means to initiate, and those individuals who have auctoritas enjoy the authority, the personal prestige that they have gained through this act. Reading of the Roman classics shows that those with auctoritas possess the power and influence that come from being trusted and respected for their capacity to initiate and lead.

The good news is that gaining such an authority is not confined to a tiny group of extraordinary individuals. Authoritative leadership is not dependent on attributes that we associate with charisma and natural flair. Instead it is a quality gained through addressing tasks seriously and assuming responsibility for them. Like any art, it involves the synthesis of the intellect and the passions. From the ancient to modern times, history shows that individuals gain authority by putting themselves on the line and setting an example. In this sense leadership – whether through words or behaviour – always involves an act of communication.

An effective leader is not someone who attracts attention to himself or herself but who is seen as the personification of something important – something that is oriented towards issues that touch us all. Authoritative leaders are not so much charismatic communicators but people who establish a real presence by giving meaning to society’s aspirations. Presence is not so much about the person but about the person forcefully expressing the direction to be followed to confront challenges. Such a presence is established through conviction, commitment and taking responsibility.

As an exercise in authoritative leadership, context determines the establishment of such a presence, the principle virtue of which is the willingness to develop the capacity for exercising judgment. The ability to make judgment calls requires what Aristotle called the virtue of phronesis, the kind of practical wisdom we gain through experience and engagement with the world around us.

Aristotle took the view that there are a range of human actions whose objective could not be achieved by following prescribed formulas. Pottery making can be pursued with technical knowledge (techne), but healing the sick required practical wisdom (phronesis). For Aristotle, phronesis was the most significant intellectual virtue because developing the capacity for exercising moral judgment allowed the exercise of other virtues of character.

The reason why Aristotle’s insight is crucial today is because practical wisdom helps leaders face uncertainty and judge what needs to be done. It is only through the act of judgment that uncertainty can be transformed into risks that can be managed through calculation. Most importantly, it is through practical wisdom that leaders gain the confidence to deviate, when necessary, from the script and exercise discretion.

The heart of the problem of leadership is also one of the paradoxes of our times: Although we continually demand effective leadership, we organise public life in such a manner as to make its exercise very difficult. There are powerful institutional barriers to exercising discretion and judgment. Sometimes it appears almost as if much of the public sector and sections of commerce have become a discretion-free zone. Individual initiative is continually subjected to the tyranny of paper trails, risk assessment documents, codes of practice written to a template, and micro-managers.

From a bureaucratic perspective, the proliferation of rules is seen as ‘best practice’. From a wider future-oriented humanist perspective, such rules convey suspicion about people’s capacity to judge and lead. It prefers the guidance provided by a manual to the leadership of someone prepared to initiate and judge.

Exercising discretion is discouraged because it is too perceived as too risky. Yet discretion – based on tacit knowledge acquired from experience and on best available knowledge – is the only way to manage uncertainty. Through acts of judgment, uncertainty is transformed into a problem that can be confronted and managed. In turn, our capacity to judge develops through experience, and as with every endeavour, the more varied and extensive its practice, the better we get at cultivating the virtue of phronesis.

The final point about leadership is intimately linked to gaining authority. In every walk of life, a leader is an authoritative figure. However, society seems to have a problem with authority and invariably sees it as something to be restrained and controlled. That’s one reason why Western societies have become so obsessed with making rules. Instead of cultivating authoritative leadership, we one-sidedly rely on rules explicitly designed to penalise taking initiative.

Most of us complain about the corrosive consequence of society’s addiction to regulating economic and public affairs. However, a far more insidious form of regulation is the less visible tendency to formalise daily encounters, including inter-personal affairs. This juridification of everyday life discourages taking responsibility, using discretion, and making judgement calls. It is as if the managers of public and private institutions have read Aristotle and decided that their mission was to abolish the exercise of phronesis. In effect, they have created a culture that discourages people from assuming the responsibilities associated with leadership.

That is why we need to confront the current process-driven culture with one that is hospitable to risk-taking and the freedom to experiment and explore. Winning cultural support for the value of initiating and cultivating the virtue of phronesis is essential for resolving the current crisis of leadership. Such a project requires many attributes, but above all, it requires taking our freedoms far more seriously.

This is an extract of last night’s Centre for Independent Studies’ 2011 John Bonython Lecture. The CIS is Australasia’s leading independent public policy think tank, devoted to fostering a free and open society through classical liberal ideals. The extract is also published here and here.

First published by The Punch, 16 November 2011

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The power and the passion lost in procedure
For some time now it has been evident that politics has become lost for words.

Establishment politicians and radical protesters share a political vocabulary that is denuded of principles and normative content. Instead of addressing people about their beliefs, elite politicians modestly refer to an “agenda” or a “project”.

In turn, protesters occupying public spaces in Melbourne, Madrid or London celebrate their refusal to formulate political demands and principles.

The most striking manifestation of the emptying out of the vocabulary of politics has been the ascendancy of process in public life. In effect, the political process has mutated into processed politics. It is worth noting that the language of public life is dominated by the rhetoric of process. Terms such as empowerment, support, inclusion, exclusion, transparency, accountability or best practice all refer to institutional and organisational matters.

Probably the most significant expression of the shift from a political to managerial style of authority is the fetish of governance. Once upon a time governance referred to the act of directing and governing. Today it refers to the management of rules and processes. According to one definition, governance is “the systems and processes concerned with ensuring the overall direction, effectiveness, supervision and accountability of an organisation”.

The impoverishment of the language of politics, or what Australian social critic Don Watson describes as the “decay of public language”, reflects the erosion of a normative framework for the conduct of public life. It is when ideas about right and wrong and what ought to be valued cannot be taken for granted that process comes into its own. The proliferation of rule-making within institutions and in all domains of human experience is an inexorable consequence of the emptying out of a moral and political vocabulary.

From the standpoint of governance there is no normative expression of right and wrong. What counts is whether the correct process has been followed. The supremacy of process absolves people from making judgments about what is right or wrong. It also dissociates people’s action from its consequence. Instead of leaders, we have the institutionalisation of mentoring. They no longer lead so much as “facilitate” and “enable”.

Protesters, like the targets of their actions, have also lost the capacity to express themselves through a moral or political idiom. The idealism and passion of young activists have been absorbed into a preoccupation about how to organise themselves. So a statement issued by Occupy Melbourne states that “we envision a politics of self-determination and direct democracy without the need for representation”. From this standpoint, radicalism has to do with the rules of organisation rather than an objective to be fought for.

The obsessive orientation towards rule-making and process within the occupation movement is invariably represented as the defining feature of its new radicalism. One of the websites supporting these occupations declared that “the non-hierarchical decentralised structure, the inclusiveness and co-operation are staples of the occupations”. Time and again they boast that they are leaderless and non-hierarchical. Indeed, they have invented rules for achieving consensus without the need for political debate and a show of hands. Frequently agreement or dissent is expressed through silent gestures such as waving your arms upwards to show consent or downwards to signal disagreement. Processed protest acquires its most caricatured form with the Spanish Indignados movement. Their manual, titled How to Cook a Non-Violent Revolution, contains an organisational chart that is so intricate that it would make a bureaucrat’s bureaucrat proud. It has a communication commission to interact with the media and an outreach commission to engage with other assemblies and institutions.

The group dynamics commission is a heavy-duty body involved with dreaming up forms of rules that assist the consolidation of a group consciousness.

It “prepares the methodology to be followed in assemblies” and draws up “moderation arrangements, floor times and systems for taking the floor”. Its respect commission is charged with “conveying the importance of a respectful campground atmosphere”.

What is desperately sad about the protest movement is the almost spontaneous manner with which they internalised the “best practices” of process-driven managerialism. So when the Occupation London needs to respond to an event it follows the practices used routinely in private and public sector “away days”. At such events the pretence of participation and engagement is maintained through the phenomenon of breakaway groups. At St Paul’s occupation, the general assembly of campers splits up into groups of 10 to discuss the issue under consideration. In both cases the way a discussion is conducted trumps its content.

What’s striking about the organisational models innovated by the protesters is just how much they mirror those of the 1 per cent they profess to despise. Take the celebration of non-hierarchical organisation by the occupation movement. A regular reader of the Harvard Business Review would be quite comfortable with the advocacy of non-hierarchy. Articles in this Review, such as “To Be A Better Leader, Give Up Authority”, clearly express the view that good business practice requires a non-hierarchical culture. These days companies brag about their non-hierarchical business structure and non-hierarchical teams.

Although outwardly distinct and radical, contemporary protest culture has adopted the procedural-oriented approach of the establishment that it claims to despise. Paradoxically, it has embraced one of the least attractive features of contemporary Western public life, which is the tendency to look for organisational solutions to political and moral problems. The most disturbing consequence of the religion of governance is its addiction to rule-making. The institutionalisation of process inevitably begets more rules. It creates a demand for auditors and new process to ensure proper processes are followed.

When process turns into an ideology, it is only a matter of time before it becomes an instrument of deception and dishonesty. In the public sector people can cut corners so long as they make sure their paper trail is up to scratch. In protest camps the performance of non-hierarchical rituals allows a group of unacknowledged leaders to set the agenda. Paradoxically, the protest-chic of streets exists in a symbiotic relationship with the process-chic of the boardroom.

Frank Furedi will give the John Bonython lecture in Sydney on Tuesday and will deliver a public lecture on free speech in Melbourne on Thursday.

First published by The Australian, 12 November 2011

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100% säkert att de inte företräder 99%
Nittionio procent är en enastående hög andel av befolkningen. När medlemmar av den globala ockupationsrörelsen hävdar att de är ”de 99 procenten” påstår de sig tala för så gott som alla människor.

Man kan inte komma mycket närmare fullständig enhällighet. I en värld där samhällen ofta är delade vad gäller livsstilar eller längs kulturella, etniska och klassmässiga skiljelinjer är det sällsynt att uppleva den sorts solidaritet som kan ena 99 procent av alla människor. Stämmer då påståendet att ”vi är de 99 procenten!” eller är det en ren fantasi?

Genom historien har det normalt sett bara varit karismatiska religiösa ledare, politiska charlataner eller populistiska diktatorer som påstått sig tala å allas vägnar. Ibland var det inte bara ett retoriskt grepp; snarare talade somliga av dem till en begriplig mänsklig strävan efter gemenskap. Men problemet med den sortens pseudo-majoritetsinriktning är att den i själva verket bara kan uttryckas genom kvasireligiösa, schablonartade utsagor som inte berör samhällets faktiska problem.

Det är av det skälet det inte är någon slump att demonstranterna utanför St. Paulskatedralen i London eller i New Yorks finansdistrikt ogärna vill formulera några konkreta målsättningar. Deras gensvar på en värld av konkurrerande politiska intressen består av att undvika att göra några uttalanden som skulle blotta bristen på substans bakom taken på att ”vi är de 99 procenten”.

Den amerikanske politiske konsulten George Lakoff har nyligen i ett uttalande förklarat varför ockupationsrörelsens metaforiska 99 procent tjänar ett betydelsefullt PR-syfte. Lakoff, som blivit ryktbar för sina råd om hur politisk retorik bör framföras, säger att påståendet att tala för 99 procent av alla människor är mäktigt. ”Jag tror att det är bra att ockupationsrörelsen inte ställer några konkreta politiska krav”, säger han. Varför? Därför att ”om den gjorde det, skulle rörelsen komma att handla om just de kraven”, och om ”kraven inte blev uppfyllda skulle det uppfattas som att rörelsen misslyckats”, konstaterade Lakoff.

I princip är följaktligen Lakoffs målsättning att hindra ockupationsrörelsen från att utsättas för prövning av den allmänna opinionen. Hans primära syfte är att hindra rörelsen från att framstå som misslyckad. Det innebär med andra ord att det väsentliga är rörelsen själv, inte dess syften. Men när en rörelse uppfattas som i sig viktigare än det som ligger utanför rörelsen, kan sekteristiska synsätt börja gro. Det är av det skälet bara en tidsfråga innan splittring och inre motsättningar kommer att demonstrera ihåligheten i ockupationsrörelsens påstående att företräda ”de 99 procenten”.

Erfarenheten visar att när rörelsen betyder allt, blir dess syften och målsättningar förhandlingsbara – otaliga idéer och synsätt kan omfattas och senare förkastas. Under sådana omständigheter blir moraliserande och skuldbeläggning de primära sätten för ockupationsrörelsen att uttrycka sina protester. Lakoff hävdar att ”Ockupera Wall Street-rörelsen är till sin natur moralisk … ockupanterna vill att landet ska byta moraliskt fokus”. Helt uppenbart beskriver han med de orden ett moraliserande korståg vars primära syfte är att erövra moralisk auktoritet.

Moraliska korståg lägger sig ofrånkomligen till med att tala i termer av gott och ont, rätt och fel, svart och vitt. Det är av det skälet som ockupanterna oberoende av sin goda vilja i själva verket frammanar ett klimat av moralisk analfabetism, där schabloner och banaliteter i ökande utsträckning börjar dominera den offentliga och politiska debatten.

En av de svåra utmaningar vi i dag står inför är hur vi ska komma till rätta med de motstridiga krav som ställs av olika samhällssegment som drabbats på olika sätt av den ekonomiska krisen. Vi är tvungna att välja färdväg för den framtida samhällsinriktningen, och för att det ska bli möjligt måste skilda uppfattningar om den bästa vägen framåt debatteras konkret och öppet. Att konkurrerande intressen klargörs är förutsättningen för varje seriös politisk debatt. En sådan debatt skulle visa att samhället är delat och att det som gynnar vissa ofta strider mot andras intressen. Samtidigt är ärlighet vad beträffar alternativa valmöjligheter en förutsättning för att vi ska kunna inse vad som kan förena oss. Såvida vi inte ställs inför en hord invasionsarméer kommer vi aldrig att uppleva någon situation där 99 procent av befolkningen håller samman.

Påståendet ”vi är de 99 procenten” representerar i verkligheten att man förkastar all politik och i stället omfamnar ett lättköpt moraliserande. Och vad som är ännu mer oroväckande än demonstranternas påstående att representera 99 procent av folket är medias synbara beredvillighet att betrakta det som trovärdigt. Omslaget på nyhetsmagasinet Time (24 oktober 2011) med rubriken ”Den tysta majoritetens återkomst” är ett eko av ockupanternas fantasivärld. Också andra framställer demonstranterna som om de vore 2000-talets motsvarighet till forna tiders opartiska tiggarordnar. Att så många i andra fall förnuftiga kommentatorer är beredda att göra eftergifter för ”idealismen” hos dessa moraliserande korsfarare antyder att ockupanterna själva inte är de enda som är ovilliga att se de svåra politiska frågorna i ögonen.

Frank Furedis senaste bok On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence är utgiven av Continuum i Storbritannien.

First published by Voltaire, 7 November 2011

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Nanny state has no business muscling mums and dads out of the way
Australia's Early Years Learning Framework is based on the assumption that government can never intercede early enough in children's lives to compensate for the incompetence of their parents.

It seems that politicians in and out of government cannot resist the temptation of intervening in people’s private lives. Since 2009, Australia has a minister whose explicit brief is to deal with early childhood. The officially endorsed Early Years Learning Framework is based on the assumption that government can never intercede early enough in children’s lives to compensate for the incompetence of their parents.

The Early Years Learning movement is based on the principle that since most parents - particularly from disadvantaged backgrounds - cannot be trusted to bring up their children satisfactorily, professional intervention is needed.

Typically, the call for greater state intervention in family life begins with a claim that new research has conclusively shown that something can and must be done to ensure that children thrive and realise their potential. During the past decade such calls are frequently based on what can best be described as the Myth of the First Three Years. According to this myth, children’s intellectual development is determined in the first three years of their lives. Parenting professionals represent early-years child-rearing as a particularly difficult and complicated enterprise that demands the input of experts. These days they invariably claim that neuroscience has shown that unless a child’s brain is stimulated properly in its first three years, irreparable damage will be done. Consequently early intervention of early years education becomes the only responsible, if not mandatory, policy option.

Recently a variant of the early-years myth was put forward by an honorary professorial fellow in education at the University of Melbourne, Joseph Sparling. He stated that the first three years of a child’s life were the critical time for early learning and warned that waiting until the year before children started school was nothing short of “neglect”. Apparently all those millions of 2 to 3-year-old children, who are cruelly denied the attention of professional early-years experts, constitute an army of neglected infants.

Sparling’s view echoes that of the Gillard government, strong advocates of early-years intervention. Consequently the government can now boast that it has a Minister for Early Childhood (Peter Garrett). One of its usual “research shows . . .” press releases, on October 24, stated, “research shows that experiences in the first five years shape future life outcomes and the Gillard Labor government is investing to make sure that future is bright for our youngest citizens”. A few days later the Minister for Employment Participation and Child Care, Kate Ellis, repeated the mantra and stated “research shows that the first five years of a child’s life are critical and have the potential to shape their future outcomes”.

As it happens, the fatalistic thesis that children’s future is determined in their early years is a political dogma rather than the product of rigorous science. The idea that a child’s intellectual development is determined during the first three years of its life goes against much of what we know about learning. Children who are slow at learning to read at the age of six or seven often go on to master this skill three or four years later. As the University of Birmingham psychologist Stuart Derbyshire argues, “the current obsession with parenting and early-years intervention is not science-based, but is another example of the tendency to individualise social problems that may then be addressed through lifestyle interventions such as parenting classes”. He believes that the “science is being manipulated and invented to justify a policy that is already active”.

Derbyshire’s warning that early-years education is actually a masquerade for lifestyle intervention is important. Take the Australian government’s recently announced decision to fund a $32.5 million Home Interaction Program for Parents and Youngsters. This initiative is described as a “two-year home-based parenting and early childhood enrichment program that builds the confidence and skills of parents and carers”. So the target of this project are the parents. Its objective has little to do with education but with shaping the lifestyles of parents.

The principal driver of early-years education policy is the belief that parents are simply not up to the job of raising and socialising their children. This view - which is widely held by policy-makers and their experts - looks to professional intervention to compensate for what they regard as the parenting deficit. While advocates of this policy emphasise that their main concern is to support disadvantaged parents, they are not averse to casting their nets wider and targeting all families.

It is important to comprehend that The Early Years Learning Framework promoted by the Australian government has little to do with real education. In any case, the last thing 3 to 4-year-old children need is formal education. The Early Years Learning Framework implicitly recognises this point, which is why it opts for what it describes as a “strong emphasis on play-based learning”.

The intellectual poverty of this project is demonstrated by this attempt to harness play to achieve a policy objective. Instead of allowing children to be children and playing to be playing, policy-makers wish to organise spontaneity out of their lives. The mission of regulating and formalising play is justified on the grounds that “play is the best vehicle for young children’s learning providing the most appropriate stimulus for brain development”.

The constantly repeated claim that unless children are stimulated under professional supervision their brains will be at risk seeks to prey on parental insecurities. Such claims are often represented through the idiom of panic-mongering. Take a report authored by UK Labour MP Graham Allen. Titled Early Intervention: Smart Investment, Massive Savings, its cover shows pictures of the brain of a child who has had early-years intervention and one who has not. There is massive contrast between the large brain of the normal child and the shrivelled brain of the neglected child. Such propaganda has only one objective, which is to intimidate parents.

Parents, of course, do face numerous challenges. And there is a case for the provision of proper childcare facilities, to make life easier for parents who work. But parents do not need to be subjected to intrusive interventions in their family life. Parents who are already insecure about bringing up their child do not need to be exposed to unhelpful scaremongering about the alleged risks to their toddler’s brains. And finally, let children get on with playing. Playing is good in and of itself and does not need to be turned into a worthy educational exercise.

First published by The Australian, 5 November 2011

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Why church officials worship these protesters
No attempt to depict Occupy London as a Second Coming of angry Jesuses can disguise the fact that it remains a shallow moral gesture.

As a sociologist, I get suspicious when I am told that some aspect of human experience is beyond comprehension or ‘defies simple characterisation’. That is exactly what many people are currently saying about the Occupy Wall Street and Occupy London street protests.

‘The movement at this stage defies simple characterisations’, says a writer on the left-wing website Indymedia. Observers around the world make a similar point. The Washington Post says this is a ‘leaderless movement’, which does not have ‘an official set of demands’. One columnist after another has noted that these occupations are neither ‘left’ nor ‘right’ and do not communicate a distinct political message and, therefore, it is far from evident what they stand for.

Yet this absence of clarity about what the occupations are for has not stopped media personalities, politicians and opinion-formers from expressing sympathy with them. In the US, politicians from President Barack Obama to Mitt Romney, one of the leading contenders for the Republican Party’s presidential nomination, have affirmed their support for the people occupying Wall Street. Political leaders who usually lash out at protesters appear to be on their side this time. Even right-wing commentators have praised the protesters for drawing attention to the dysfunctional and iniquitous nature of the global financial system.

Why is there such widespread endorsement of a movement that appears to lack principles and objectives? The main reason is that this movement provides a vehicle through which everyone can recycle their own agendas. Everyone from the angry taxpayer to the lifestyle anarchist can join together and let off steam against various targets. One of the Occupy movement’s mottos is ‘We are the 99 per cent’. The motto comes from a statement made by the American Nobel prize-winning economist, Joseph Stiglitz, who denounced the richest one per cent of Americans for oppressing everyone else. ‘Ninety-nine per cent’ is of course a mega-majority; indeed, aside from a handful of parasitical financiers and obese bankers, virtually everyone in the world is included in this virtuous community of the mother-of-all majorities.

In a different era, blaming a tiny number of greedy bankers for a major economic crisis would have been dismissed as a form of economically illiterate scapegoating. Today, however, banker-bashing is one of the principal ways through which political leaders can evade responsibility for the current predicament. But it is not simply opportunism that encourages sections of the political class to identify with the so-called 99 per cent. Their public displays of understanding and empathy for the protesters also reveals more than a little bad faith.

Those familiar with the concept of bad faith will know that it is not necessarily about wilful deception. It is when people under social pressure adopt the values and attitudes of the moment, and in the process disregard their own intuition, that they act in bad faith. In public life, this form of self-deception occurs when public figures are less than certain about what they ought to believe in or stand for. It is bad faith, and indeed bad conscience, which motivates many public figures to defer to the self-appointed representatives of 99 per cent of the people.

The sacralisation of confusion

One of the most conspicuous practitioners of this bad faith is the Church of England. The response of St Paul’s Cathedral, and particularly of its former canon Giles Fraser, to the occupiers on its doorstep offers a sad example of theological and moral confusion. Fraser’s sacralisation of the protest outside his church reduces some of the most profound moments in the New Testament to the Biblical equivalent of today’s gesture-driven protesting. Fraser talks about Occupy London as if it were some kind of Second Coming. ‘I mean, if you looked around and you tried to recreate where Jesus would be born – for me, I could imagine Jesus being born in the camp’, he noted.

Fraser’s fantasies about the messianic potential of the protest is shared by other clerics, too, who believe these occupiers are emulating Jesus’ denunciation of the moneylenders defiling the temple. This sad attempt to recast a very banal secular gesture as a vindication of the legacy of the Son of God can be seen as a desperate attempt to make the church relevant to the lives of young people. More worryingly still, it can also be seen as an opportunistic attempt by the church to harness the moral status enjoyed by these protesters in order to enhance the authority of their waning institution. What Fraser and some of his colleagues fail to appreciate, however, is that their sacralisation of confusion is more likely to diminish the moral authority of their church.

For their part, the protesters seem keen to depict themselves as the true disciples. In a gesture that matches the opportunism and bad faith of their clerical sponsors, the protesters have self-consciously adopted a religious style of communication. So last Saturday, they announced that they would hold a ‘Sermon on the Steps’ of St Paul’s. Their press release promised that the sermon would include ‘readings and reflection, prayer and short speeches by representatives of different faiths, and no faith, all with the theme of Love, Peace and Unity’.

The American political consultant George Lakoff would approve of the way that this press release frames the aspirations of the protesters. Lakoff, who has won a reputation for giving advice on the framing of political rhetoric, has argued that ‘it is a good thing that the occupation movement is not making specific policy demands’, because ‘if it did, the movement would become about those demands’ and if ‘the demands were not met, the movement would be seen as having failed’. In contrast to such political realities, religious rhetoric and prophecy cannot be tested in the real world, and therefore this increasingly pseudo-religious protest cannot be said to have failed.

99 per cent of what?

Of course, the protesters don’t really represent 99 per cent of society. No one elected them to speak on anyone’s behalf. Ninety-nine per cent is a fantasy figure; nowhere does there exist a single constituency that encompasses such a large section of society. Aside from assisting the project of scapegoating, the purpose of the motto ‘We are the 99 per cent’ is to avoid facing up to the fact that, in the real world, this movement lacks a popular constituency. Whatever else it may be, this occupation of urban space is not a grassroots movement.

Protests can, of course, assume a variety of forms. And often they can start off as a modest response to a specific instance of injustice before later expanding their influence. What is interesting about Occupy Wall Street or Occupy London, however, is that they lack a specific local context. In principle, every town square – from Kansas City to Baton Rouge – can serve as a substitute for Wall Street.

Detached from everyday life, this protest gains its meaning and definition from its relationship to the media, rather than its relationship with citizens. Numerous reports have suggested that the transmission of images of these protests by the media has led to a copycat effect around the world. There has been much talk about the way in which ‘thought contagion’ and the memetic ‘reproduction’ of ideas through the media has led to the construction of a global movement.

But the media effect is not confined to the communication of images and slogans. The main contribution of the media is to provide a narrative through which groups of individuals around the world can identify with one another’s identities and actions. What is most striking about the protesters in different parts of the world is that they have more in common with one another than they do with the ordinary people in their own communities.

Arguably, this is not the first example of a protest conducted through a media-cultivated global network. However, what is truly distinctive about this movement is its performative character. The focus of the protesters is not on the achievement of any specific objective, but rather on the performance of protest. That is why they have devoted so much energy to the question of how their occupation is conducted. The elaborate construction of a self-organised democratic community, its self-conscious disavowal of leadership and politics, its insistence that it refuses to accept any labels – these are all dramatic aids to a performance.

And this is likely to be a very long performance. The protesters appear to be very time-rich; they conspicuously lack any sense of urgency about achieving tangible results. Historically, grassroots protesters measured success by the speed with which they successfully realised their objectives. But the passion and anger that once fuelled grassroots movements are absent today. The folks who are drawn to Wall Street or St Paul’s work to a luxurious timescale. The longer they can remain on the streets and carry on performing, then the more successful their protest is considered to be. In a world in which bad faith embraces such a performance of guilt-tripping, these demonstrations are likely to become a regular ritual in modern life.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Buy this book from Amazon(UK).) This is an expanded version of an article published in The Australian on 29 October 2011.

First published by spiked, 1 November 2011

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Anyone with an axe to grind can join the 99 per cent’s street performance
As a sociologist I am always suspicious when I am told that a dimension of human experience is beyond comprehension or that it "defies simple characterisation".

Yet that is precisely the claim constantly made about the people involved in the Occupy Melbourne, Occupy Wall Street or Occupy London street protests. “The movement at this stage defies simple characterisations,” an Indymedia Australia writer states. This point is echoed by observers throughout the world.

The Washington Post says this is a “leaderless movement” that does not have “an official set of demands”. One columnist after an another notes that these occupations are neither Left nor Right, nor do they communicate a distinct political message, and that therefore it is far from evident what they stand for.

Yet the absence of clarity about the meaning of these occupations of urban space does not stop media personalities, politicians and opinion formers from expressing sympathy with this protest.

In the US politicians from President Barack Obama to Mitt Romney, one of the leading contenders for the Republican Party’s presidential nomination, have affirmed their support for the Occupy Wall Street people. Political leaders who usually lash out against protesters appear to be on the side of the demonstrators.

Not a few right-wing commentators have praised the protesters for drawing attention to the dysfunctional and iniquitous character of the global financial system.

So why is there such widespread endorsement for a protest movement that appears to lack principles and objectives? The main reason for its appeal is that it provides a vehicle through which everyone can recycle their agenda. Everyone from angry taxpayers to lifestyle anarchists can join together and lash out against the targets of their frustration.

One of the mottos making the rounds on the protesters’ blogs is, “We are the 99 per cent.” The motto derives from a statement made by American Nobel prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz, who denounced the richest 1 per cent of Americans for oppressing everyone else. Now 99 per cent represents a mega-majority. Aside from a handful of parasitical financiers and obese bankers, virtually everyone is included in this community of the mother of all majorities.

In a different era, blaming a tiny number of greedy bankers for the crisis would have been dismissed as economically illiterate scapegoating. But today bank-bashing is one of the principal narratives through which political leaders can evade responsibility.

However, it is not simply opportunism that incites sections of the political class to identify with the 99 per cent. Their opportunistic show of understanding for the protests also reveals not a little bad faith. Those familiar with the concept of bad faith will know that it does not necessarily express an act of wilful deception.

When people faced with social pressure adopt the values and attitudes of the moment and disregard their own intuition they act in bad faith. In public life this form of self-deception occurs when public figures are less than certain about what they ought to believe or stand for.

It is bad faith and indeed bad conscience that motivates many public figures to defer to the self-appointed representatives of 99 per cent of the people.

But of course they don’t really represent 99 per cent of society. No one elected them to speak on anyone’s behalf; 99 per cent is a fantasy figure, for there does not exist anywhere a single constituency that encompasses such a large section of society.

Aside from assisting the project of scapegoating, the purpose of the motto “We are the 99 per cent” is to avoid facing up to the fact, in the real world, this movement lacks a popular constituency.

Whatever it is, the occupation of urban space is not a grassroots movement.

Of course protests can assume a variety of forms. And often, at first, they represent a modest response to a specific example of injustice that later succeeds in expanding its influence.

What’s interesting about Occupy Melbourne or Occupy Wall Street is that it lacks a specific local context. In principle, every town square, from Kansas City to Baton Rouge, can serve as a substitute for Wall Street.

Detached from everyday life this protest gains its meaning and definition from its relationship to the media. In numerous accounts it has been suggested that the transmission of demonstrations and scenes of protest by the media in one part of the world has had a copy-cat effect elsewhere. There has been much talk about the way in which “thought contagion” and the memetic reproduction of ideas through the media has led to the construction of a global movement. But the media effect is not confined to the communication of images and slogans.

The media’s main contribution is to provide a narrative through which groups of individuals throughout the world can identify with one another’s identity and actions. What is most striking about the protesters in different parts of the world is that they have more in common with one another than with ordinary people in their own communities.

Arguably, this is not the first example of a protest conducted through a media-cultivated global network. But what is truly distinctive about this movement is its performative character.

The focus of the protesters is not the achievement of a specific objective but the performance of protest. That is why they have devoted so much energy to the way their occupation is conducted.

The elaborate construction of a self-organised democratic community, its self-conscious disavowal of leadership and politics and its insistence that it refuses all labels are dramatic aids to a performance.

Finally, this is likely to be a very long performance. The protesters appear to be time rich and conspicuously lack a sense of urgency about achieving tangible results.

Historically, grassroots protesters measure success by the speed with which they realise their objectives. But the passion and anger that fuels grassroots movements is absent today.

The folks drawn to Wall Street work to a luxurious time-scale. The longer they can remain on the street and perform, the more successful the protest. In a world where bad faith embraces the performance of guilt-tripping, these demonstrations are likely to become a regular ritual.

First published by The Australian, 29 October 2011

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It’s 100% certain that they don’t represent 99%
The occupiers’ claim to speak for ‘the 99%’ exposes how determined they are to avoid hard political debate in favour of cheap moralising.

Ninety-nine per cent is a very, very high proportion of the population. When members of the global Occupy movement claim that they are ‘the 99%’, they’re referring to virtually everyone in society. It is about as close as you can get to unanimity. In a world where communities are often divided over lifestyles or along cultural, ethnic and class lines, it is rare to experience the kind of solidarity that binds 99 per cent of people together. So is the chant ‘we are the 99%!’ accurate, or is it a fantasy?

Historically, it was normally only charismatic religious leaders, political charlatans or populist dictators who claimed to speak on behalf of everybody. Sometimes this was not just a rhetorical gesture; rather, these individuals spoke to an understandable human aspiration for community. The problem with this pseudo-majoritarian orientation, however, is that it can only really be expressed through quasi-religious, platitudinous statements, which leave the real problems of society untouched.

That is why it is no coincidence that the protesters in front of St Paul’s Cathedral in London or in the Financial District in NYC are reluctant to formulate any clear objectives. That is also why they actually try to make a virtue out of their reluctance to spell out specific objectives. They respond to the world of competing political interests by avoiding making any claims that would expose the lack of substance behind the idea that ‘we are the 99%’.

In a recent statement, the American political consultant George Lakoff explained why the Occupy movement’s 99% metaphor serves an important PR purpose. Lakoff, who has won a reputation for giving advice on how to frame political rhetoric, says the claim to speak on behalf of 99% of people is a powerful one. ‘I think that it is a good thing that the occupation movement is not making specific policy demands’, he says. Why? Because ‘if it did, the movement would become about those demands’, and if ‘the demands were not met, the movement would be seen as having failed’, Lakoff argued.

In essence, Lakoff’s objective is to prevent the Occupy movement from being exposed to the test of public opinion. His principal objective is to prevent the movement from appearing to have failed. In other words, what is important is the movement and not its objectives. When a movement is perceived as being more important than what lies external to it, then sect-like attitudes can start to thrive. That is why it is only a matter of time before splits and divisions will demonstrate the hollowness of the Occupy movement’s claim that ‘we are the 99%’.

Experience shows that when the movement is everything, goals and objectives become negotiable – all sorts of stances and ideas can be adopted and then ditched. In such circumstances, moralisation and guilt-tripping become the main ways in which the Occupy movement’s protesting is expressed. Lakoff argues that ‘the Occupy Wall Street movement is moral in nature… [the] occupiers want the country to change its moral focus’. What is clearly being described here is a moralising crusade, whose main goal is to gain moral authority.

Moral crusades invariably adopt the language of good and evil, right and wrong, and black and white. That is why, despite their best intentions, the occupiers actually foster a climate of moral illiteracy, where platitudes and banalities increasingly come to the fore in public and political life.

One of the difficult challenges facing us today is how to resolve the conflicting claims of different sections of society, which are being differentially hit by the economic crisis. Choices need to be made about the future course of society, and in order for that to happen there needs to be a clash of views about the best way forward. The clarification of competing interests is the precondition for serious political debate. Such a debate would show that society is divided and that often what benefits some goes against the interests of others. Honesty about competing choices is the precondition for gaining an understanding of what it is that can bind us together. Unless we are faced with a horde of invading armies, we’ll never have a situation where 99% are bound together.

The claim ‘we are the 99%’ really represents the renunciation of politics and an embrace of cheap moralising. And what is even more disturbing than the protesters’ claim to represent 99% of people is the credibility given to it by the media. The cover of Time magazine (24 October 2011), with its headline ‘The Return of the Silent Majority’, echoes the occupiers’ fantasies. Others also depict the protesters as if they were the twenty-first-century equivalent of disinterested holy mendicants. That so many otherwise sensible observers are prepared to make concessions to the ‘idealism’ of these moral crusaders suggests that the occupiers themselves are not the only ones who are unwilling to face up to tough political questions.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Buy this book from Amazon(UK).) He will be speaking in the debate Has tolerance gone too far? at the Battle of Ideas festival on Sunday 30 October.

First published by spiked, 27 October 2011

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Über Toleranz: „Es wird Zeit, den Liberalismus zurückzuerobern“
Brendan O’Neill im Gespräch mit Frank Furedi.

Der Soziologe Frank Furedi ist in seiner Heimat Großbritannien dafür bekannt, mit Speeren auf heilige Kühe zu werfen. Nach zahlreichen Publikationen über gesellschaftliche Ängste und Risikowahrnehmung, Supernannies in der Erziehungsindustrie und die Verflachung des akademischen Lebens fordert er nun dazu auf, das aufklärerische Ideal der Toleranz, welches seiner Auffassung nach von einer politisch korrekten und wertaversen Eliten verzerrt worden ist, wieder auf die Füße zu stellen.

Brendan O’Neill traf sich mit Frank Furedi und fragte ihn, warum er denkt, dass Toleranz für die nächste Generation gerettet und neu definiert werden muss.

Brendan O’Neill: Waren Sie je versucht, die Idee der Toleranz abzuhaken, da sie inzwischen so degradiert ist, dass es kaum wieder gut zu machen ist? Sie schreiben in Ihrem Buch, dass Toleranz nicht mehr, wie etwa bei John Locke, kritisches Engagement, Urteil und Debatte ermöglichen soll, sondern zur Chiffre für die achselzuckende Verweigerung geworden ist, überhaupt Urteile zu fällen. Lässt sich dieses Ideal angesichts seiner Entstellung vielleicht gar nicht mehr retten?

Frank Furedi: Es ist auch mir durchaus aufgefallen, dass bestimmte wichtige Konzepte derart weitgehend entstellt worden sind, dass man sich fragt, ob man sie überhaupt noch bewahren kann. Und zu denen gehört Toleranz auf jeden Fall. Sieht man sich an, wie heute über Toleranz national und international gesprochen wird, erkennt man rasch, dass dieser Begriff eine geradezu groteske Verstümmelung erfahren hat: Er hat eben diese Bedeutung einer nicht werten wollenden Gleichgültigkeit. Toleranz ist heute mit all diesen Kategorien verbunden: Inklusivität, Sensibilität und der Annahme, dass es falsch ist zu hinterfragen, zu kritisieren und, vor allem, zu werten.

Ich bin dennoch überzeugt, dass es wichtig ist, Toleranz zu verteidigen. Das liegt daran, dass man einige der wirklich wichtigen Ideale des progressiven Liberalismus des 19. Jahrhunderts nicht einfordern kann, wenn man nicht auch die Idee der Toleranz verteidigt. Ohne Toleranz lässt sich kein Raum schaffen, in dem echte Diskussionen stattfinden können, in dem kritisches Engagement Platz hat und wo Kontroversen bis zum bitteren Ende ausgefochten werden können. Für mich wurde klar, dass Toleranz eine viel zu bedeutende Idee ist, um ihre derzeitige degradierte und restriktive Umdeutung unangefochten hinzunehmen. Sie ist außerdem eine wunderbare Idee! Es ist wichtig, dass die neue Generation, die ihren Weg in die Welt geht, versteht, dass Toleranz nicht nur eine schale, bürokratische Formel ist, nach dem Motto „Treffe bloß keine Werturteile“, sondern etwas sehr Kreatives.

Brendan O’Neill: Wenn also Toleranz nicht bedeutet, Kritik an anderen zu vermeiden, was ist sie dann? Wie würden Sie das Konzept der Toleranz beschreiben, das von aufklärerischen Denkern propagiert wurde?

Frank Furedi: Toleranz ist unentbehrlich für den Austausch gegensätzlicher Standpunkte und Lebensauffassungen in einer offenen Gesellschaft. Die Kategorie der Toleranz schafft die Bedingungen für die freie Äußerung von Meinungen und für die freie Bestimmung persönlicher Verhaltensweisen entsprechend dem Gewissen und der Überzeugung des Einzelnen. Sie ist eine Tugend, weil sie die Gewissensfreiheit und individuelle Autonomie kultiviert. Tolerant ist eine Gesellschaft, die das Recht der Menschen anerkennt, in Einklang mit ihren Überzeugungen zu handeln – solange sie dadurch andere nicht beeinträchtigen.
Eine Tugend ist Toleranz darüber hinaus, weil sie es der Gesellschaft gestattet, offen mit moralischer Unsicherheit umzugehen. Statt Diskussionen aus verzweifeltem Verlagen nach Gewissheit zu beenden, akzeptiert das Ideal der Toleranz Ungewissheit und betrachtet sie nicht als Gefahr, sondern als Möglichkeit, größere Gewissheit durch die Entwicklung von Wissen zu erlangen.

Brendan O’Neill: Wenn man sagt, dass Toleranz es Menschen ermöglicht, Kontroversen bis zum „bitteren Ende“ auszufechten, wirkt das heute für viele sicherlich schockierend, für die Toleranz bedeutet, Kontroversen zu meiden, erst recht bittere, und mit Toleranz stattdessen ein Klima der Ruhe und Sicherheit verbinden. Sind Sie sicher, dass Toleranz rauflustige öffentliche Kontroversen fördern kann und sollte?

Frank Furedi: Die Kategorie der Toleranz entstand, eben weil es zu jener Zeit eine Menge bitterer Kontroversen gab. Toleranz bot die Möglichkeit sicherzustellen, dass bittere Kontroversen nicht zu Gewalt oder physischen Strafen führen. Es gehört zum Wesen einer zivilisierten Gesellschaft, dass Menschen die Freiheit haben müssen, ihre Gedanken zu äußern und, soweit es ohne Beeinträchtigung anderer möglich ist, auch ihnen entsprechend zu handeln – auch wenn andere diese Gedanken nicht teilen. In diesem Sinne ist Toleranz immer verbunden mit starken Überzeugungen und dem Fällen von Urteilen. Gerade die Unterdrückung offener und heftiger Debatten erzeugt Verbitterung und Spannungen, da man sich Schweigen auferlegt, statt engagiert für die eigene Ansicht einzutreten.

Brendan O’Neill: Heute heißt es, man soll so gut wie allem gegenüber tolerant sein – mit Ausnahme der Intoleranz. Wir können alle Ansichten und Haltungen tolerieren, aber keine, die selber intolerant ist, also etwa Homosexuellen- oder Ausländerfeindlichkeit. Ist das nicht ein tiefer Widerspruch in sich?

Frank Furedi: Das ist eine wichtige Frage. Wenn ich zum Thema Toleranz spreche, werde ich als erstes meistens gefragt: Ja, sollen wir denn auch intolerante Leute tolerieren? Im Grunde genommen ist das nur eine andere Art, zu sagen: Dürfen wir Ansichten tolerieren, die wir völlig ablehnen? Ich denke, es ist sehr interessant, dass viele Menschen, einschließlich solche, die sich als Liberale bezeichnen, heute bedeutend mehr Zeit damit zubringen, Toleranz beschränken zu wollen, statt sie zu erweitern. Sie stecken bedeutend mehr Energie in die Begrenzung der Redefreiheit und die Formulierung von Ausnahmefällen, in denen sie nicht gelten soll, als in ihre Aufrechterhaltung. „Intoleranz“ zum Schweigen bringen zu wollen, ist nur eine andere Form, Ansichten gegenüber intolerant zu sein, die man nicht mag.

Brendan O’Neill: Viele, die sich heute als Hüter der Aufklärung verstehen, glauben, dass die Werte der Aufklärung von bestimmten Kräften bedroht werden, etwa von radikalen Islamisten. Man argumentiert also im Endeffekt, dass man weniger tolerant gegenüber unaufgeklärten Außenseitern sein muss, um die Aufklärung zu schützen. Das ist ein seltsamer Widerspruch.

Frank Furedi: In der Tat. Die Tradition der Aufklärung wird heute oft in einer abwehrenden Weise reklamiert, um nahezulegen, dass bestimmte Ideen oder Gruppen, die als die Aufklärung bedrohend wahrgenommen werden, nicht toleriert werden sollen. Dass Toleranz so missverstanden wird, ist bedauerlich. Manche Menschen sagen, wir können zu viele Immigranten nicht tolerieren. Dabei lässt Toleranz als Konzept sich in keinem Fall auf Gruppen anwenden! Toleranz bezieht sich auf den Glauben, die Ansichten und die Überzeugungen von Menschen. Eine Gruppe zu tolerieren oder nicht zu tolerieren ist irrational. Toleranz üben wir gegenüber den Ansichten von Menschen, nicht gegenüber dem, was sie sind. Wie kann ich mich mit Franzosen oder Libanesen in Widerspruch befinden? Das beschreibt doch nur, wer sie sind.

Brendan O’Neill: Aber haben diese Verteidiger der heutigen intoleranten Toleranz, wenn man das einmal so nennen mag, nicht recht, wenn sie argumentieren, dass die Nachsicht der Gesellschaft gegenüber den Einstellungen bestimmter Einwanderergruppen problematisch ist? Wenn sie sagen, dass es eine Sache ist, andere Auffassungen beispielsweise über die Rolle der Frau zu tolerieren, aber eine ziemlich andere, ihnen zu schmeicheln oder sie zu hofieren?

Frank Furedi: Leute, die so argumentieren, haben in einer wichtigen Hinsicht recht. Es gibt heutzutage ein Unvermögen, Werte zu beurteilen und zwischen ihnen zu unterscheiden. Es gibt auch einen Widerwillen, moralische Aussagen darüber zu treffen, was richtig ist und was falsch. Der Punkt ist aber: Wenn man nichts bewertet, toleriert man aber auch nicht wirklich – man akzeptiert die Dinge einfach so, wie sie sind – passiv. Das Problem, das wir heute haben, ist nicht die Zahl der Menschen, die aus verschiedenen Kulturen kommen, um hier in Großbritannien oder Europa zu leben – das Problem ist, dass wir nicht in der Lage sind, Werturteile darüber zu fällen, welche Art zu leben wir für unsere Gesellschaft als erstrebenswert betrachten.

Brendan O’Neill: Sie wollen die Werte des klassischen Liberalismus verteidigen und klarstellen. Angesichts Ihres Hintergrunds in eher revolutionärer linker Politik könnte das manche Leser überraschen. Ist das kein Widerspruch?

Frank Furedi: Radikale Ideen haben ihre Wurzeln in der Tradition der Rationalität und Aufklärung. Diese Tradition wurde oft am deutlichsten von bedeutenden liberalen Denkern zum Ausdruck gebracht, von John Locke bis John Stuart Mill. Natürlich waren diese Denker in mancher Hinsicht begrenzt, und ich stimme nicht mit allem überein, was sie zum Ausdruck brachten. Wenn aber sehr grundlegende Ideale der Aufklärung marginalisiert werden, landet man bei einem Radikalismus, der bloß noch rhetorisch und entleert ist und der nur unkritische Kritik an allem liefert, was so vor sich geht. Wirklicher Radikalismus entwickelte sich aus der liberalen Tradition. Deshalb denke ich, dass es heute entscheidend ist, dem Liberalismus wieder Bedeutung zu verleihen, seine positiven Dimensionen zurückzuerobern.

Brendan O’Neill: Würden Sie sich also selbst als liberal beschreiben? Und wenn ja, wie würden sie sich von unliberalen Liberalen abgrenzen?

Frank Furedi: Das Problem heute ist, dass Liberalismus in ein fades Mainstream-Linkssein umgedeutet worden ist, das während der letzten 20 oder 30 Jahre mit Identitätspolitik, Lebensstilsteuerung, politisch korrekten Regularien angereichert wurde. Die Verwirrung über diese Kategorien ist enorm. Den Liberalismus reklamieren, bedeutet heute zu sagen, man ist Anti-Traditionalist und Anti-Konservativer, doch ohne die zukunftsorientierten Elemente des klassischen Liberalismus. Sowohl jene, die sich als Liberale bezeichnen, als auch die, die den Liberalismus angreifen, diskutieren folglich über etwas, was mit dem klassischen Liberalismus kaum zu tun hat.

Was ich bin – ich bin nicht wirklich sicher. Aber ich würde sagen, dass ein Liberaler zu sein ein recht wichtiger Teil von dem ist, was ich bin. Es ist ein wesentlicher Teil der radikalen humanistischen Politik, für die ich stehe.

Brendan O’Neill: Wenn überhaupt, unter welchen Umständen würden Sie die Beschränkung von Glaubensäußerungen von Menschen akzeptieren? Zum Beispiel hat man in Frankreich muslimische Straßengebete untersagt. Wenn die Öffentlichkeit eine solche Maßnahme unterstützt, ist sie dann gerechtfertigt?

Frank Furedi: Wie ich in meinem Buch argumentiere, ist es nicht legitim, religiöse Ansichten oder Praktiken aus religiösen Gründen zu verbieten. Das heißt, man sollte nie das öffentliche Absingen von Gebeten aus religiösen oder weltanschaulichen Gründen verbieten. Es gibt aber ein Argument, das verwendet werden kann, wenn zum Beispiel eine bestimmte Stadt eine Verordnung gegen Lärmbelästigung hat, dann kann sie im Prinzip den Bau eines Minaretts in einer bestimmten Nachbarschaft untersagen oder Sprechchöre verhindern. Oder wenn es auf einer Straße gewisse Verkehrseinschränkungen gibt, kann es legitim sein, religiöse Prozessionen zu verbieten, die den Verkehrsfluss beeinträchtigen. Der Punkt ist, dass die Einschränkung möglicherweise legitim sein kann, wenn sie sich nicht auf die Ansichten und Ideen bezieht und genauso für Nichtmuslime greifen würde, die auf der Straße singen.

Brendan O’Neill: Was sind die Gefahren der heutigen Kultur der Vermeidung von Werturteilen? Es scheint mir so, dass sie eine neue Generation prägen könnte, die nicht nur individualisiert ist, sondern auch ziemlich arrogant und immer schockiert, wenn jemand sie kritisiert oder es ablehnt, sie mit Lob und Anerkennung zu überschütten.

Frank Furedi: Das stimmt. Die Kultur der Nichtbewertung fördert die regressiven Tendenzen und den Infantilismus, die wir bei vielen jungen Leuten heute sehen. Sie ermutigt antisoziale Haltungen. Viele der heutigen Irritationen und Spannungen entspringen der Weigerung zur Bewertung. Was aber noch wichtiger ist: Die Kultur der Nichtbewertung zerstört die Möglichkeit eines konstruktiven öffentlichen Lebens. Weil die Kultur der Nichtbewertung, die uns als „Toleranz“ präsentiert wird, im Prinzip bedeutet, dass Gedanken nicht ernst genommen werden. Hier kleidet sich oberflächliche Gleichgültigkeit in die Sprache der Aufklärung. Was die Leute wirklich sagen, ist nicht nur: „Ich bin so sensibel, dass ich nicht über dich urteilen werde“, sondern auch „Ich will mir nicht die Mühe machen, dich zu bewerten“. Die zwei Dinge verschmelzen ineinander. Ich denke, die Kultur der Nichtbewertung ist in Wirklichkeit eine Form der moralischen Feigheit – wahrscheinlich die aktuell einflussreichste Form in der westlichen Gesellschaft. Und sie ist verantwortlich für die regressiven Tendenzen, die ich in meinem Buch diskutiere.

Besonders bemerkenswert ist, dass mit der Kultur der Wertaversion auch eine Verbotskultur einhergeht. Sie basiert nicht auf begründeten Urteilen, sondern auf der Vorstellung, dass bestimmte Dinge nicht gesagt und nicht getan werden können. Die Leute sollten also nicht eine Minute lang denken, dass die Nichtbewertung zu einer aufgeschlossenen, offenen Gesellschaft führt. Sie hat den gegenteiligen Effekt. Sie ermutigt versteinerte Geister, die nie wirklich über Dinge nachgedacht oder Dinge bewertet haben.

Brendan O’Neill: Dazu wollte ich Sie befragen. Es scheint mir so, dass überhaupt kein Widerspruch besteht zwischen dieser kraftlosen Kultur der Nichtbewertung und einem beengenden Klima, in dem bestimmte Dinge nicht gesagt oder getan werden dürfen. Denn wenn sich zu engagieren und Dinge zu bewerten als unangebracht gilt, wird man subtil zum Schweigen gebracht.

Frank Furedi: Genau. Im Buch erzähle ich davon, dass die Idee der Null-Toleranz tatsächlich Null-Bewertung bedeutet. Null-Toleranz-Maßnahmen, ob sie nun gegen bestimmte Meinungsäußerungen, das Rauchen oder sonst etwas gerichtet sind, sind in der Tat eine sehr faule Art, das Vornehmen von Bewertungen zu vermeiden. Es ist immer einfacher, Ja oder Nein zu sagen – oder in diesem Fall nur Nein – als auszuarbeiten, was in einer bestimmten Lage richtig sein könnte. Man kann alle zum Schweigen bringen oder das Verhalten von allen einschränken, um über die Dinge nicht ein wenig detaillierter nachdenken zu müssen. Deshalb gibt es neben der wertaversen Toleranz diese heimtückische bürokratische Kultur der Null-Toleranz. Es gibt interessanterweise einen sehr mächtigen Impuls in Richtung Verbotssucht, der von Leuten zum Ausdruck gebracht wird, die völlig der Kultur der Nichtbewertung verhaftet sind.

Man kann das an der Art sehen, in der Medikalisierung und Szientismus heutzutage funktionieren. Man kann auf Grundlage medizinischer oder ökologischer Kategorien das Verhalten der Menschen steuern – in Bezug auf alles, vom Klimawandel bis zur Kindererziehung und Abtreibung –, während man gleichzeitig vermeidet, für diese Reglementierung in normativer, moralischer Hinsicht verantwortlich sein zu müssen. Man handelt so, weil „die Wissenschaft es sagt“.

Brendan O’Neill: Das bedeutet also, dass Ihr Plan, das Ideal der Toleranz zu retten, sogar eine größere Aufgabe ist als ich dachte! Denn es sieht so aus, als sei Toleranz vollständig auf den Kopf gestellt worden. Die Toleranz selbst, also die Kultur der Nichtbewertung, fördert eine Kultur, die restriktiv und regulierend ist – in Hinblick auf unsere Köpfe und unser Verhalten.

Frank Furedi: Allerdings. Eines der auffälligsten Phänomene der letzten Jahre ist die Art, in der Regierungen sich von der Repräsentation der Ambitionen der Menschen weg und darauf verlagert haben, den Menschen zu sagen, was ihre Ambitionen sein sollten. Besonders am Gedanken des „Schubsens“ (nudge), wo die Bürokratie versucht, uns in Richtung des richtigen Lebensstils und richtigen Denkens zu schubsen, können wir eine komplette Umkehrung des Ideals der bürgerlichen Demokratie sehen – die Regierungen formen sich nicht mehr nach unseren Wünschen, sondern versuchen stattdessen, uns nach ihrem Geschmack neu zu formen. Und sie sagen immer, dass sie uns nicht beurteilen, sondern uns nur helfen.

First published by Novo Argumente, 26 October 2011

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Minding our language breeds cynicism and cultural dishonesty
One of the most disturbing developments in the cultural life of the West is the casual acceptance of the policing of language.

These days people who should know better - even artists and academics - devote far more energy towards justifying measures that limit free speech than advocating its expansion. Sometimes one can even pick up a sneering sense of contempt towards those who seek to counter the policing of speech.

Just listen to the tone in which Greg Barnes, a barrister and president of the Australian Lawyers Alliance, dismisses the claim that the Federal Court’s ruling against Andrew Bolt represented a serious threat to the exercise of the right to free speech. “Has it not occurred to Bolt and those who are busy mouthing similar platitudes that freedom of speech is not an absolute right?” he asks.

The tendency to treat free speech as a platitude and to mock those who take this right seriously as puerile is symptomatic of a fundamental shift in the conceptualisation of the relationship between freedom and the state.

In previous times the liberal and radical advocates of freedom regarded the state regulation of speech as a threat to democratic life. Today, far too many people look to the state for protection from too much free speech.

Therefore the original impetus behind the emergence of the cause of free speech - fear of the power of the state to censor and persecute people for their beliefs and words - is implicitly dismissed as a historical footnote.

From this perspective, mistrust of people with strong views stands in sharp contrast with a naive trust in the regulation of speech by the state.

Aside from its implication for democracy, the policing of language is a hugely important issue for the way we lead our lives. The experience of history demonstrates that language does not simply mirror the everyday reality that it describes; to some extent it also constructs it.

So the words people use express and also shape their reality. That is why the words and claims that can be stated and the ones that cannot be voiced really matter. The silencing of words, beliefs and attitudes through policing language can directly and indirectly shape attitudes and have a profound impact on the conduct of public life. Communities under pressure to mind their language quickly adapt and learn to mask their views and opinions. Invariably it breeds cynicism and cultural dishonesty.

The weak cultural valuation of the freedom of speech has meant that during the past quarter-century the gradual institutionalisation of censorship - formal and informal - rarely has been challenged. Sadly, the one institution where linguistic policing has become most entrenched is in universities. Historically, institutions of higher education were in the forefront of upholding academic freedom and freedom of speech. Today, communication on campuses is filtered through an elaborate system of speech codes and censorship. The Inclusive Language Guideline of the University of Newcastle reads like a medieval censor’s manual. After correctly explaining that “language both reflects and shapes social reality”, the manual lays down the law about just what kind of reality it wants to impose on its staff and students. It provides a list of terms to be avoided and offers permission for ones that can be used. Most of the suggestions are harmless or inane. For example “manning the office” is out; “staffing the office” is in. It helpfully reminds us that it is more polite to reverse old stereotypical terms “Sir and Madam” with new ones “Madam and Sir”.

If you read the Some Useful Tips section of the University of Western Australia guidelines, you will discover there really are a lot of words to avoid. With a hint of self-caricature, the reader is informed that words such as crazy and mental are on the avoid list. So is loopy! Other universities demonstrate considerable ingenuity in inventing new terms to replace inappropriate ones. My favourite suggestion is that pioneering fathers be replaced with the more inclusive, and very snappy, pioneering forebears.

Upon inspecting these codes, my first reaction is to ask, “Where did these people get their BA in banality from?” But of course the policing of speech is not an innocent pastime motivated by the impulse to improve the quality of discussion. Although these lists of words are presented in the form of advice, they are underwritten by a code of practice that is not just prescriptive but coercive.

What’s even more disquieting than campus speech codes is the acquiescence of staff and students to them. Yet the university ought to be an environment hospitable to the pursuit of free and open debate, where it is assumed that people have the intellectual resources and maturity to deal with any idea or words thrown at them.

Instead the academy has become linguistically infantilised. Students and staff are treated like infants with the warning “Mind your language”. Once self-censorship has become a habit, the addiction to it becomes difficult to break. Is it any surprise that some academics spend more time arguing for limiting free speech than extending it? It is worth noting this is the environment that shapes the linguistic universe and imagination of the legal professionals of the future, including judges and legal scholars.

Tragically, even law faculties have become influenced, if not dominated, by the illiberal trend towards the exercise of the right to the freedom of speech. It was refreshing to read a robust defence of this freedom a few weeks ago by Bill Rowlings, chief executive of Civil Liberties Australia. Despite his disagreement with Bolt, he stated that what was needed was more, and not less, free speech. Hopefully such an eloquent call for tolerance can inspire others to take the right to voice an opinion more seriously.

However, the challenge of upholding freedom of speech is principally a cultural and not a legal accomplishment. Open-minded, tolerant and genuinely liberal people should set an example by not minding their words and challenging the regulation of speech in all its forms.

First published by The Australian, 22 October 2011

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Science, politics make bad bedfellows
One of the defining questions confronting public life is the relationship between science and government policy.

Behind virtually every important political issue is a demand made by a scientist “that something must be done”. Policy on reducing obesity, cutting down or increasing immigration, guiding the development of young children, introducing carbon tax - to name a few - all insist that it is “evidence based” and guided by sound science.

With virtually every policy claiming to be based on evidence provided by research it is not surprising that it has become increasingly difficult to delineate the line dividing science from politics.

That is why it is good that Australian astrophysicist Brian Schmidt, recent winner of the Nobel Prize, has drawn attention to the importance of maintaining a clear distinction between the sphere of science and of politics.

He stated that “the science is the science” and “policy is policy”. Schmidt correctly argued that “science should inform policy”. He also criticised politicians who bicker and argue about science instead of focusing on policy outcomes. He was right to assert that it is not the job of politicians to second guess the work of scientists. There are numerous examples of the political manipulation of scientific findings. For example, former American president George Bush sought to prevent important stem-cell research on essentially dogmatic grounds.

However, political interference in science is only one side of the equation. The other, equally pernicious, problem is the use of science to displace political decision making. Whether we like it or not we have gone beyond the age where science and policy exist in a separate world. Scientific research is often policy-led. Most research carried out in universities is funded by government and often needs to take account of its policy priorities. Consequently science too often becomes subject to political influences and commercial pressures. In turn, scientists often use their research to promote their pet causes. They step outside of their laboratory and use their status to influence public life and demand that “something must be done” about problems they have uncovered.

All too often the distinction between science informing policy and science directing it becomes blurred. For their part, policymakers are often willing accomplices to allowing science to acquire such a prominent role. Politicians find it easier to hide behind science and justify their claim by stating “evidence shows” than to engage in the difficult business of convincing the electorate that their policy is right!

The principal motive for embracing evidence-led politics is because science has become a ubiquitous source of authority. Scientific authority has more or less replaced religious, moral and ideological sources of validation. In the 21st century, the only other source of authority available for decision-making is the support of the people. Popular consent represents a powerful source of legitimacy for governments, but experience indicates that winning public support is more complicated than claiming the validation of research. That is why so many policies promoted by governments, for example health promotion, emanate from the work of advocacy science rather than the popular will.

Whenever science acquires the role of directly authorising policy it tends to encourage paternalistic political management. It fosters a climate that is inhospitable to democratic accountability through assigning the power of agenda setting and decision-making to the experts at the expense of the citizen. Claiming a privileged access to the scientific truth, paternalistic policymakers often criticise people for not acting rationally and for failing to make healthy choices. That is why increasingly the refrain “research shows” or “science says” sounds suspiciously like a statement driven by a moralising imperative.

This inappropriate extension of science into the domain of morality is strikingly evident when policymakers intrude into people’s private life. So parents are advised to adopt this or that child-rearing technique on the grounds that “the research” has shown what is best for kids. Scientific studies are frequently used to instruct people on how to conduct their relationships and family life, and on what food they should eat, how much alcohol they should drink, how frequently they can expose their skin to the sun, and even how they should have sex. Virtually every aspect of human life is discussed in scientific terms, and justified with reference to a piece of research or by appealing to the judgment of experts.

Yet the findings of research cannot be converted directly into democratically accountable policy. The current tendency to treat the findings of research as the truth violates the very meaning of scientific thinking. Research provides information that needs to be scrutinised and evaluated. However, it is not evident what a scientific discovery means for society. A scientific fact does not indicate its significance for the community. Scientists have every right to interpret the facts and to offer advice about what they think should be done. Although such advice is useful and important, it is up to policymakers to decide how to use it. Science should have no privileged role in evaluating its significance for society. Moreover, when it comes to interpreting such information the public also has a decisive role to play. The final decisions should be decided by the public and their political leaders through weighing up the significance of scientific advice in light of wider social, economic and cultural concerns.

Whatever was the case in the past, it is no longer possible to separate science from politics. As a result both science and public life are the worse for it. Good science depends on the disinterested pursuit of the truth. It needs to be open-ended and experimentative. Imposing a political agenda on it can only have a corrupting influence on the science.

In turn, its politicisation diminishes the quality of public life. Instead of treating people like adults who can deal with challenging issues, far too many technocratic policymakers simply lecture them to do what science says.

When a scientific fact is used as a substitute for the truth it becomes difficult to have a discussion about the norms and values that society needs to live by. Which is why we must not reduce public life to responding to the latest finding of research.

Frank Furedi will deliver the Centre for Independent Studies’ annual John Bonython Lecture at its gala dinner on Tuesday, November 15, on the subject of Leadership, Liberty and the Crisis of Authority. Details are available and bookings can be made here or by calling (02) 9438 4377.

First published by The Australian, 15 October 2011

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Can we tolerate intolerance?
Time and again interviewers ask me ‘can we tolerate intolerance’? Such questions continually signal the idea that tolerance is a freedom that can only be endowed to those who deserve it.

When people ask the rhetorical question ‘has tolerance gone too far’, what they are saying is that it can be rationed and made available only to those who share our moral universe. Through raising the idea that there can be ‘too much’ tolerance, this virtue is transformed into an indulgence that society can well do without. The association of tolerance with the negative connotation of indulgent behaviour is best captured by that very unattractive term ‘zero tolerance’. When a politician demands zero tolerance, what they are saying is that the slightest concession to being open minded about the issue in question is a marker of moral cowardice.

Zero tolerance and the banning of certain forms of speech through laws on hate speech and incitement of religious hatred has the merit of providing an administrative solution to a political problem. Even at the best of times, tolerance does not come naturally; it is not a sentiment that arises spontaneously in response to beliefs and lifestyles that conflict with our own. People find it difficult to resist the temptation of adopting a double standard and find some persuasive reason for not tolerating someone else’s right to communicate their obnoxious views. Today censorship, which expresses the refusal to tolerate the voicing of someone’s views, is often justified as a necessary measures for protecting individuals and groups from the harm of intolerance. The claim that intolerance is best countered with more intolerance communicates the feeble status that society assigns to real tolerance.

Paradoxically, calls for intolerance towards the intolerant coincide with a growing tendency to represent tolerant as a soft option: one which avoids real problems and threats. This was the meaning that prime minister David Cameron attached to it when, in a reference to Islamic terrorism, he stated that ‘frankly, we need a lot less of the passive tolerance of recent years and much more active, muscular liberalism’. But what is ‘passive tolerance’? Tolerance is anything but passive. Tolerance requires courage, conviction and a commitment to freedom – key characteristics of a confident and active public ethos. Tolerance upholds freedom of conscience and individual autonomy. It affirms the principle of non-interference in people’s inner lives, in their adherence to certain beliefs and opinions. And, so long as an act does not harm others or violate their moral autonomy, tolerance also demands no constraints on behaviour that is related to the exercise of individual autonomy.

One reason why Cameron can use the term ‘passive tolerance’ is because, in recent decades, tolerance has been redefined as a polite gesture of non-judgmentalism. In official documents and school texts, tolerance is used as a desirable character trait, rather than as a way of responding to beliefs and views with which one disagrees. Indeed, frequently school texts on tolerance virtually treat it as synonymous with non-judgmentalism. So, instead of serving as a way of responding to differences of views, tolerance has become a way of not taking them seriously.

When tolerance is represented as a form of detached indifference, or as a gesture connoting mechanical acceptance, it becomes a vice rather than a virtue. Tolerance necessarily involves an act of judgment. According to the classical liberal outlook, tolerance involved an act of judgment and discrimination; but judgment did not serve as a prelude to censoring another person’s wrong opinion, because tolerance demands respect for people’s right to hold beliefs in accordance with their conscience.

The capacity to tolerate views of which one disapproves in based on the conviction that this virtue provides an opportunity for testing out ideas and confronting ethical dilemmas. Interference with individual beliefs and opinions disrupts the creative dynamic of the intellectual and moral development of society. From this standpoint, tolerance of beliefs that we really hate is a very small price to pay for society’s intellectual and moral development.

One final point. Tolerance is a virtue because it takes people very seriously. It recognises that, without allowing people the freedom to err, society will find it difficult to find its way to the truth.

Throughout October and November, The Independent Online is partnering with the Institute of Ideas’ Battle of Ideas festival to present a series of guest blogs from festival speakers on the key questions of our time.

Frank Furedi is professor of Sociology at the University of Kent. His latest book ‘On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence’ is published by Continuum. He is speaking at the debate Has tolerance gone too far? on Sunday 30 October.

First published by Independent, 13 October 2011

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Too many wrongful claims to be on the right side of history
History not yet written has emerged as a source of legitimacy for a bewildering variety of claims and causes.

Last month Julia Gillard insisted the final test of public life was not whether you were “on the right side of the politics” but whether you were on “on the right side of history. And in my experience, the judgment of history has a way of speaking sooner than we expect.”

US President Barack Obama confidently declared this year: “History will end up recording that at every juncture in the situation in Egypt, that we were on the right side of history.”

British Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg says the countries that stood up to the old regimes during the Arab spring are “on the right side of history” while US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton thinks countries trading with Syria are on the wrong side and should “get on the right side”.

Suddenly history not yet written has emerged as a source of legitimacy for a bewildering variety of claims and causes.

Invoking the blessing of history is an implicit claim on a higher form of providential validation.

It is a way of saying: “You are not only opposing me but also the almighty figure of history, a sacred transcendental being who must be appeased.”

It represents a half-hearted, ineffective stab at a moral judgment.

When Gillard advises people to keep in step with the march of history on climate change, her words convey an implicit warning.

Those who get on the wrong side will face not only the judgment of the electorate but risk being trampled under history’s jackboot.

Recycling history as a cautionary tale is simply a tried and tested form of guilt-tripping. The prophecy is unlikely to be proven wrong, at least not in the short run, but the fear is raised that if we are not careful we could find ourselves in history’s dustbin.

History, however, does not work according to divine laws that can be second-guessed by soothsayers and oracles.

While it was understandable for the ancient Greeks to personify history through the muse Clio, it is a little disturbing to encounter 21st-century public figures assuming her mantle.

One of the most important achievements of the Western Enlightenment was to go beyond the superstitious notion that history works to a preordained plan or that it is a purposeful movement towards destiny.

The idea of history as Fate has been challenged since the 16th century by humanist thinkers who argued that the world changed in accordance with human action rather than a host of demi-gods that needed to be appeased, and contained no inner meaning that only the prophets could interpret.

It does not reward or punish those who disregard its message. History is what we make it.

Of course not everyone is comfortable with the idea that history is open-ended and its direction is uncertain. That is why some have opted to seek refuge in philosophies that seek to endow history with inner meaning and purpose.

Such views of history are often expressed through the ideology of historicism. The Oxford English Dictionary defines historicism as the “belief that historical change occurs in accordance with laws, so that the course of history may be predicted but cannot be altered by human will”.

Those who claim the authority of standing on the “right side of history” are in effect endorsing the historicist belief that the future is already foretold. During the past century historicism often dominated the world views of the dogmatist and the simpleton.

One of the most memorable example of this orientation was provided by Nikita Khrushchev, the former leader of the Soviet Union. In a self-consciously provocative speech delivered in November 1956, he noted “whether you like it or not, history is on our side”, before he threatened the Western world with the memorable phrase “we will bury you”.

Not for the first time a prediction of who would be on which side of history proved to be wildly misguided.

The problem with appealing to history is not only that it tends to be at best a rhetorical affectation rather than an argument. It is also a rhetorical tactic used to avoid discussion and the clarification of difficult issues. It is not possible to argue against a prophecy.

Moreover, the claim that an act or a policy enjoys the authority of history closes down discussion. Its practitioners are not only putting forward their own opinions, they are claiming to speak on behalf of an unquestionable higher authority that cannot be held to account by mere mortals.

If history has spoken and given its verdict on climate change or on the Arab spring, any opposition to it can be castigated as not only wrong but malevolent.

One final point worth noting. Until recent times most serious political figures were too embarrassed to use the phrase “on the right sight of history”. Through searching the Lexis-Nexis database, I found only one reference to this phrase during the 1970s. In September 1979, civil rights leader Jesse Jackson called on American businesses to stop trading with South Africa and “choose to be on the right side of history”.

During the next decade until September 1990, the database provides only 120 references. Compare that with the past 12 months, which provide 1375 claims speaking on behalf of the right side of history.

With so much energy invested in upholding the authority of history it is evident that what we are experiencing is a 21st-century variant of the old doctrine of fatalism. This elevation of Fate assigns human beings the unflattering role of deferring to forces beyond their control. Surely there is much more to the human experience than acting out a script casually scribbled down by Fate.

First published by The Australian, 8 October 2011

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Let’s stop kowtowing to the cult of transparency
The demand that every corner of officialdom be thrown open to public view has only made politics a more deceptive, less principled sphere.

Whenever a policymaker is at a loss for an answer, the demand for more transparency tends to trip off his or her tongue. So in Australia, the prime minister Julia Gillard promises reforms ‘driven by transparency, quality and choice’. The former prime minister, Kevin Rudd, says ‘transparency and competitive neutrality’ are essential. Meanwhile in the US, President Barack Obama says ‘transparency provides information for citizens about what their government is doing’. Transparency has become a political hurrah word.

However, this ‘transparency’ has nothing to do with genuine accountability. It actually short-circuits the process of deliberation that is needed in order to test out the ideas for which politicians and officials will be held to account. In a democratic society, public officials should be held to account for their actions and decisions, not for the manner in which they came to their conclusions.

These days, any official or politician exposed for attempting to exchange his private thoughts with colleagues ‘in confidence’ will be denounced. This is what happened in Britain recently when it was revealed that the office of Michael Gove, the Lib-Con coalition’s education secretary, went to great lengths to communicate through private email exchanges. This is now fairly common practice in many departments of the state, where officials go to great lengths to conceal their discussions from being exposed under Freedom of Information laws. Some policymakers in Britain’s Department of Education clearly decided that they would like to keep their private deliberations just that: private.

As with transparency, almost everyone claims to have tremendous enthusiasm for Freedom of Information laws, at least publicly. In private, however, these laws are experienced as an obstacle to be overcome. So former British prime minister Tony Blair wrote in his memoir that one of his biggest mistakes was to introduce the Freedom of Information Act. He said ‘it is a dangerous act’ because it made it very difficult for a government to debate the serious issues of the day ‘in confidence’. You ‘naive, foolish, irresponsible nincompoop’ is how he described his own role in the enactment of this legislation.

So why did the Blair government introduce what Blair now considers a dangerous act? For the same reason that every leading politician feels compelled to swear loyalty to the ritual of transparency. When public life is dominated by a mood of suspicion, the institutionalisation of transparency promises to leave little to the imagination.

The advocates of total openness claim that transparency empowers all citizens, since it allows them to hold their governments to account for their actions. They also claim that a regime of full disclosure is the precondition for overcoming public mistrust. So one Twitter-based pro-transparency campaign group claims that it ‘is bringing more transparency to [the] government by tracking ministers of parliament on Twitter and persuading all MPs to tweet’.

Yet experience shows that transparency has turned into a ritual of hypocrisy. Moreover, the institutionalisation of transparency encourages dishonesty and deception, which in turn fuels even more confusion and suspicion. ‘Text me and don’t use the email’ is what many officials tell colleagues who want to have an off-the-record chat.

One acquaintance of mine, who runs a large public-sector organisation, boasts that he writes the minutes of the discussion before the meeting and takes great care to ensure that nothing which might later be ‘misinterpreted’ gets recorded. Like all sensible people, he understands that virtually any innocent remark or proposal can be interpreted as a statement of malevolent intent when taken out of context. A half-baked idea raised by a junior official in passing can appear as evidence of the ‘real agenda’ when circulated by bloggers or in a newspaper column.

The imperative of transparency forces people to be always on guard. It often leads people to avoid giving an honest opinion. These days, people write letters of reference with an eye to possible legal consequences. Such letters of reference often avoid critical remarks and rely on vague euphemisms to communicate the idea that the person under discussion may not quite be an Einstein. That is because letters, like internal memoranda, can now be made available to the public through Freedom of Information laws, and consequently a new regime of self-censorship prevails. Is it any surprise that academics don’t take too seriously the letters that they send to each other and sometimes phone each other to find out their ‘real opinion’?

The ethos of transparency encourages a climate of organisational caution and conformity. It discourages the clash of opinions and diminishes the potential for the open clarification of problems. That is because people are unlikely to take risks and disclose their real concerns when they know they are effectively doing so in front of the whole world. In such an environment, people have little incentive to acknowledge mistakes, and typically we see the emergence of regimes of responsibility-aversion. It is difficult for individuals to throw out ideas or express unconventional views when they court being ridiculed or stigmatised by their public critics, who have no stake in the outcome of their deliberations.

The chief accomplishment of the cult of transparency is to eliminate informal exchanges of views and to abolish the exchange of confidences. And without the exchange of confidences, it is not possible for people to have real confidence in their colleagues and in the organisations that employ them. The present confusion between accountability for decisions and accountability for institutional behaviour is symptomatic of a political culture of voyeurism, which thrives on leaks and gossip. A democratic society should understand that it is important to uphold the right to the private exchange of views and that not everything officials do ought to be visible to all.

Back in 1946, George Orwell reminded us that in his time ‘political speech and writing [were] largely the defence of the indefensible’. It was words such as transparency that he had in mind, when he said that ‘if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought’. When politicians who, in their heart of hearts, understand the perils of transparency still insist on performing its rituals, the corruption of thought is clearly no less a problem in 2011 than it was in Orwell’s time. And by the way, tweeting MPs do not strike a blow for democracy – they are merely evidence that our politicians have too much time on their hands.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Buy this book from Amazon(UK).) A version of this article was originally published in the Australian on 1 October.

First published by spiked, 5 October 2011

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Clear and present danger in the vainglorious pursuit of freedom, justice and transparency
Whenever a policy-maker is at a loss for an answer, the demand for more transparency trips off the tongue.

Julia Gillard promises reforms “driven by transparency, quality and choice”. Kevin Rudd says “transparency and competitive neutrality” are essential, and Barack Obama says “transparency provides information for citizens about what their government is doing”. Transparency has become a political hurrah word.

Transparency has nothing to do with genuine accountability. It actually short-circuits the process of deliberation required to test out the ideas for which politicians and officials will be held to account.

In a democratic society, public officials should be held to account for their actions and decisions, and not for the manner in which they came to their conclusions.

Any official or politician exposed for attempting to exchange his private thoughts with colleagues “in confidence” will be denounced. This is what happened recently when it was revealed the office of Michael Gove, the British Education Secretary, went to great lengths to communicate through private email exchanges.

As is common practice in many departments of the state, officials go to great lengths to conceal their discussions from discovery under Freedom of Information laws. Presumably some policy-makers in Britain’s Education Department took the view that they would like to keep their private deliberations just that, private.

As with transparency, almost everyone declares tremendous enthusiasm for Freedom of Information laws, at least in public. In private it is experienced as an obstacle to be overcome.

Former prime minister Tony Blair wrote in his memoir that one of his biggest mistakes was to introduce the Freedom of Information Act in parliament. He stated that “it is a dangerous act” because it made it very difficult for a government to debate the serious issues of the day in confidence”. You “naive, foolish, irresponsible nincompoop” is how he described his own role in the enactment of this legislation.

So why did the Blair government introduce what he now perceives as a dangerous act? For the same reason every leading politician feels compelled to swear loyalty to the ritual of transparency. When public life is dominated by a mood of suspicion, the institutionalisation of transparency promises to leave little to the imagination.

The advocates of total openness claim transparency empowers all citizens, for it allows them to hold their government to account for all of its actions. They also suggest that a regime of full disclosure is the precondition for overcoming public mistrust.

This is supposedly what the website tweetMP-Transparency in Australian Government means when it declares that it “is bringing more transparency to Australian government by tracking ministers of parliament on Twitter and persuading all MPs to tweet”.

Experience shows that transparency has turned into a ritual of hypocrisy. Moreover, in all of its forms the institutionalisation of transparency encourages dishonesty and deception, which in turn fuels even more confusion and suspicion. “Text me and don’t use the email” is what many officials tell colleagues who want to have an off-the-record chat.

One acquaintance, who runs a large public sector organisation, boasts that he writes the minutes of the discussion before the meeting and takes great care to ensure that nothing that can be “misinterpreted” is recorded.

Like any sensible individual, he understands that virtually any innocent remark or proposal can be interpreted as a statement of malevolent intent when taken out of context. A half-baked idea raised by a junior official in passing can appear as evidence of the “real agenda” when circulated by bloggers or in a newspaper column.

The imperative of transparency forces people to be always on guard. It often leads people to avoid giving an honest opinion.

These days people write letters of reference with an eye to possible legal consequences. Such letters of reference often avoid critical remarks and rely on vague euphemisms to communicate the idea that the person under discussion may not be an Einstein.

Letters, like internal memoranda, can now be made available to the public and consequently a new regime of self-censorship prevails. Is it any surprise that academics don’t take too seriously the letters that they send to each other and sometimes phone each other to find out their “real opinion”?

The ethos of transparency encourages a climate of organisational caution and conformity. It discourages the clash of opinions and diminishes the potential for the open clarification of problems.

People are unlikely to take risks and disclose their real concerns in front of whole world. In such an environment, people have little incentive to acknowledge mistakes, and typically a regime of responsibility aversion prevails.

It is difficult for individuals to throw out ideas or to express unconventional views since they court being ridiculed or stigmatised by their public critics, who have no stake in the outcome of their deliberations.

The main accomplishment of the cult of transparency is to eliminate informal exchanges of views and particularly to abolish the exchange of confidences. And without the exchanges of confidences it is not possible for people to have real confidence in their colleagues and in the organisations that employ them.

The present confusion of accountability for decisions with accountability for institutional behaviour is symptomatic of a political culture of voyeurism that thrives on leaks and gossip. A democratic society also understands that it is important to uphold the right to the private exchange of views and that not everything officials do ought to be visible to all.

Back in 1946, George Orwell reminded us that in his time “political speech and writing are largely the defence of the indefensible”. It was words such as transparency that he had in mind, when he added that “if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought”.

When politicians, who in their heart of hearts understand the perils of transparency, still insist on performing its rituals, the corruption of thought becomes no less a problem in 2011 than in Orwell’s time.

And by the way, a tweeting MP is not striking a blow for democracy. They are merely someone with a lot of spare time.

First published by The Australian, 1 October 2011

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Still masters of our destiny despite the appliance of neuroscience
In a world where crisis has become a far too overused term it is tempting to draw the conclusion that humanity has lost its capacity to influence its destiny.

Warnings of a financial meltdown, cataclysmic climate change, antibiotic-resistant superbugs and catastrophic super-terrorists all communicate the idea that the magnitude of the threats facing humanity calls into question its survival.

In such circumstances the cultural zeitgeist is hospitable to ideas that stress the powerlessness of human beings to control their fate. Indeed, not since the Renaissance has the conviction that human beings lack the capacity for self-determination enjoyed such a powerful resonance as today.

For thousands of years humanity’s capacity to influence its destiny has been a subject of philosophical and scientific debate. When the Romans coined the phrase “fortune favours the brave”, they expressed a powerful belief in people’s potential to exercise their will and shape their future. With the ascendancy of the Enlightenment and the commanding influence of science and knowledge, belief in the creative and transformative potential of humanity flourished. When US president Franklin Roosevelt stated in 1939, “Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds”, he echoed the belief that people possessed the power to make their own way in the world.

Compared with the dark days of 1939, Western culture’s representation of humanity is distinctively unflattering. Virtually every domain of culture is devoted to drawing attention to human powerlessness and vulnerability. One of the most disturbing developments is the tendency to divest people of the capacity to make conscious decisions about their life. Indeed, the idea that human beings act on the basis of reflection and weighing up alternatives has given way to the dogma that people are the product of their genes and biological make-up. These days virtually every personality trait is represented as a consequence of how their brain works.

Increasingly, even people’s beliefs and opinions are represented as expressions of their genetic dispositions. So scientists from the University of California and Harvard have published research that claims to have discovered a “liberal gene” that opens people to new ideas and alternative lifestyles. From this perspective, liberalism, tolerance and a disposition to new ideas is not so much acquired through the exercise of individual judgment than a consequence of a transmitter in the brain called DRD4.

In the hands of some of its zealous promoters, the fascinating field of neuroscience has been transformed into a dogma of neuro-determinism. From the standpoint of neuro-determinism many of our characteristics, attributes and beliefs are not so much the product of conscious reflection but of the peculiar make-up and structure of our brains.

It has been suggested that liberals and conservatives are the product of a difference in their neuroanatomy. According to research carried out by scientists at the University College London, liberals possess more grey matter volume in the anterior cingulate cortex; part of the brain that is linked with comprehending complexity. In contrast, conservatives have more grey matter in the right amygdala, the part of brain that is associated with processing fear.

One inference that will be made from this study is that it is their natural sensitivity to complexity that disposes people to become liberals while the conservative convictions of individuals are influenced by their one-sided proclivity to fear. Outwardly this naturalisation of political belief can be interpreted as merely flattering liberals for their sensitivity to complex issues and devaluing conservatives for their addiction to fear. But actually the neuro-determinist agenda has a more disturbing message, which is that our beliefs and actions are not the outcome of conscious decision-making and reflection but of our neuroanatomy.

From the standpoint of neuro-determinism, actions are decided by our brain prior to our conscious thought. In one experiment, neuroscientists claimed that through watching the pattern of brain activity of their subjects through magnetic resonance imaging, they could predict when an individual would decide to push a button, seven seconds before the act. In other words, a long time before an individual was aware of making a choice, the brain had already decided on a course of action.

From this interesting experiment, neuro-determinists can conclude that since our decision to act is biologically driven, the status assigned to reasoning should be downgraded. The disassociation of thought and reasoning from beliefs and values helps foster a climate where what we think and believe is robbed of moral content.

Neuro-determinism reinforces a growing tendency to interpret an individual’s intelligence, attitude and disposition as not so much an outcome of self-reflection, education or intellectual development but the result of a variety of innate characteristics. In education, the fashionable theory of multiple intelligences is based on the fatalistic assumption that children possess a pre-programmed blend of different intelligences that dispose them to learn in different ways. Indeed moral reasoning itself is depicted as a function that can be explained through the working of the brain. Philosopher Paul Thagard has offered an explanation of the meaning of life through drawing on research from neuroscience rather than on moral and culturally informed beliefs.

It is important to comprehend that the tendency to devalue moral autonomy is not simply motivated by the pursuit of disinterested science. Serious neuroscientists rarely make the big claims about the brain determining human values and decision-making. However, neuro-determinists politicise science precisely because they are in fact moral crusaders promoting an agenda. The title of Sam Harris’s book, The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values clearly expresses the ambition of neuro-determinists. The aim of Harris is to transform science into the arbiter of what is morally right and wrong. According to Harris our knowledge of the human brain already allows us to know how to answer the principle moral questions facing us. So it will be science that will answer the deep questions that have engaged humanity from the beginning of time. The fatalism of medieval religion is displaced by the predestination of neuro-determinism.

What is tragic is that science, which emerged through a struggle with dogma, has become an instrument for discrediting people’s capacity to reflect and gain control over their destiny through the exercise of moral independence. Science is essential for the development of humanity but it does not give us the answers to our moral and political questions. But we are not prisoners of our biology or our grey matter. Nor do we have to defer to fate.

First published by The Australian, 24 September 2011

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‘It is time that we reclaimed liberalism’
Frank Furedi talks to Brendan O’Neill about his new book On Tolerance and why he wants to halt and reverse the warping of the liberal outlook.

Brendan O’Neill writes:

Frank Furedi, prolific author and Kent-based sociologist, will be familiar to readers of spiked for his spear-throwing at sacred cows. Not content with having waged a 20-year war against risk-aversion and the culture of fear, and having recently taken on the supernannies of the parenting industry and the dumbers-down of academic life, in his new book he sets out to reclaim the Enlightenment ideal of tolerance from today’s PC, value-lite elite.

In On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence, Furedi argues that tolerance has been almost completely denuded of its radicalism and humanism. It started life as a key ideal of Enlightened thinking, promoting the idea that the toleration of and interplay between clashing beliefs would help to nurture a healthy public sphere and a greater capacity to uncover the Truth. But now, in stark contrast, ‘tolerance’ is used to mean merely non-judgementalism, never saying anything rude or critical about another person’s beliefs and lifestyle choices on the basis that ‘you have no right to criticise’. And this gives rise, not to open-mindedness and rigorous debate, but to its opposite: a stifling atmosphere of ‘You can’t say that!’ and, ironically, an intolerant climate of intellectual restraint.

I sat down with Furedi and asked him why he thinks tolerance is worth rescuing and redefining for the next generation.

Brendan O’Neill: Did you ever feel tempted simply to let the idea of tolerance go, to resign yourself to the fact that it has been so demeaned in recent years that it is now beyond repair? You describe very well in your book how tolerance no longer means critical engagement, judgement and debate, as it did for Enlightened thinkers like John Locke, but is now simply a shoulder-shrugging refusal to make value judgements. Is it possible that this specific ideal cannot be saved?

Frank Furedi: You know, that did occur to me, the possibility that there are certain important concepts that have been totally distorted and you wonder if it’s possible to save them. And tolerance was very much one of them. When you look at the way tolerance is talked about today, nationally and internationally, you realise that it now has this terrible meaning attached to it – which is this sense of non-judgemental indifference. ‘Tolerance’ is now bound up with all these categories of being inclusive, being sensitive, the assumption that it is wrong to question and criticise and most importantly to judge.

But I figured that, in the end, it is important to defend tolerance. Because the fact is, you cannot reclaim some of the really important ideals of the progressive liberalism of the nineteenth century unless you reclaim the idea of tolerance. Without tolerance, you just won’t have the capacity to create a space where genuine discussion and debate can occur, where you can have critical engagement and where controversies can be pursued to their bitter end. It became evident to me that tolerance was far too important an idea to allow its contemporary pedestrian and illiberal redefinition to go unchallenged. Also, it’s a wonderful idea! It is important that the new generation of people making their way in the world understand that tolerance is not just an insipid bureaucratic formula, not just a way of saying ‘don’t judge’, but is actually something very creative.

BON: So if tolerance is not simply a refusal to allow criticism of other people’s ways of life, what is it? How would you describe the ideal of tolerance as it was understood and promoted by Enlightenment thinkers?

FF: The way I see it is like this: tolerance is an important ideal that is indispensable for the communication of different beliefs and viewpoints in an open society. The category of tolerance creates the conditions for the free expression of opinions and beliefs and for the behaviours associated with one’s individual conscience. It is a virtue because it affirms and cultivates freedom of conscience and individual autonomy. A tolerant society is one which recognises the right of people to act in accordance with their beliefs – so long as those actions do not harm others.

And tolerance is a virtue because it allows society to engage openly with moral uncertainty. Instead of closing down discussion in a desperate search for certainty, the ideal of tolerance actually embraces uncertainty; it looks upon uncertainty not as a terrible thing but as an opportunity to gain greater certainty through the development of knowledge.

BON: You talk about tolerance being a means through which people can pursue controversies to their ‘bitter end’. Today’s official promoters of pedestrianised tolerance would probably be shocked by that. For them, tolerance is about avoiding controversies, especially bitter ones, and instead having a shushed and safe climate. Are you saying that tolerance can and should give rise to a rowdy public domain?

FF: Actually, the reason tolerance first emerged is precisely because there were a lot of very bitter controversies. And the ideal of tolerance was a way of making sure that bitter controversies didn’t lead to violence or to physical punishment. Instead, you would recognise that it is essential that, however much you disagree with your opponent, in a civilised world people must have the freedom to express their ideas and as far as possible to act on them. So in that sense, tolerance is really the other side of having strong views and making judgements rather than the way it is understood today. The irony is that it is the suppression of open and strong debate that is more likely to cultivate bitterness and tension, because you are opting for silence rather than engagement.

BON: Today we’re often told that we should be tolerant of pretty much everything – except intolerance. We can tolerate all beliefs and outlooks but not any belief or outlook which is itself intolerant, such as the English Defence League or homophobic Christians. Isn’t that a profound contradiction in terms?

FF: Yes, you have raised a very important point. I find that when I give speeches on the issue of tolerance, the first question I get asked is: well, can we tolerate intolerant people? And basically, that’s another way of saying: can we tolerate views that we bitterly disagree with? I think what’s very interesting is that these days a lot of people, including people who call themselves liberals, spend far more time limiting the application and meaning of tolerance than they do expanding it. And they devote far more energy towards limiting freedom of speech, and writing about all the circumstances in which it doesn’t apply, than they do to upholding it. ‘Silencing intolerance’ is just another way of actually being intolerant of beliefs you don’t like.

BON: There are quite a few people around today who present themselves as upholders of Enlightenment ideals, and their main complaint seems to be that the values of Enlightenment are threatened by external forces, such as radical Islamists. They effectively argue that in order to protect the Enlightenment we must be less tolerant of unenlightened outsiders, which is weird.

FF: You’re right. The Enlightenment tradition is very often misapplied today, in a defensive fashion, to suggest that people who threaten the Enlightenment, or who are perceived to threaten the Enlightenment, cannot be tolerated. It is really sad that tolerance is misapplied by these kinds of thinkers in particular. Some of them say we cannot tolerate too many immigrants. But the point is that tolerance as a concept does not apply to groups in any case! It applies to people’s faiths and beliefs. To tolerate or not tolerate a whole group is equally irrational. Tolerance is something we exercise towards the views that people hold rather than towards who those people are. How can I disagree with someone being French? That’s just who they are.

BON: But do these so-called Enlightenment defenders have a point when they argue that society’s indulgence of certain immigrant views is problematic? When they say that it is one thing to tolerate people’s views, quite another to flatter and fawn over them?

FF: I think where they have a point is that there is an incapacity today to judge and to discriminate between values. And there is an unwillingness to make moral statements about what is right and what is wrong. But where they are wrong is that they don’t realise that if you don’t judge, then you’re not really tolerating – you are just passively accepting the situation as it is. I think the problem we have today is not the numbers of people who come from different cultures to live in Britain – the problem is that we are unable to make judgements in terms of what kind of life is desirable for our society.

BON: You talk about defending and clarifying the values of classical liberalism. Some people might be surprised to hear that, given your background in more revolutionary left-wing politics. Is there a contradiction here?

FF: The way I would explain it is that radical thought has as its presupposition a tradition of rationality and of Enlightenment. And that tradition is often most clearly expressed by some of the important liberal thinkers, from John Locke all the way to John Stuart Mill. You might say, well, there are limits to what those writers argued and I don’t agree with everything they proposed. But when some very basic points of that tradition are being demoted, when the ideals of rationality and reason are being marginalised, then the radicalism you end up with is an entirely rhetorical one, which is completely emptied out and which just makes uncritical criticisms of everything that is going on. Genuine radicalism was built on liberal traditions. Which is why I think that, today, the really important thing is to give a new meaning to liberalism, to reclaim its positive dimensions. And, of course, at the same time it’s important to explain that what is often referred to as ‘liberal’ these days is actually very different to what Locke or Mill thought; it is actually very illiberal.

BON: So, would you describe yourself as a liberal? And if so, how would you distinguish yourself from illiberal liberals?

FF: The problem today is that liberalism has been redefined as a soggy mainstream leftism, which, over the past 20 or 30 years, has become infused with identity politics, lifestyle policing, politically correct policies and so on. There is a lot of confusion about these categories, so that liberalism is really just a way of saying you are anti-traditionalist and anti-conservative, with none of the future-oriented elements of classical liberalism. Therefore, both those who call themselves liberals and those who attack liberalism are actually discussing a very different phenomenon from classical liberalism.

As to what I am – I’m not really sure. But I would say that being a liberal is a very important part of what I am. It is a key part of the kind of radical humanist politics I am keen to promote.

BON: In what circumstances, if any, would you accept restrictions on people’s expressions of belief? For example, this week Paris banned Muslim street prayers. If the public supports a move like that, is it justified?

FF: As I argue in the book, it is illegitimate to ban particular religious beliefs or practices on purely religious grounds. So, no, you should never ban the public chanting of prayers on religious grounds. But there is an argument to be made that if a particular town has a bylaw against noise pollution, for example, then it can in principle ban a minaret from being built in a particular neighbourhood or prevent chanting from occurring. Or if there are certain traffic restrictions on a street, it might be legitimate to ban certain religious processions that impact on the flow of traffic. The point is that the restriction is possibly legitimate if it is done on a basis that is quite separate from the beliefs and ideas being expressed, and if it would equally apply to non-Muslims who were chanting in the street.

BON: What are the dangers of today’s culture of non-judgementalism? It seems to me that it could be nurturing a new generation that is not only individuated but also quite arrogant, and always shocked when anyone criticises them or refuses to shower them with praise and recognition.

FF: That is true. Non-judgementalism fosters all of the regressive trends and infantilism that we see in lots of young people today. It encourages anti-social attitudes. A lot of today’s confusions and tensions spring from the refusal to judge. But even more importantly, non-judgementalism destroys the possibility of there being a constructive public life. Because non-judgementalism, which is presented to us as ‘tolerance’, basically means that ideas are not taken seriously. Really, it is just shallow indifference, dressed up in the language of an Enlightenment ideal. What people are really saying is not only ‘I’m so sensitive that I’m not going to judge you’, but also ‘I couldn’t be bothered to judge you’. The two things merge into each other. I think non-judgementalism is really a form of moral cowardice, probably the most dominant form of moral cowardice afflicting Western society today. And it is basically responsible for the regressive trends that I discuss in my book.

What is very striking is that, alongside non-judgementalism, there is also a kind of sanctimonious censoriousness – which is not based upon reasoned judgement but rather on the idea that certain things cannot be said and certain things cannot be done. So people shouldn’t think for one minute that non-judgementalism leads to an open-minded, open-ended society. It has the opposite effect. It encourages fossilised minds that have never had to think about and evaluate things in any real way.

BON: I was going to ask you about that. It seems to me that it isn’t a contradiction at all to have this flaccid, Oprah-style culture of non-judgementalism alongside a straitjacketed intellectual climate where certain things are unsayable – because if you are discouraged from engaging and judging, then you are subtly being hushed.

FF: Exactly. In the book, I talk about how the idea of ‘zero tolerance’ really means zero discretion. Zero-tolerance policies, whether they are related to speech or smoking or whatever, are actually a very lazy way of avoiding having to make judgements. It is always easier to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ – or just ‘no’ in this instance – rather than to work out what might work in a particular circumstance. You shut everyone up or restrict everyone’s behaviour in order to avoid having to think about things in a bit of detail. So you have this situation where alongside non-judgemental tolerance there is this insidious bureaucratic culture of zero tolerance. You have a very powerful impulse towards censoriousness, being expressed by people who are non-judgemental.

You can see this in the way in which medicalisation and scientism are utilised these days. Through these categories, in relation to everything from climate change to parenting to abortion, you have the possibility of regulating people’s behaviour while avoiding having to account for your regulation in normative, moral terms. You are simply doing it because ‘the science says’.

BON: So, in effect, your plan to rescue the ideal of tolerance is an even taller task than I thought it was! Because tolerance seems to have been turned completely on its head. Now ‘tolerance’ itself, meaning non-judgementalism, fosters a culture which is restrictive and regulative, both in relation to our minds and our behaviour.

FF: Indeed. One of the most striking things in recent years is the way that governments have shifted from representing people’s aspirations to telling people what their aspirations should be. Through the idea of ‘nudging’ in particular, where officialdom wants to nudge us towards the right way of living and thinking, we can see a complete reversal of the ideal of popular democracy – governments no longer mould themselves according to our desires, but instead try to remould us according to their tastes. And they always say they are not judging us, just helping us.

Frank Furedi’s book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Buy this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 23 September 2011

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Changing societal attitudes, and regulatory responses, to risk-taking in adult care
A scoping paper by Frank Furedi, commissioned by JRF for a potential new programme on 'Rights, responsibilities, risk and regulation'.

This paper explores the relationship between policy initiatives regarding risk-taking in adult care and its claim to reflect user experience; argues that these policy initiatives are driven by the imperative of rationalising risk management; and claims that such policies are not a response to user demand and that more research is needed to evaluate the attitudes of users of adult care to risk-taking.

Read the paper here.

First published by Joseph Rowntree Foundation, 22 September 2011

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Possibilities for fear remain endless
An example of joined-up scaremongering was provided by the Australian Climate Institute, which last month published a report, A Climate of Suffering.

In the contemporary vocabulary of public life, the term climate change signals the idea of an alarming threat, which in turn demands that something must be done immediately.

This script is not used simply by environmentalists insisting that we adopt a low-carbon lifestyle. Virtually any campaign on any issue can gain a hearing through adopting the tactic of linking their cause to that of raising concern about climate change. An example of joined-up scaremongering was provided by the Australian Climate Institute, which last month published a report, A Climate of Suffering.

A Climate of Suffering argues that climate change has a devastating effect on the mental health of Australians, particularly of children. The report suggests that catastrophic weather episodes are causing anxiety and insecurity for Australian children. As an illustration of this claim, it indicates that one in 10 primary school pupils exhibited symptoms of post-traumatic stress in the aftermath of Cyclone Larry in 2006. The transformation of climate change into a causal agent of childhood trauma is only one example of the numerous health, social and security problems blamed on global warming.

Joining up an alleged health problem with scare-mongering about the environment sometimes takes on an extravagant form. Take a “flesh-eating virus”: scary enough in its own right. Then link it up with contemporary anxieties about climate change, and we get a headline like “Global warming ‘spawns flesh-eating virus’ in Britain”.

According to a study at the University of Hull, published in August 2007, people suffering from leishmaniasis - which is spread by sandflies - will increase dramatically in the future. Ross Boyle of the University of Hull commented that “global warming and the military presence in countries such as Iraq and Afghanistan mean that this horrific and debilitating disease is affecting more people than ever before”.

One predictable way of raising alarm about “flesh-eating” bugs is by inviting the public to imagine their dreadful effect on children.

Climate change probably comes out on top among the competing scare appeals. So it is not surprising that increasingly it becomes intertwined with a large number of other panics. So the Worldwatch Institute, an American environmentalist organisation, has hijacked the anti-terrorist agenda to promote its own objectives. In its report Climate Change Poses Greater Security Threat than Terrorism, it argued that the “parallels with terrorism are compelling”. It added, “as with terrorism we know that changes will occur, but not when or where they will strike”. Almost seamlessly, “parallels” are turned into a mutually reinforcing scare story.

Advocacy groups promoting cycling and opposing the crime of driving a big car, security experts selling consultancy and health professionals “raising awareness” about a multitude of climate change illnesses are only a small sample of groups that use our concerns about the effects of global warming to promote their cause. Numerous professionals are continually warning us that climate change is making us ill. They claim global warming will lead to an increase in the rates of cardio-respiratory disease, diarrhoea and insect-borne diseases such as malaria.

It appears that anything remotely objectionable can be turned into a cautionary tale about climate change. Joined-up scaremongering does not follow any predetermined logic or an obvious path. Instead of any clear causal connection, the links between one scare and another are often established through dramatic gestures and rhetorical manipulation.

Promoters of scares consciously pursue tactics that reinforce their claims through linking up with other causes. So in early 2008 some scientist warned of a “new plague of jellyfish” off Spain’s Costa Brava, a popular holiday destination. Why? Because global warming has created ideal conditions for jellyfish to breed.

Sometimes it is difficult to think of any scares that cannot be joined up with climate change. Take the discovery of the danger that global warming encourages people to have more barbecues which in turns represents a new health threat. In January 2006, Paul Hunter of the University of East Anglia warned that because of the heat people had more barbecues, which in turn increased the number of casualties of food bugs and salmonella infection. And just to scare us a bit more he warned that higher temperatures could lead to a few cases of malaria and that heavy rains would lead to more cases of diarrhoea-inducing cryptosporidium.Back in August 2006 the London-based Institute for Public Policy Research published a report that drew attention to the alarmist language used to discuss climate change. The report, Warm Words, characterised the practice of adopting the vocabulary of fear as tantamount to “climate porn”.

It criticised the tendency of some media outlets to represent climate change in the language of fatalism as “awesome, terrible, immense and beyond human control”.

It is because climate change resonates with 21st-century existential insecurity that it has gained such a prominent role in the scaremonger’s vocabulary. In contemporary times moral and existential problems are frequently interpreted as sins against the environment. That is why so much of the discussion surrounding climate change has a dogmatic moralising quality.

Fortunately, we don’t believe everything that scaremongers inflict on us. People are still having barbecues and parents know that children do not turn into traumatised patients because of the heat.

But scaremongering matters because it shapes the way we think, behave and act. It does not matter whether what frightens us is real or imaginary. Many of the threats that frighten us have a capacity to alter our daily routine and change the way we live our lives. It encourages us to turn routine technical problems into existential threats and it distracts communities from making the most of the opportunities available to them.

Worse still, it fosters a climate of insecurity where we can sometimes lose confidence in our capacity to control our destiny.

First published by The Australian, 17 September 2011

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It’s time to expel the ‘experts’ from family life
In repackaging parenting as a superbly complex, almost scientific task, a gaggle of experts hopes to colonise our personal lives.

Tomorrow, 13 September, Frank Furedi will speak at the conference Monitoring Parents: Science, Evidence, Experts and the New Parenting Culture, at the University of Kent. An edited version of his speech is published below.

In modern times, there has been something of a revolt against traditional authority. As a result of this, all forms of authority are increasingly being called into question. After all, if the authority of the king and the priest and the politician can be interrogated, why not call into question the authority of pater familias, too, the status of the mother or grandparent?

That is precisely what has happened, gradually, over the past century-and-a-half. A lack of confidence in the ability of ordinary adults to socialise the younger generation has been evident since early modern times. By the late nineteenth century, experts were making scathing remarks about parental competence and were attempting to restrain the authority of the father and mother.

The philosopher John Stuart Mill, author of On Liberty, linked his call for the compulsory schooling of children to his distrust of parental competence. He believed that state-sponsored formal education might free children from the ‘uncultivated’ influence of their parents. He asserted that since ‘the uncultivated cannot be competent judges of cultivation’, they needed the support of enlightened educators to socialise their children.

This lack of confidence in parents’ capacity to develop their children led many nineteenth-century reformers to view formal education as the principal institution of socialisation. In the early twentieth century, educators and child experts sought to bypass parental authority through assuming more and more responsibility for the socialisation of young people. And since the 1990s, the once-implicit questioning of the ability of parents to socialise their children has become explicit, and increasingly strident.

As a result, there has been a shift in the way that the uneasy partnership between family and school is portrayed by experts. Policymakers often assume that poor parenting and the fragmentation of the family are everyday facts of life that make it necessary for public institutions to take responsibility for forms of socialisation that were hitherto carried out in the home.

In the nineteenth century, criticisms of parental incompetence tended to focus on parents’ alleged inability to educate their children. More recently, however, the alleged absence of parental competence has been detected in relation to a growing number of issues: how to nurture, how to stimulate, how to touch, how to discipline, how to discuss questions about sex, death, and so on.

The cumulative consequence of this questioning of parental competence has been the deepening and widening of the idea of a parental deficit. The claim that parents are inept at educating their children, or even nurturing and emotionally stimulating them, suggests that parents are not up to the job of socialising their offspring. In effect, these claims call into question parental authority.

The problem of parental authority

In much of the modern literature on parenting, the erosion of parental authority is often confused with the idea that there has been a decline in old-fashioned, authoritarian families. Too often, authority is confused with authoritarianism, and what is overlooked is that the targeting of parental competence is not about limiting authoritarianism in the home but is about calling into question the ability of mothers and fathers to socialise their children.

Hannah Arendt put matters most starkly when she declared that ‘authority has vanished’. Arendt took it for granted that ‘most will agree that a constant, ever-widening and deepening crisis of authority has accompanied the development of the modern world in our century’. In her view, the crisis of authority was not confined to the political domain – rather, she suggested, this crisis exerts its influence in every aspect of social experience.

She observed that: ‘[T]he most significant symptom of the crisis, indicating its depth and seriousness, is that it has spread to such pre-political areas as child-rearing and education, where authority in the widest sense has always been accepted as a natural necessity, obviously required as much by natural needs, the helplessness of the child, as by political necessity, the continuity of an established civilisation which can be assured only if those who are newcomers by birth are guided through a pre-established world into which they are born as strangers.’

Today, the fact that the contestation of authority dominates the ‘pre-political’ spheres of everyday life is clear from the constant, acrimonious debates over issues such as child-rearing, health, lifestyles and the conduct of personal relationships. The erosion of the legitimacy of pre-political authority has deprived many parents, and adults in general, of the self-confidence to engage in a meaningful way with the younger generation.

Parents are told time and again that their authority rests on outdated assumptions and that they lack the real expertise that one needs to socialise young people. And conscious of the fact that it is difficult to act authoritatively today, parents feel very insecure about rejecting expert advice. The explosion of various child-rearing and pedagogic fads is symptomatic of society’s loss of faith in parental authority; it represents a futile attempt to bypass the question of finding some convincing alternative to old forms of pre-political authority.

The demotion of parental authority – and its corollary: the ascendancy of parenting expertise – is underwritten by the idea that we have only recently discovered how complex child-rearing is. In the past, so-called ‘discoveries’ in the arena of psychological research were used to depict traditional areas of life as far more complex than we first thought. Today, the construction of complexity, not only in relation to parenting but in many areas of everyday existence, is fuelled most notoriously by neuroscience.

Colonising the private sphere

Through the extension of the idea of complexity into the world of personal and informal relationships, experts are seeking to colonise the private sphere. One of the key features of modern times has been the decline of ‘taken for granted’ ways of doing things – and this has encouraged the perception that individuals are not able to manage important aspects of their lives without professional guidance.

Increasingly, routine forms of social interaction are depicted as being difficult and complicated. That is why child-rearing can today be discussed as a science. Also, we often hear talk about parenting skills, social skills, communication skills and relationship skills… The idea that everyday encounters require special skills has created an opportunity for the ‘expert’ to colonise the realm of personal relations (1).

Experts now claim that their ‘scientific knowledge’ entitles them to be authoritative voices on issues that were previously seen as being strictly the preserve of personal and family life. As one study of the rise of ‘experts’ puts it: ‘The authoritative voice of “scientific experts” on child development advised repeatedly that the correct training of children required an expertise that few modern parents possessed.’ (2) From the perspective of these ‘experts’, child-rearing, education and interpersonal relationships all need to be reorganised in accordance with the latest findings of scientific research.

The new cohort of experts, who have been on the rise since the late twentieth century, have a powerful crusading ethos. They do not confine themselves to carrying out research and making observations. As the American child psychologist William Kessen wrote in 1979: ‘Critical examination and study of parental practices and child behaviour almost inevitably slipped subtly over to advice about parental practices and child behaviour. The scientific statement became an ethical imperative, the descriptive account became normative. And along the way, there have been unsettling occasions in which scraps of knowledge, gathered by whatever procedures were held to be proper science at the time, were given inordinate weight against poor old defenceless folk knowledge.’ (3)

But these experts did not merely provide advice. Often with the backing of official institutions, they imposed their proposals on schools and directly influenced the conduct of family life. Measured against the authority of science, the insights and values of ordinary people enjoy lower and lower cultural valuation.

It is worth noting that the record of the ‘science’ in areas such as child-rearing, education and relationships is a dubious one. It has consisted largely of ever-recurring fads that rarely achieve any positive durable results (4). Nevertheless, at a time when adult authority is on the defensive, the scientific expert has gained an ever-increasing influence over intergenerational relations. Typically, educational experts claim that since their proposals are based on purely objective science, only the prejudiced could possibly disagree with them.

Responsible parenting

Contemporary parenting culture exhorts parents to bring up their children according to ‘best practice’. In virtually every area of social life today, experts advocate the importance of seeking help. Getting advice – and, more importantly, following the script that has been authored by experts – is seen as proof of ‘responsible parenting’.

Paradoxically, the most important doctrine that fuels this subordination of the parent to the expert is the idea of parental omnipotence. Outwardly, parents have never been assigned with so much power and influence over the long-term prospects of their children as they are today. Through a process that I have referred to previously as ‘parental determinism’, where everything from one’s job prospects to future happiness is said to be moulded by early-years parenting, parents are represented as demi-gods whose every act has a far-reaching impact on their children’s wellbeing.

However, at the same time as parents are assigned these divine powers, their capacity to use the powers in an effective manner and for the good of their children is always being questioned. In order for it to work properly, parental omnipotence must apparently be mediated through the input of experts. That is why responsible parenting is said to require the authorisation of expertise. Without expert support, parental omnipotence – at least in the sense of doing good – is said to vanish. It is time we challenged this denigration of parental authority and this trashing of parental competence.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Buy this book from Amazon(UK).) The above is an edited version of a speech he will give at the Centre for Parenting Culture Studies event Monitoring Parents: Science, Evidence, Experts and the New Parenting Culture, taking place on 13 and 14 September at the University of Kent.

(1) As James Chriss remarked, ‘this perception of a lack of guidance and insight among the average citizen sets the stage for the encroachment of “experts” into virtually all walk of life’. Chriss, J. (1999) (ed.) Counselling and the Therapeutic State, Aldine de Gruyter: New York.  p.5.

(2) Loseke, D, & Cahill, S. (1994) ‘Normalizing the Child Daycare Discourse in Popular Magazines, 1900-1990’ in Best, J. (1994) (ed) Troubling Children: Studies of Children and Social Problems, Aldine de Gruyter : New York, p.174.

(3) Kessen, W (1979) ‘The American Child and Other Cultural Inventions’, American Psychologist, vol.34, no.10, p.818.

(4) See Chapter 10 in Furedi, F (2008) Paranoid Parenting: Why Ignoring Experts May Be Best For Your Child, Continuum Press : London.

First published by spiked, 12 September 2011

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The strong rise from the ashes
In the immediate aftermath of the destruction of the World Trade Centre, an army of mental health professionals flooded into New York in search of distressed and traumatised victims.

About 9000 counsellors occupied Lower Manhattan offering their services to anyone who was even tangentially connected with this catastrophe. Some of these trauma tourists predicted enormous increases in post-traumatic stress disorder and related mental problems.

Even a year after the attack, the president of the Washington, DC, Psychiatric Society warned that “there are not enough psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers or other crisis counsellors to treat the fallout from a massive, unimaginable horror”.

Thankfully, the therapeutic scaremongers have been proved wrong. The predicted outbreak of an epidemic of serious, long-term trauma proved to be a fantasy of therapy entrepreneurs. Although some psychologists still insist that even watching television scenes of the catastrophe could trigger a traumatic response, it is evident that people are far more resilient than the crisis response teams gave them credit for. A study published this month in a special 10th anniversary of 9/11 issue of the journal American Psychologist indicates that in their enthusiasm to intervene and help New Yorkers after the attack, some mental health professionals may have made matters worse.

Patricia Watson, co-author of one of the case studies published in the journal, stated that they “couldn’t really tell if people had been helped by the providers, but the providers felt great about it”. In other words, while this form of therapeutic intervention appears to enhance the morale of the therapist, it is of dubious value to patients. Indeed, some of the methods used, such as debriefing those directly affected by the crisis, can disorient those suffering mental anguish and pain. Encouraging patients to relive their painful experience can push people into depression. As Harvard psychologist Richard McNally notes, the response of mental health intervention “brought attention to the limitations” of debriefing.

The good news, McNally argues, is that human beings are far tougher than experts believe. As George Bonanno, professor of clinical psychology at Columbia University in New York, says: “We were remarkably resilient.” He takes the view that, despite all the dire predictions, people have not been “permanently scarred”. Bonanno and other psychologists believe that human beings possess a formidable capacity to bounce back and to deal with adversity and misfortune. Many Americans continue to grieve for the people they have lost and live with deep emotional wounds, but what they suffer from is not an incurable illness but existential pain.

The debate on the impact of 9/11 on people’s emotional life is not merely of interest to mental health professionals. The meaning of a catastrophe, such as the one faced by the people of New York 10 years ago, is ultimately determined by how people react to it. In particular, the response of a community to an act of terrorism can play a decisive role in influencing the outcome of the conflict.

The message sent out by the trauma tourists in the aftermath of 9/11 was that people lacked character and emotional resources. Nor was the expression of this sentiment confined to a small group of mental health professionals. The premise that vulnerability constituted the defining feature of the American psyche was communicated in a variety of forms in the aftermath of 9/11. It is worth recalling that in the post-9/11 world vulnerability has acquired an idiomatic character that pertains to individuals facing the threat of terrorism. George W. Bush did not have to elaborate on his words when he noted that on “September the 11, 2001, America felt its vulnerability”. His audience would understand that insecurity, apprehension and fear represented permanent and important dimensions of the nation’s psyche. The widely used formulation “America the Vulnerable” consciously represents vulnerability as not simply a condition to be endured but as a defining feature of American identity.

Sadly, in the past 10 years, through this paradigm of vulnerability, the sense of powerlessness has been cultivated as part of the normal state of being. The positing of people as victims of circumstances reflects Western cultural sensibilities towards the supposedly unprecedented uncertainties confronting 21st-century society.

The belief that a society is intrinsically vulnerable stands in sharp contrast to the way that people in previous decades were encouraged to perceive their engagement with adversity. Throughout the past century the ideals of strength through adversity transmitted the expectation that people would respond with fortitude to violent threats.

Today’s representation of vulnerability as a dominant feature of existence is alien to the cultural norms associated with the Blitz spirit, which celebrated the ideal of the Aussie battler or of a hardy people fighting back. Britain’s wartime prime minister Winston Churchill expressed this sentiment in the aftermath of his army’s retreat at Dunkirk, when he said: “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” Churchill’s declaration demanded that the British people fight, regardless of how they felt. This is a very different approach to the vulnerability-led response of Bush to 9/11, which simply sought to provide assurance that the American people would be able to cope with their hurt.

Western societies did not diagnose themselves as suffering from the condition of vulnerability until the 1980s. Before this time, research into disaster response suggested that communities were surprisingly good at coping with even the most tragic disruption to their lives. Experiences such as the civilian response to the horrors of the Spanish Civil War, the bombing of Britain, the Allied bombing of Germany, the dropping of atomic weapons on Hiroshima and a variety of natural disasters in the 50s and 60s indicate that communities were able to develop resilience, and therefore minimise the destructive consequences of these incidents on their morale. In a review of these experiences, Charles E. Fritz, a pioneer researcher into the human impact of disasters, concluded that most “disasters produce a great increase in social solidarity”, which tends to reduce the incidence of most forms of personal and social pathology. History shows that the impact on the national psyche of sudden military attacks are mediated through cultural and political influences and institutions. Such violence need not simply traumatise its targets. It can provoke a determination to fight or stimulate the construction of a community around a common cause.

At the outbreak of World War II, British policy-makers expected that one of the outcomes of the conflict would be an increase in the number of mental patients. And although arrangements were made to receive the expected flood, there was no increase in numbers. Studies reported a similar pattern from experiences as varied as the conflict in Northern Ireland and the Spanish Civil War.

Sociological and community studies indicate that, throughout history, threats to human survival have played an important role in the construction of communities. Even in today’s highly individuated globalised society, calamities have a unique capacity to encourage acts of solidarity and altruism.

It is evident that despite the predictions of therapeutic scaremongers, the recent experience of a community’s response to terrorism and violence bears out the insights provided by disaster researchers. Studies of 9/11, the terrorist attack in Bali in 2002 and in London in 2005 highlight the resilience of the target communities. In all these cases people responded to terrorist attacks through acts of solidarity rather than panic.

Ten years after 9/11, there is no consensus among psychologists about the mental health impact of a terrorist attack. But whatever the opinion of mental health professionals on specific cases, it is evident that contrary to pessimistic expectations, the destructive impact of such terrible episodes can be contained by the emergence of social solidarity and community purpose.

A healthy democracy can bounce back after a terrorist attack and learn to live with such a threat. However, it can do this even more effectively if it genuinely believes in the power of its people and refuses to define itself as intrinsically vulnerable. Fortunately therapeutic entrepreneurs did not succeed in turning the people of New York into a population of helpless patients. Now what is needed is for governments to encourage people’s capacity for creative thinking and capacity to improvise. It may sound old-fashioned, but often it is through engaging with adversity that a nation catches sight of its potential greatness.

First published by The Australian, 10 September 2011

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The real danger to our children
Sometimes the most well-intentioned initiatives to protect children end up with unexpectedly disorienting consequences for everyone concerned.

The experience of the past three decades indicates that an understandable concern with the safety and wellbeing of children can swiftly mutate into a zealous crusade that often incites parents into a state of panic. That is why the announcement by Queensland Premier Anna Bligh that the Daniel Morcombe Child Safety Program will become part of the school curriculum for Prep to Year 9 students fills me with dread.

The Daniel Morcombe Foundation will receive official support for its campaign to promote awareness about child protection in schools. Bruce and Denise Morcombe, whose 13-year-old son was allegedly abducted and killed eight years ago, were appointed as child safety ambassadors by Bligh, who stated that she hoped the child safety curriculum would be adopted nationally. At first sight there appears to be little that is objectionable about the initiative. To his credit Morcombe has stated that his program does not aim to scare children but to give them “lifesaving skills”. Apparently aware that a lot of previous stranger danger initiatives have led to a dramatic erosion of adult-child encounters, Morcombe indicated that “we’re not saying everyone is bad; we’re saying you need to trust some people”.

Unfortunately in today’s climate, where intergenerational relations are fraught with tension, the institutionalisation of this initiative in Queensland schools is likely to make a bad situation worse. Teaching children to trust “some people” conveys the idea that it makes sense to mistrust every other adult. Take the example of one of the first stranger danger campaigns launched in 1988 in Leeds by the British Home Office. The campaign created a profound sense of anxiety and as far as the children were concerned the message was that they should mistrust people they did not already know.

Other campaigns organised by the Home Office offered a list of “grown-ups you can trust”—police officer, security guard, shop assistant, mum with a pram. But apparently everyone else signifies danger. It is likely that children in Queensland who will be instructed that it is OK to trust some people will draw the conclusion that other adults are potential threats to their wellbeing.

What children are likely to learn from such instructions are not so much precious life skills but the habit of suspicion towards the adult world. In circumstances where so many adults are perceived as potential predators, children are actually disempowered from developing the kind of intuition that helps them to distinguish between friend and foe or how to anticipate trouble. The division of a world into people who can and cannot be trusted provides little guidance for the negotiation of the ambiguities of routine personal encounters.

The questions that Australian policymakers and educators should be asking themselves is do we need to introduce even more suspicion towards intergenerational interaction in schools? Parents already carefully scrutinise the behaviour of adults who talk to their children. Time and again, mothers and fathers will tell you that “the world has changed” and “you just don’t know who is out there”. Australia already possesses a flourishing child protection industry and anxieties about the prevalence of pedophilia are widespread. So if there is a problem, it is not that Australians are not suspicious enough but that when it comes to adult-child relations they are often prone to suspecting the worst.

That’s why it is difficult to understand Bruce Morcombe’s statement when he stated that “Daniel’s abduction is a defining moment in terms of Queensland parents collectively recognising that child safety is important”.

Queensland parents may have many failings but a failure to recognise the importance of child safety is not one of them. And the last thing Australian children need is yet another safety campaign that will have the unintended consequence of discouraging them from engaging with an uncertain world.

The most regrettable outcome of child protection policies that target strangers is the diminishing of intergenerational encounters. It is no exaggeration to state that a growing number of adults feel awkward and confused when they are in close physical proximity to children that they do not know. Nor is this sense of unease confined to intergenerational interaction between strangers. Many teachers and nursery staff confide that they often feel self-conscious in their relationships with children in their care. They understand that frequently an unintended remark or a physical gesture can be easily misinterpreted by others and that they will be judged guilty until they can prove their innocence.

In the present climate adults often feel uneasy about acting on their healthy intuition and feel forced to weigh up whether, and how, to interact with a child they have encountered. Such calculated behaviour alters the quality of that interaction. It no longer represents an act that is founded on doing what a man or woman feels is right—it is an act that is influenced by calculations about how it will be interpreted by others and by anxieties that it should not be misconstrued.

Worse still is the fact that many adults have decided the best policy to adopt is to keep their distance from other people’s children. Such a course of action is motivated by the conviction that they should avoid putting themselves in situations where their actions can be misinterpreted. Arguably, the disengagement of many adults from the world of children represents a far greater danger than the threat posed by a—thankfully—tiny group of predators. The best guarantee of children’s safety is the exercise of adult responsibility towards the younger generation. It is when adults take it on themselves to keep an eye on children—and not just simply their own—that youngsters can learn to feel genuinely safe.

Instead of fostering suspicion towards grown-ups, society should encourage and cultivate a sense of trust in the good intentions of the older generations. Instead of disrupting inter-generational trust, schools should be cultivating it.

First published by The Australian, 7 September 2011

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After 9/11: ten years of a war against… who?
In the first of his series of ‘On Reflection’ essays for spiked, Frank Furedi reflects on our leaders' inability to give a name to their post-9/11 wars.

One virtue of war is that it often provides society with an unusual degree of clarity about political issues. War tempts us with an irresistibly simple choice between Them and Us, enemy and friend, wrong and right, annihilation or survival. That kind of thinking came very easily during the Cold War. Every schoolboy knew that They – the so-called Evil Empire – were hellbent on destroying Us and our democratic way of life.

That was then, when it was clear who our friends and enemies were. The remarkable thing about the post-9/11 decade is that those old phrases about ‘them’ and ‘us’ no longer have much meaning. How can society make sense of global conflict when governments seem to lack a language through which to interpret it? A few weeks after the destruction of the World Trade Center, President George W Bush asked a question that has proved unanswerable: ‘Why do they hate us?’ One reason why the US government has failed to answer that question is because the couplet ‘they’ and ‘us’ lacks meaningful moral contrast today. Before you can give a satisfactory reply to Bush’s question, you have to answer the logically prior question of who ‘they’ are, and who ‘we’ are. And after 10 years of linguistic confusion, Western governments appear to have made no headway in resolving that quandary.

Experience shows that when the meaning of ‘they’ and ‘us’ is self-evident, there is no need to pose morally naive questions about the issues at stake in a conflict. Roman emperors confronted with invading hordes of Vandals did not need to ask why they hated Pax Romana. Neither US president Franklin D Roosevelt nor British prime minister Winston Churchill felt it necessary to ask why the Nazis detested their way of life. Nor was that question asked by Western leaders in relation to the Kremlin during the Cold War. In all of those cases, the battle lines were reasonably clear, and so were the issues and interests at stake.

Since 9/11, it has proven increasingly difficult to grasp and characterise the interests – geopolitical or otherwise – in a variety of global conflicts and wars. It is far from evident what purpose is served by the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Such interventions frequently appear to have an arbitrary, even random quality. One day, officials in Whitehall are dishing out PhDs to Gaddafi’s children; the next day, NATO’s airplanes are bombing targets in Tripoli to teach Gaddafi a lesson. These foreign adventures make little sense from a geopolitical point of view. There is no equivalent of a Truman doctrine or even a Carter doctrine today. Ronald Reagan was the last US president to put forward a foreign policy doctrine that could be characterised as coherent. Although Bush’s ‘war on terror’ was periodically flattered with the label ‘doctrine’, in truth that so-called war was a make-it-up-as-you-go-along set of responses, detached from any coherent expression of national interest.

The main achievement of the Western, principally Anglo-American response to 9/11 has been to unravel the existing balance of power in the Middle East and in the region surrounding Afghanistan. But this demise of the old order has not been followed by the ascendancy of any stable alternative. In such circumstances, it is difficult to claim that these interventions have served the interests of their initiators. Moreover, the incoherent nature of such foreign policy has, if anything, undermined domestic support for it. These wars have little populist appeal and they do little to bind people together. These are military conflicts detached from people’s lives, which is why we are confronted with a very interesting situation where there is neither enthusiasm for foreign ventures, nor war-weariness.

A war in search of a name

One of the most remarkable features of the post-9/11 landscape is that, after 10 years of conflict, there is no real public appetite for evaluating what has happened. Consequently, all the fundamental questions normally posed by a war are being evaded rather than answered. Who is winning the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan? What are the objectives of the occupying forces? And as they begin to wind down their activities and withdraw, what have they actually achieved? These interventions, as well as more minor episodes such as the attack on Libya, lack any clear political signposts. They are wars without names. They are directed at unspecified targets and against an enemy that cannot easily be defined.

The failure of language is most powerfully symbolised by the continuing reference to 9/11. Why rely on two numbers to serve as the representation of a historic moment? No one refers to the attack on Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941 as 7/12, nor was the war against Japan coded in such euphemistic terms. The principal reason for labelling significant violent episodes as 9/11 or 7/7 is to avoid having to account explicitly for these events or to give them meaning. The preference for numbers rather than words exposes a sense of anxiety about the events, and an inability to communicate any lessons to the public.

The absence of a language through which to account for some key events of the twenty-first century means that rhetoric has taken on an unprecedented significance in the post-9/11 era. Consider the importance that New York Times columnist Roger Cohen attached to the new language adopted by the Obama administration following its successful elimination of Osama bin Laden earlier this year. ‘This is a triumphant day for a young American president who changed policy, retiring his predecessor’s horrible misnomer, the Global War on Terror, in order to focus, laser-like, on the terrorists determined to do the United States and its allies harm.’

So what is Obama’s laser-like linguistic alternative to Bush’s ‘horrible misnomer’? A memorandum sent to Pentagon staff members in March 2009 stated that ‘this administration prefers to avoid using the term “Long War” or “Global War on Terror” [GWOT]’. It advised Pentagon staff to use ‘Overseas Contingency Operation (OCO)’ instead. Whatever the merits of this name might be, they have nothing to do with clarity. Indeed, if anything, OCO is even more mystifying to normal human beings than GWOT. For all its faults, at least ‘Global War on Terror’ is comprehensible to someone with a basic grasp of the English language – which is more than can be said for OCO. Even someone with a PhD in linguistics is likely to feel challenged when asked to explain the precise meaning of a ‘contingency operation’.

Throughout the past decade, the correction of official language and the invention of new phrases have been flourishing enterprises. In his first speech as head of the UK’s national security intelligence agency, MI5, in November 2007, Jonathan Evans pleaded with newspaper editors to avoid using words that could help the enemy. He said we must ‘pay close attention to our use of language’ and avoid words that encourage the association of terrorism with Islam, since that could undermine the government’s ability to win the hearts and minds of Britain’s Muslim communities. Soon after he made that statement, it was reported that officials were ‘rethinking’ their approach to the terrorism problem and ‘abandoning what they admit has been offensive and inappropriate language’. The admission by UK officials that they had been using inappropriate language betrayed a palpable sense of disorientation in Whitehall. We were assured that ministers would stop using the phrase ‘war on terror’ and would never refer to the post-9/11 threat as a ‘Muslim problem’.

Officials have continually altered the language they use to describe the post-9/11 war without a name. ‘We strongly urge the government to abandon talk of a “war on terror”’, demanded a report on the issue of homegrown terrorism in the UK. At times, the BBC has seemed very linguistically challenged and has been at a loss to know when the use of words like ‘terrorist’ or ‘terrorism’ is appropriate. ‘The value judgements frequently implicit in the use of the words “terrorist” or “terrorist groups” can create inconsistency in their use or, to audiences, raise doubts about our impartiality’, stated the BBC’s editorial guidelines. The European Union has also become obsessed over the past 10 years with not using words that could give the slightest hint of associating Islam with terrorism. Consider the guidelines issued by EU officials in April 2006, on the difficult question of what to call the enemy. The guidelines counselled against using the term ‘Islamic terrorism’ in favour of the Orwellian-sounding phrase ‘terrorists who abusively invoke Islam’. The invention of this term was part of the EU’s project of constructing a ‘non-emotive lexicon for discussing radicalisation’.

It is important to recall that even before the Obama presidency, Washington was painfully aware of its linguistic deficit in relation to 9/11. During Bush’s second term (2004-2008), the then US defence secretary Donald Rumsfeld advocated replacing GWOT with GSAVE: ‘global struggle against violent extremism’. Bush rejected this Rumsfeldian formulation, but not because he wasn’t open to adopting new phraseology. Indeed, Bush was quite prepared to concede that he had got his lines mixed up after the events of 11 September. ‘We actually misnamed the war on terror’, he said in August 2004. Without a hint of irony he added that ‘it ought to be the struggle against ideological extremists who do not believe in free societies who happen to use terror as a weapon to try to shake the conscience of the free world’.  Funnily enough, that snappy turn of phrase was not adopted as a new name for the post-9/11 conflict.

In the very attempt to rectify the ‘misnaming’ of a war, Bush exposed the poverty of the intellectual resources with which the battle against terror is being fought. It has become clear that the confusion lies not just with the occasional malapropism, but with the entire script. The constant display of verbal acrobatics is testimony to the poverty of ideas underpinning strategic thinking in the post-9/11 era. And that is possibly the greatest threat to have emerged over the past decade. It also provides an answer to what ought to be the most fundamental question about this era: ‘How could our leaders get it so wrong, so often?’

The damage caused by terrorist violence in New York, Bali, Madrid, London and Mumbai can be fixed relatively easily. The last decade has shown that despite its capacity to inflict serious harm and damage on its target population, terrorism cannot triumph. What can prove to be far more damaging, however, is an incoherent and ill-thought-through response to terrorism. So what is it that we should really worry about 10 years into GWOT or GSAVE or OCO?

Probably the most negative consequence of 9/11 is that far too many Western governments have allowed themselves to be overwhelmed by this event, to such an extent that they perceive it to be the defining moment of the twenty-first century. Such defensive and reactive posturing has encouraged the implementation of policies that institutionalise a sense of uncertainty, rather than making society feel more confident. It is about time we all moved on and stopped using 9/11 as a global displacement activity. There are far more important challenges facing humanity than fighting a war so pointless that we can’t even give it a name.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. Order On Tolerance from Amazon (UK)

First published by spiked, 5 September 2011

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A professional masquerade
Demands that scholars like David Starkey not speak outside their subject threaten intellectual freedom.

Whatever one thinks of David Starkey’s provocative statement on Newsnight, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the censorious tone and ambition of his critics, as expressed by the signatories of the letter published in Times Higher Education last week ("Starkey’s ignorance is hardly work of history"), represent a far greater threat to the freedom and integrity of intellectual life in the UK.

The letter is crafted as a critique of Starkey’s right to make pronouncements on television as a historian. The writers are disturbed by the BBC’s decision to choose a historian whose expertise is so far removed from the “issues of race and class”. But what Starkey’s naysayers really object to is not his status as a historian but his rejection of a perspective that they have signed up to.

They note that he has “rejected” an approach to history based on “race and class” and that therefore they are “unsurprised by the poverty of his reductionist argument, which reflected his lack of understanding of the history of ordinary life in modern Britain”. This is a roundabout way of stating that the signatories of this letter disagree with what they describe as Starkey’s “evidentially insupportable and factually wrong” arguments.

Those committed to the cause of intellectual clarification would use Starkey’s allegedly “insupportable” arguments to elucidate the issues at stake. They would mount powerful arguments to expose the erroneous views of their opponents. As we have learned from John Stuart Mill and other advocates of tolerance, even views that are deemed to be false can serve the positive end of forcing us to develop and clarify our opinions.

But Starkey’s detractors are not interested in engaging with his views. Their objective is to question his right to voice his opinions as a historian on the subject of the riots. They seek to accomplish this objective through questioning his authority to speak on a subject in which he apparently lacks expertise. Their call on the BBC to stop using Starkey to comment “as historian on matters for which his historical training and record of teaching, research and publication have ill-fitted him to speak” should be interpreted as a mendacious call for the policing of discussion and debate in the public sphere. It seems that unless you possess a PhD on 21st-century rioting, you have no right to offer a view.

Calls for censoring the controversial views of intellectuals usually emanate from second-rate politicians and moral entrepreneurs. The signatories to the letter understand that explicit and overt calls for censorship contradict the ethos of academic life. Thus they attempt to obscure their censorious project by hiding behind the dignity afforded by the affirmation of high professional standards. So after stating that they “do not seek to censor him”, they go on to plead that he “no longer (be) allowed to bring our profession into disrepute by being introduced as ‘the historian, David Starkey’ when commenting on issues outside his fields of expertise”.

Something is truly amiss when 100 colleagues take it upon themselves to advise the BBC on who has and does not have the right to speak on a topic. Both intellectual and academic freedom face a particularly grave threat when the demand for limiting speech comes from within the academy. It is symptomatic of a shallow, almost casual, orientation towards the value of criticism and debate. Equally disturbing is the attempt to use the authority of expertise as a warrant for policing intellectual and disciplinary boundaries. It appears that the diminishing status accorded to the intellectual is inversely proportional to ascendancy of the expert. Sadly, the claim to expertise has encouraged academics to adopt a language that is unnecessarily technical and specialised. Instead of assisting communication and debate, the institutionalisation of expertise has led to the proliferation of parallel monologues. As it happens, expertise is far too often overrated. There are historians of public disorders, but there is no expert on the English riots of 2011.

As intellectuals, we have a responsibility to engage with the issues that concern society. Our expert letter writers would do well to adopt an orientation towards open debate rather than devoting their energy to silencing their opponents.

Frank Furedi is professor of sociology, University of Kent. His latest book, On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence, is published this month. (Order it from Amazon(UK).)

First published by Times Higher Education, 1 September 2011

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The past is not history but should be retold as part of our future
One of the most important challenges facing Australia is whether it is prepared to engage with the legacy of its past and ensure that its history becomes a continuous part of its national conversation.

Often societies find it difficult to confront the really big questions they face.

One of the most important challenges facing Australia is whether it is prepared to actively engage with the legacy of its past and ensure that its history becomes a continuous part of its national conversation. If the review commissioned by the University of Melbourne of its Australian studies program is anything to go by, the nation’s historical legacy is in big trouble.

The review, authored by four international historians, demands that the university reform its Australian history curriculum to go beyond what it characterises as the “national narrative”. Outwardly, the call to demote Australian history is justified on the ground of falling student interest. Reading between the lines, the review panel takes the view that national historical focus is boring and irrelevant, and that therefore an orientation towards more popular themes such as environmental issues, Aboriginal concerns and global events is likely to increase student interest.

The proximate cause prompting this review is the fall of undergraduate interest in history courses and in the work at the university’s Australian Centre. But, as the review suggests, its proposal is also motivated by the conviction that students regard Australian studies as irrelevant. To reinforce this point, the review notes that there is also a lack of interest in this subject among pupils in secondary education. However, it is evident that the fall in student numbers also serves as a pretext for devaluing the status of Australian national history.

“There isn’t as much demand for a certain type of Australian history as there used to be,” says Trevor Burnard, the head of Melbourne’s school of historical and philosophical studies. The “certain type” of history Burnard refers to is that of the Australian nation. It is worth noting that the claim that it is the “irrelevance” of this subject that drives students away from history is regularly argued by opponents of national history. In October 2008, a draft report published by the National Curriculum Board demanded that schools change the way they teach history. It called for a shift from national to world history and claimed that such an approach would improve students’ interest in the subject. The History Teachers Association of Australia president then, Paul Kiem, said: “This could be one way of making it more interesting and one way of making it more relevant for students.”

It is far from clear why world or regional history is likely to be more relevant and engaging than an exploration of a student’s national past. Similar arguments have been used in Europe and the US to marginalise the teaching of the unfolding narrative of the past and replace it with apparently relevant courses focused on so-called hot issues.

Experience shows that these reforms fail to increase students’ interest in history.

Melbourne’s review reflects the wider societal ambiguity that many of Australia’s cultural leaders have about their own nation’s past. Australians, as for people in many Western societies, have found it difficult to forge a consensus through which they can affirm their past and the basic values they uphold. As the recent debate at Sydney City Council on whether to characterise the arrival of Europeans as an invasion shows, Australia’s history is interpreted by some as a source of disorientation.

When a generation senses that the stories and ideals that it was brought up on lose their relevance to a “changed” world, it finds it difficult to transmit them with conviction to its children, and bitter disputes about historical rights and wrongs refract competing claims about conflicting interests and identities. How to continue an inter-generational conversation in such circumstances is a question that society is hesitant to pose. Instead of acknowledging the problem and its own failure to impart the past with enthusiasm, it seeks refuge in pedagogic rhetoric about relevance.

But why should the subject of history be seen as an outdated relic of the 19th-century curriculum? Why should a study of people’s historical legacy be represented as irrelevant? Of course the study of this subject is entirely unnatural and unrelated to the experience of children. How can the study of 19th-century Australian history be of relevance to 21st-century children confronted with the challenges of a hi-tech, globalised world? Yet, properly understood, history is probably the subject that contributes most to the broadening out of the imagination. One of its purposes is to help children transcend their own immediate experience and gain an understanding about how a community has evolved and developed an understanding of itself. It is ironic that when policy-makers are obsessed with training children to adapt to change, they devalue the academic study of change.

Paradoxically, the study of humanity’s journey through time provides children with the complex motives that make people tick and with insights about the influences that make us who we are. Roman thinker Cicero understood far more about the relationship between education and personal development than critics of national history when he said: “Not to know what has been transacted in former times is to continue always a child.” Sadly, rather than achieving its aim of assisting their personal development, present thinking on rendering the history curriculum broader and more relevant infantilises the young.

One final point: one of the tasks of education is to teach children about the world as it is. Although society is continually subject to the forces of change, education needs to acquaint young people with the legacy of its past.

“Since the world is old, always older than they themselves, learning inevitably turns towards the past, no matter how much living will spend itself in the present,” political philosopher Hannah Arendt says. The term “learning from the past” is often used as a platitude. Yet it is impossible to engage with the future unless we draw on the insights and knowledge gained through centuries of human experience. Individuals gain an understanding of themselves through familiarity with the unfolding of the human world.

And no nation can live at ease with itself unless it has the confidence to conduct a constant conversation about its past with the younger generation.

First published by The Australian, 27 August 2011

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Cameron’s cure will make society sicker
The PM's post-riots promise of more intervention into troubled families is mad – it is precisely such intervention that devastated parental authority.

In Britain, they start very young these days. An 11-year-old girl who has not yet started secondary school recently pleaded guilty to causing criminal damage. Nottingham Magistrates Court heard she had been seen on the streets of the city, 25 kilometres from home, hurling rocks at shop windows. Her father, in his daughter’s defence, explained: ‘She is going through a bad time at the moment and just ran away from her foster place. She has got a sister going through care.’

Numerous children between the ages of 11 and 14 participated in the looting of shops and the destruction of property that made news around the world. It signifies that childhood has gone astray and that adult authority has been tragically eroded.

Policymakers, politicians and opinion-formers point the finger of blame at parents. British prime minister David Cameron claimed the collapse of families was the principal driver. ‘The question people asked over and over again last week was “Where are the parents?”’, he asserted. Either ‘there was no one at home’ or ‘they didn’t much care or they lost control’.

Reading between the lines, policies designed to ‘improve’ parenting are likely to be one of the main government responses to the rioting. Cameron has promised to put ‘rocket boosters’ under efforts to turn round 120,000 troubled families and has warned that his government will be less sensitive to claims that its intervention was ‘interfering or nannying’. In reality, his policy represents a continuation of New Labour’s failed strategy of early intervention in family life. This was the great idea of former prime minister Tony Blair, who wrote at the weekend that the conclusion he reached while in government was that ‘we had to be prepared to intervene literally family by family and at an early stage’, in order to prevent children from turning into criminals.

Cameron’s call to turn around 120,000 troubled families is an excellent example of what can most accurately be described as a fantasy policy. It is based on the delusion that governments and bureaucracies are capable of solving intimate family problems. But parenting is not an institution that can be reformed through state intervention. Parenting is a cultural accomplishment that is cultivated through decades of interaction in communities. That is why the billions of pounds spent so far on family intervention has failed to realise government objectives.

Worse still, the intrusion of officialdom may be partly responsible for the inability of many parents to control the behaviour of their children in the first place. For more than three decades, policymakers and the child-protection industry have sought to stigmatise and criminalise parents who punish bad behaviour. Official early-intervention programmes discourage parents from disciplining their children and often inadvertently undermine parental authority.

Campaigns against smacking put many parents on the defensive about exercising any form of restraint. Ironically, as politicians complain that parents don’t control their children, parents are lectured that discipline is repressive and results in dysfunctional children. The term ‘discipline’ now carries connotations of an abuse of power. A well-deserved smack on the wrist is represented as a crime against humanity.

The implicit objective of a no-smacking campaign is to restrain the exercise of parental authority. The wider agenda of influential anti-smackers is to undermine the right of parents to discipline their children at all.

No-smacking advocates believe that parents who withdraw affection as an alternative to smacking may cause even more damage to a child, and that punishments designed to make children feel uncomfortable or undignified are just as emotionally dangerous as the physical kind. The main outcome of their crusade is to undermine the capacity of parents to control their youngsters. This problem is mirrored in the classroom. Many teachers are frightened of exercising their authority and find it difficult to maintain classroom discipline. Last week Brian Lightman, the leader of Britain’s head teachers’ union, said there were some ‘hard questions and ‘uncomfortable truths’ for parents to confront in the aftermath of the riots. Following politicians, he blamed dysfunctional parents who fail to draw boundaries for the looting and rioting. Sadly, he misses an important point – which is that teachers are no less responsible then parents, and more importantly that hard questions need to be asked of adult society as a whole.

Many parents of children arrested during the riots argued that they were not responsible for the violence. One mum of a 13-year-old Manchester boy who appeared in court exclaimed: ‘You can’t say what your child’s doing 24 hours a day, no matter what a good parent you are.’ Her statement was the cry for help of a mother who is all too conscious of the fact that she lacks the means to contain the misbehaviour of her child.

To put it bluntly, adults have become estranged from the task of taking responsibility for the younger generations. Yet the assumption of adult responsibility is critical for the conduct of community life and for the socialisation of children. It is our obsessively protective parenting culture that is responsible for the erosion of intergenerational relationships. Adults feel awkward and even anxious about interacting with other people’s young children. A crying five-year-old is no longer picked up and reassured by a nearby adult. A six-year-old boy who misbehaves will not be reprimanded by grown-ups passing by.

Children will always test the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. And that’s how it should be. However, today children’s behaviour is no longer contained and controlled through the response of adults. Childcare has become entirely privatised. The neighbour, the shopkeeper, the child’s friend’s father, and in many cases even the child’s aunt no longer have a role in the upbringing of a child.

Today, the real damage begins when children are as young as seven or eight. Ironically, the breakdown of adult solidarity, which is driven by the paranoid imperative of child-protection policies, leads to a situation where young people’s behaviour is uncontained by the intervention of responsible grown-ups. A long time before they become teenagers, children know they face no sanction from anyone other than their parents. Is it any surprise that a minority of teenagers will come to regard the absence of adult intervention as an invitation to bad behaviour?

The reluctance to restrain the conduct of youngsters really means evading the task of socialising younger generations. The failure to communicate a community’s traditions and values leads to its slow disintegration. Children, who have not been taught to take seriously the prevailing norms and values, are unlikely to feel strongly about adhering to a community’s conventions.

The display of destructive and anti-social behaviour during the riots is the inevitable outcome of the failure of socialisation. The fault lies not with parents, but with the failure of society to give meaning to adult authority.

One final point. It is important to emphasise that the origins of the weakening of parental control, the erosion of adult authority and the problem of socialisation, are not to be found within the affected communities. Government intervention in family life has done for the self-esteem of its target population what welfare payments have done to the recipients of its largesse. Tragically, well-intentioned social engineering and government policies have systematically devalued the right of parents to discipline their children. When the erosion of adult authority has undermined the capacity of grown-ups to socialise children, it is not surprising that far too many English children, who have little respect for their elders, also have little esteem for the law and the property of others.

If Cameron really wants mothers and fathers to become more effective childrearers, he should challenge all the petty laws and conventions that force parents on the defensive. He could do worse than launch a campaign to restore adult authority, and most importantly he needs to resist the temptation to try to colonise family life.

Constructing community life through fostering adult responsibility for the young is the only way forward for England.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Order this book from Amazon(UK).) An edited version of this article was published in The Australian on 20 August 2011.

First published by spiked, 23 August 2011

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Politicians are like children: they just don’t know when to stop
Cameron's call to turn around 120,000 troubled families represents an excellent example of what can most accurately be described as a fantasy policy.

Last week an 11-year-old girl who has not yet started secondary school pleaded guilty to causing criminal damage.

Nottingham Magistrates Court heard she had been seen on the streets of the city, 25km from home, hurling rocks at shop windows. Her father, in his daughter’s defence, explained: “She is going through a bad time at the moment and just ran away from her foster place. She has got a sister going through care.”

Numerous children between the ages of 11-14 participated in the looting of shops and the destruction of property that made news around the world. It signifies that childhood has gone astray and that adult authority has been tragically eroded.

Policymakers, politicians and opinion makers point the finger at parents. British Prime Minister David Cameron claimed the collapse of families was the principal driver. “The question people asked over and over again last week was ‘Where are the parents?’ “ asserted Cameron. Either “there was no one at home” or “they didn’t much care or they lost control”.

Reading between the lines, policies designed to “improve” parenting are likely to be one of the main government responses. Cameron has promised to put “rocket boosters” under efforts to turn round 120,000 troubled families and has warned that his government will be less sensitive to claims that its intervention was “interfering or nannying”.

Cameron’s call to turn around 120,000 troubled families represents an excellent example of what can most accurately be described as a fantasy policy. It is based on the delusion that governments and bureaucracies are capable of solving the intimate family problems. But parenting is not an institution that can be reformed through state intervention. Parenting is a cultural accomplishment that is cultivated through decades of interaction in communities. That is why the billions of pounds spent so far on family intervention has failed to realise their objectives.

Worse still, the intrusion of officialdom may be partly responsible for the inability of many parents to control the behaviour of their children in the first place. For more than three decades policymakers and the child-protection industry have sought to stigmatise and criminalise parents who punish bad behaviour.

Campaigns against smacking put many parents on the defensive about exercising any form of restraint. Ironically, as politicians complain that parents don’t control their children, parents are lectured that discipline is repressive and results in dysfunctional children. The term “discipline” carries connotations of an abuse of power. A well-deserved smack on the wrist is represented as a crime against humanity.

The implicit objective of a no-smacking campaign is to restrain the exercise of parental authority. Their wider agenda seeks to undermine the right of parents to discipline their children at all.

No-smacking advocates believe that parents who withdraw affection as an alternative to smacking may cause even more damage to a child, and that punishments designed to make children feel uncomfortable or undignified are just as emotionally dangerous as the physical kind. The main outcome of their crusade is to undermine the capacity of parents to control their youngsters.

Many parents of children arrested during the riots argued that they were not responsible for the violence. One mum of a 13-year-old Manchester boy who appeared before the court exclaimed that “you can’t say what your child’s doing 24 hours a day, no matter what a good parent you are”. Her statement was the cry for help of a mother who is all too conscious of the fact she lacks the means to contain the misbehaviour of her child.

To put it bluntly, adults have become estranged from the task of taking responsibility for the younger generations. Yet the assumption of adult responsibility is critical for the conduct of community life and for the socialisation of children. Our obsessively protective parenting culture that is responsible for the erosion of intergenerational relationships. Adults feel awkward and even anxious about interacting with other people’s young children. A crying five-year-old is no longer picked up and reassured by a nearby adult. A six-year-old boy who misbehaves will not be reprimanded by grown-up passers-by.

Children will always test the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. And that’s how it should be. However today children’s behaviour is no longer contained and controlled through the response of adults. Childcare has become entirely privatised. The neighbour, the shopkeeper, the child’s friend’s father and in many cases even the aunt no longer have a role in the upbringing of a child.

Today the real damage begins when children are as young as seven or eight. Ironically the breakdown of adult solidarity, which is driven by the paranoid imperative of child-protection policy leads to a situation where young people’s behaviour is uncontained by the intervention of responsible grown-ups. A long time before they become teenagers, children know they face no sanctions from anyone other than their parents. Is it any surprise that a minority of teenagers will come to regard the absence of adult intervention as an invitation to bad behaviour?

The reluctance to restrain the conduct of youngsters constitutes an evasion of the task of socialising the younger generations. The failure to communicate a community’s traditions and values leads to its slow disintegration. Children, who have not been taught to take seriously the prevailing norms and values are unlikely to feel strong about adhering to a community’s conventions.

The display of destructive and antisocial behaviour during the riots is the inevitable outcome of the failure of socialisation. The fault lies not with parents but with the failure of society to give meaning to adult authority.

One final point. It is important to emphasise that the origins of the weakening of parental control, the erosion of adult authority and the problem of socialisation are not to be found within the affected communities. Government intervention in family life has done for the self-esteem of its target population what welfare payments have done to the recipients of its largesse. Tragically, well-intentioned social engineering and government policies have systematically devalued the right of parents to discipline their children. When the erosion of adult authority has undermined the capacity of grown-ups to socialise children, is it any surprise that far too many English children, who have little respect for their elders, also have little esteem for the law and the property of others?

If Cameron really wants mothers and fathers to become more effective child-rearers, he should challenge all the petty laws and conventions that force parents on the defensive. He could do worse than launch a campaign to restore adult authority and most importantly he needs to resist the temptation of attempting to colonise family life.

Constructing community life through fostering adult responsibility for the socialising of young people is the only way forward for England.

First published by The Australian, 20 August 2011

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Rioting in England: was it just a bad dream?
The elite’s claim that this was just another facet of the ‘culture of greed’ shows how incapable they are of addressing urban implosion.

British society finds it hard to acknowledge the scale of the social and moral disintegration of many of its communities.

Some people, especially those who live in the communities that were affected by rioting and looting, understandably want to forget about this frightening experience and move on. A friend who was on Wood Green High Street as shops were being looted tells me that what really frightened her was not the casual manner in which people trashed things, but the community’s pretence the next morning that things were back to normal. Her neighbours treated the event as a singular act of midsummer madness, a kind of a bad dream. It was as if many locals found it too difficult to think about the scale of the crisis confronting their neighbourhoods, because to do so would force them to face up to the precarious circumstances of their own existences.

The riots may have come as a surprise to the chattering classes, but, sadly, many people know only too well that their daily lives always contain a potential for violence that can explode at any time. They intuitively grasp that the menacing gestures made by groups of people living in their midst can swiftly mutate into acts of low-grade violence. These groups of mainly young individuals are not restrained by the usual social conventions, for the very simple reason that they have no stake in the society that produced them. Their elders lack any influence over their conduct and lack the confidence and authority necessary to restrain their behaviour.

Throughout England, a palpable sense of ambient fear pervades many urban neighbourhoods. Often, this fear has no distinct name yet it directly shapes the habits and behaviour of a significant section of England’s urban population. It fosters a diffuse climate of insecurity, which effectively forces the elderly off the streets. Others learn to accommodate to this reality by adopting a defensive approach whenever they leave their houses. They avoid making eye contact with local troublemakers and mind their own business. For many, putting up with incivility and allowing antisocial acts to go unchecked is the price they pay for avoiding trouble. Being careful, making the best of a difficult situation, makes sense for people who live in these kinds of communities. And individuals who feel that they have no choice but to put up with habitual antisocial behaviour are unlikely to be surprised when such acts take on a more destructive form.

Turning a blind eye to certain forms of conduct is an understandable response on the part of those who feel they are isolated and unlikely to gain the support of their neighbours. The erosion of communal bonds has diminished the capacity of even the bravest individual to stand up to antisocial behaviour. There were small pockets of resistance to the rioters, among Turkish and Asian communities and in a handful of white working-class communities,but this was not a widespread phenomenon. It is the perception that they are on their own, that they are intensely isolated, that led many residents of riot-afflicted communities to breathe a sigh of relief the next morning, in the hope that things were now ‘back to normal’.

In contrast to the residents of these communities, policymakers and commentators regard the riots as some kind of a mysterious eruption unconnected to anything that is going on in England’s imploded urban communities. Those who lack a sensitivity to the realities of English urban life are now at the forefront of inventing spurious causes and explanations for the events of last week. The search for a context for the riots overlooks a simple truth: that the normalisation of uncivil and brutalised conduct always contains the potential for outbursts of a more general disorder. Until we have the final assessment of the meaning of the August riots, it is most useful to locate its genesis in the acquiescence of community life to everyday, routine forms of threatening behaviour.

Where is the anger?

There have been many references to the ‘anger’ that ostensibly drove ‘angry youths’ or ‘angry young men’ to participate in rioting and looting. The use of the adjective ‘angry’ gives the impression that there is some specific issue or event which provoked people to explode with rage. So Paul Rogers at Open Democracy claims that ‘many of those involved belong to a generation of 16- to 30-year-olds who are experiencing or facing unemployment and life-prospects that are far more limited than their elders’. He believes that ‘their frustrations are further exacerbated by real anger at the ostentatious wealth of elites, especially bankers’.  A columnist for Al Jazeera says the riots are a response to the austerity measures faced by ‘disenfranchised youth’ and cites Klara, ‘an activist with Occupied London’, who claims there is ‘a bubble of anger and anxiety and oppression that has to be burst’.

In the conventional imagination, anger and violence are closely linked with one another. But an act of destructive violence need not be fuelled by anger, specifically by anger at some strongly felt act of injustice. In a brutalised environment, acts of violence often have a banal, going-through-the-motions character. Indeed, what is striking about the August riots in England is the relative shallowness of the anger of the participants. In Tottenham in London, the epicentre of the riots, the family protesting against the police shooting of Mark Duggan were likely to have been angry. But by the time other community inhabitants had got to Tottenham Hale Retail Park to pick up their freebies, their anger was running thin. The systematic looting of shops occurred in a relaxed, almost casual manner. There was not even a hint of a riot in nearby Wood Green Shopping City. The total absence of the police meant that the looting could be carried out in a relatively laid-back, care-free fashion.

It was not the spread of anger which led to the outbreak of rioting invarious London towns and then in other English cities, but rather the growing conviction that looting was an exciting and low-risk activity. For many of the participants, acts of mass looting represented simply a new and more ambitious variant of the kind of antisocial behaviour that already prevails in their communities. Certainly by this stage any association of rioting with anger about injustice was conspicuous by its absence. One of the most distinctive features of the riots was the shallowness of the emotions and the flimsiness of the sense of grievance that drove them. Indeed, it is the seemingly routine and instrumental turn towards looting and destruction of property that gives this episode a uniquely disturbing dimension. Many of the participants in the riots were already accustomed to this kind of behaviour, and did not require a new boost of angry energy to get stuck in.

But we are all rioters!

That insecure residents of out-of-control housing estates helplessly accommodate to their predicament, treating the riots as a fleeting episode, is an understandable part of their survival strategy. Unfortunately, however, a reluctance to acknowledge the seriousness of the problems in these urban communities also afflicts the political establishment, where social amnesia seems to have become almost pathological in recent days.

Many policymakers and media commentators seem frightened to acknowledge the scale of the problems brought to the surface by the riots. The clearest symptom of this collective act of self-deception is the attempt to redefine the specific form of destructive conduct we saw in the rioting as simply a variant of a generalised problem of greed in modern society. The most hackneyed exponent of this viewpoint has been the Labour leader Ed Miliband, who blamed the ‘me first’ culture for the riots. Typically, he depicted the riots as urban youths’ version of the irresponsible acts of greedy bankers and dishonest MPs who fiddle their expenses.

Miliband’s rebranding of violent rioting as simply another expression of a ‘me first’ culture might look like a sociological explanation for Britain’s political predicament. But in truth, by conflating all forms of behaviour – from kids eyeing up iPods to bankers hustling for bonuses, from MPs fiddling their travel allowance to unemployed dads dreaming of winning the lottery – Miliband is eroding what is distinct about each. A ‘me first’ attitude does not motivate people to destroy their corner shop or burn down their neighbour’s home. To talk about hedge-fund hustlers and those who mug elderly people in the same breath might sound very sensitive and democratic, but it actually constitutes a dishonest caricature of how the world works. The reason most people rioted was not because they had become unusually greedy, but because they have become accustomed to a life unrestrained by adult authority – parents, teachers, neighbours – or by social conventions.

The speed with which the riots have been reinterpreted as expressions of the problem of greed is truly amazing. A hundred years from now, historians reading commentaries in the English press from August 2011 will draw the conclusion that we were all rioters. ‘Britain’s riots are the consequence of a greedy society’, asserts Seumas Milne of the Guardian. The coupling of greed and rioting has become an almost mystical chant, with no pressure on the advocates of this theory to establish a causal link between these two things. The principal aim of the greed/rioting arguments is to treat literally every form of objectionable conduct as an expression of the same impulse. Journalist Patrick Kingsley indulged in a particularly mendacious form of this methodology, when he questioned London mayor Boris Johnson’s sharp criticism of the rioters on the basis that Boris once ‘had a relaxed attitude to a bit of property-trashing in his Oxford days’ – that is, he was a member of the posh and occasionally rowdy Bullingdon Club. From this perspective, the antics of drunken university students are the moral equivalent of groups of masked youths who attack a bus in Peckham and systematically intimidate the passengers caught up in the affray. We are all rioters now.

This loss of perspective, this inability to isolate the specific features of what constitutes a riot, is by no means confined to Miliband and his allies in the press. For example, Peter Oborne of the Tory-leaning Daily Telegraph also claims that the rioters ‘are just following the example set by senior and respected figures in society’. According to Oborne, it is the moral confusion of the elites that is to blame for the riots: ‘The culture of greed and impunity we are witnessing on our TV screens stretches right up into corporate boardrooms and the Cabinet. It embraces the police and large parts of our media. It is not just its damaged youth, but Britain itself that needs a moral reformation.’

Oborne no doubt has a point about the moral disorientation of the establishment, but it is not useful to reduce all the evils afflicting society to one generic cause. Indeed, this obsessive desire to spread the blame actually serves as a displacement activity, distracting attention from the very difficult and disturbing issue of community implosion. This evasive strategy is most strikingly communicated by the Daily Mail, which appears to have an almost voyeuristic fascination with the ‘middle-class rioter’. Its headline, ‘The middle-class “rioters” revealed’, conveys the impression that what is at stake is a general problem of pure greed. It emphasises this point by highlighting that, ‘shockingly’, among ‘those in the dock accused of looting, are a millionaire’s daughter and a ballet student’.

Constant references to the millionaire’s daughter, the now infamous Laura Johnson, promote the impression that it is the general culture of greed that caused the recent disturbances rather any specific issue to do with the disorganisation of urban community life. No doubt there were some middle-class rioters who attached themselves to what they perceived to be a low-risk but high-excitement recreational activity. But they played the role of scavengers who joined in after the event, rather than being the initiators of the riots. Confusing community implosion with the irresponsibility of thrill-seeking middle-class kids obscures the various drivers of modern-day antisocial behaviour.

There is actually no logical link between ‘me first’ consciousness and rioting. Selfishness may not be a morally worthy characteristic, but it should not be pathologised as a destructive disease. There is an important distinction to be made between the all-too-human trait of acquisitiveness, a desire to have things, and violent and destructive behaviour.

Greed: confusing the symptom with the cause

The constant reference to greed is underpinned by society’s current unease with human aspiration and ambition. Time and again, social commentators claim that we live in an unusually greedy era. Some go so far as to claim that social inequality in Britain is at an unprecedented level. These claims spring from an outlook that is uniquely uncomfortable with the display of individual ambition. It is difficult, if not impossible, to establish whether we do indeed live in an unusually greedy epoch. People have always envied the possessions of their neighbours and many of them sought to accumulate property by any means that they could. It is unlikely that human beings have lost empathy and compassion for others and have become entirely addicted to possessions. What has changed is Western culture’s attitude towards consumption and wealth. Consumerism is held responsible for the slow destruction of the planet and is frequently indicted as a marker for crass and immoral behaviour. Increasingly, greed is depicted as a kind of transcendental evil.

No doubt consumption has become more important than it was before. But it is not greed but rather the search for identity that leads youngsters to desire a particular brand of trainers or jeans. The association of consumption with individual identity is not the cause of today’s profound problems, but rather a symptom of them. The reason consumption has emerged as an important site of identity formation is because other, more basic sources of identity have become exhausted. This is especially true of the identity that people often derived from their work and the community. In neighbourhoods where the world of work is an alien phenomenon and where community bonds are increasingly feeble, young people are unlikely to gain much of an identity from either of those two sources. In such circumstances, sporting a fashionable brand of trainers says more about a person than his or her family or neighbourhood affiliation.

So the problem is the emptying out of community life and its disorienting impact on young people. It is not the human aspiration of greed but rather Britain’s culture of welfarism that has fuelled the current round of antisocial violence. The usual problems of urban poverty have been aggravated by the peculiar form of state assistance given to these communities. Those without resources and the means of survival deserve support from the rest of society, of course. However, in Britain the provision of welfare has mutated into a culture that encourages people to regard their circumstances not as a temporary phase but as a way of life. The problem is not the provision of social benefits, but the normalisation of welfare dependency as the defining feature of people’s lives. Claiming resources from the state is unlikely to constitute a desirable form of identity. Is it any surprise that youngsters prefer to be known for the fashionable gear that they possess?

The culture of welfarism has had the perverse effect of eroding community life. Its most disturbing effect is social fragmentation. Typically, the breakdown of community is most striking in relation to the loss of authority of older people over younger generations. For it is young people who are most affected by the destructive consequences of community implosion. Denied any positive ideal of what it means to belong to a community, many young people are spontaneously drawn towards prevailing forms of antisocial behaviour. Those who are involved in ‘recreational’ rioting are not abnormal feral youngsters, but people who simply have no stake in their community. They might belong to gangs that are associated with a distinct geographical territory but their gang identity does not have any wider community-related significance. Historical experience shows that urban gangs often take their own ‘manor’ very seriously; in contrast, today’s highly atomised groups of rioters have little inhibition about burning down the corner shop that services their own families.

It is not surprising that so many commentators and policymakers have opted to denounce human greed instead of acknowledging the difficult issues associated with the explosion of urban violence in England. Yet cheap moralising about greed simply mystifies the issues at stake. Arguably, this act of political evasion represents a greater threat to society than the damage caused by the rioters. For if society continues to ignore the problem and fails to acknowledge the huge challenges it faces, then it will create the conditions where urban violence can become even more normalised and more threatening. What is required are policies that encourage communal self-reliance and solidarity through challenging the institutionalisation of welfare dependency. What we need is not more pervasive policing, but the establishment of local authoritative institutions that can take responsibility for the security of local residents. Only they can restrain antisocial behaviour and encourage young people to develop a stake in the communities that they inhabit.

Frank Furedi’s latest book On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum. (Order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 15 August 2011

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Why London’s burning
The riots that erupted in Tottenham, north London, and then spread to other parts of this metropolis before erupting in other English cities are the consequence of a unique form of community disintegration.

There are riots and there are riots. Experience shows that mass violence can erupt in the most unexpected of circumstances.

In recent decades people have rioted because their football team has lost a match or because their livelihood was threatened by the invisible power of market forces.

Thirty years ago in the UK, black people took to the streets to protest against what they saw as police violence and racial injustice. In recent years small-scale rioting followed demonstrations against globalisation or the rise in university fees. What these episodes had in common is that they represented a response—direct or indirect—to some issue or cause.

The riots that have engulfed England during the past week are very different. While the first riot in Tottenham emerged from a protest march in response to the police shooting of a local man, the copycat riots across the country appear to have no purpose. This is a kind of grotesque recreational sport that provides a wider focus for the pre-existing anti-social and destructive impulse of groups of young people who inhabit geographical spaces that cannot be called communities.

It is all too easy to simply condemn rioting. Many accounts of such events are often informed by the personal prejudices of the commentator. As a sociologist I am aware that comprehensible protest is often devalued by authorities who are hostile to its objectives. Time and again rioting is wrongly blamed on outside agitators. The spreading of such violence is often described as the copycat effect.

Others fall into the very different trap of endowing urban violence with intrinsic social and political meaning.

Such commentators will describe this violence as a form of rational behaviour of the dispossessed and insist that it is the only way those without a voice can make themselves heard.

None of the conventional sociological explanations—from the Left or the Right—can satisfactorily account for the present riots in England.

The riots that erupted in Tottenham, north London, and then spread to other parts of this metropolis before erupting in other English cities are the consequence of a unique form of community disintegration. This process of disintegration has been made worse by unhelpful forms of government policies, which have sought to evade the issues at stake.

The eruption of the riots and its swift expansion to other parts of England has been blamed on the role of social networking applications. Digital technology did play a role in providing rioters with an organisational tool.

But a far more important factor has been the role of the police or, more specifically, the disorganisation of the institutions of law and order.

In recent years on my travels throughout Europe I have frequently come across urban decay and poverty. Every large city has its share of marginalised neighbourhoods. In such areas, petty crime and drug dealing is rife and respect for prevailing social norms is minimal. However, in comparison with England such neighbourhoods have a relatively smaller social weight. Moreover, unlike England they still manage to retain a semblance of community life. Even the banlieues of Paris have a discernible code of behaviour and sense of community. Although life is far from pleasant for the inhabitants of German, French or Dutch marginalised neighbourhoods, it is not nearly as atomised and fragmented as in England.

The problems that afflict urban ghettos and housing estates of English towns are far more extensive than their counterparts in western Europe. The most striking manifestation of this malaise is the feeble quality of community life. When the riots first broke out in Tottenham numerous critics of the police claimed that local people felt aggrieved because the forces of law and order did not “talk to them”. Many observers stated that the police did not talk to the community. Now it is possible that the police were not brilliant at communicating or lacked sensitivity to local circumstances. But the question that needs to be posed is, who is the “them” that they would talk to?

Most individuals purporting to be community leaders are self-appointed careerists or employees of a state-sponsored quango. In any case they represent only themselves and are as isolated from “them” as anyone else. That there is no one to talk to or negotiate with is symptomatic of the problem of neighbourhoods without neighbours, and of locations where a geographical designation is denuded of communal content.

There are many factors that led to the implosion of numerous English urban communities. Industrial decline and loss of traditional manual working-class jobs had a significant effect on parts of urban England during the past four decades. However, the usual problems of urban poverty have been aggravated by the peculiar form of state assistance to these communities. Those without resources and means of survival deserve support from the rest of society.

However, in Britain the provision of welfare has mutated into a culture that encourages people to regard their circumstances as not a temporary phase but as a way of life. So the problem is not the provision of social benefits but the normalisation of welfare dependency as the defining feature of people’s life.

One former youth worker tells me “this is about the cuts”. Now and again you hear deluded individuals hinting that the riots are “payback” for the government’s proposed cuts in state expenditure. From their standpoint, the violence sweeping English towns and cities is “our” equivalent of the demonstrations against austerity measures in Athens and Madrid.

Perhaps there is a link between Europe’s debt crisis and rioting in England, but it isn’t what critics of austerity measures suspect. Decades of wasteful and totally purposeless expenditure on bureaucracy-led welfare programs have had the perverse effect of demoralising their target population. Billions have been spent on measures that foster irresponsibility. So the riots are not so much about the cuts but about corrupting community life through promiscuous spending.

The normalisation of welfare dependency has been actively promoted by advocates working inside and outside the public sector. There are numerous institutions that assist people to claim the maximum amount. Claiming has become a term that connotes the possession of an awareness of “rights” as well as negotiating skills. The principal outcome of the advocacy of claiming is the legitimation of a way of life. From this perspective, improvements to one’s quality of life depend on enhancing one’s claiming skills rather than through work and effort.

Some conservative critics of the welfare state object to the dependence that those living on benefits have on public institutions.

However, such dependence is only a part of the problem. A far more important consequence of the normalisation of welfarism is that it undermines the everyday social and cultural bonds that link members of a community. Historically, those suffering from poverty would develop institutions of self-help and organisations of solidarity. Today, such organisations are conspicuous by their absence. Why? If people are encouraged to rely on state assistance in a one-dimensional manner, they have little incentive to help one another. As far as the people of Tottenham or Liverpool’s Toxteth are concerned, their communities’ effort has little to do with the quality of their lives. Despite their common experience of poverty and marginalisation, people have little incentive to improve their circumstances through joint effort.

The British culture of welfarism has had the perverse effect of eroding community life. Its most disturbing effect is the unusual degree of social fragmentation. Typically the breakdown of community is most striking in relation to the loss of authority that older people have towards the younger generation.

For it is young people who are most afflicted by the destructive consequences of community implosion. Denied any positive ideal of what it means to belong to a community, numerous young people are spontaneously drawn towards prevailing forms of anti-social behaviour. Those who are involved in “recreational” rioting are not abnormal feral youngsters but young people who simply have no stake in their community.

They may belong to gangs that are associated with a distinct geographical territory, but their gang identity does not have any wider community-related significance. Historical experience shows that urban gangs often take their own “manor” very seriously. In contrast the highly atomised groups of rioters today have little inhibition about burning down the corner shop that services their own family.

In an imploded community, even family life is threatened by the imperative of atomisation. Youngsters who have little respect for their own family and parents are unlikely to take wider norms of civic behaviour seriously. That is why so much of the rioting by youngsters is the consequence of years of uncontained behaviour.

The implosion of community life is not a problem of which policy-makers are unaware. From time to time officials attempt to initiate projects that aim to enhance what they call “community resilience”. Previous governments have promoted what they called policies of “inclusion”. But what all these initiatives had in common was to bypass the problem of a welfare culture. Money devoted to community projects and initiatives served to employ a handful of otherwise unemployed people but did nothing to strengthen communities. Why? Because communities evolve organically in response to problems that mean something to local residents. They cannot be constructed from above, especially by institutions that have been complicit in eroding the independence of community life in the first place.

The consequence of such policies has been to evade the problem they were meant to address. Instead of developing resilience, communities have been enfeebled.

But why now? In principle these riots could have erupted any time during the past decade.

The reason it has happened now is because of the high public visibility of the demoralisation of the British police. The British police force is not above criticism; it has a sad record of operational screw-ups and of making a bad situation worse. However, in recent years the morale of the police has been severely undermined and it is not an exaggeration to state that they have lost much of their coherence as an effective force.

Even the mildest form of policing of public events is regularly criticised.

Police tactics, which are far more restrained than they were 30 or 40 years ago, are frequently denounced as brutal. In recent months rioters in London and Bristol must have drawn the conclusion that their activity bears only a minimal cost.

Consequently, the public profile of public-order policing has become increasingly defensive and operationally inept. The failure of London’s Metropolitan Police Service to prevent protesters from rampaging through the street of the capital in recent months—most vividly illustrated by its inability to protect the car in which Prince Charles and Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall were travelling—has been noted by people throughout the land. In such circumstances many young people have drawn the conclusion that taking on the police is no big deal and that rioting is its own reward. So the rioting that broke out in Tottenham is merely an escalation, albeit a significant one, of the disturbances that have occurred during the past year.

There is no short-term solution to the implosions of community life. Decades of misguided government policies have undermined its fabric. The challenge is to ensure that young people are forced to understand that their future depends on their own effort and achievement, and that the best way forward for them is to develop a stake in their community. What’s required is an acknowledgment that the previous policies have failed to recognise the malaise that afflicts English cities. What’s required is a system of welfare that encourages young people to develop their own resources to make their way in the future.

First published by The Australian, 13 August 2011

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„Krise“: Das neue Modewort in Brüssel
Während ich kürzlich Brüssel besuchte, war ich erstaunt, wie Insider dort hemmungslos das Wort „Krise“ gebrauchten.

Krisengerede ist in Brüssel zwar nichts Neues. Doch heute lassen sich Angst und Verwirrung mit Händen greifen. Selbst die energischsten Befürworter der EU sind davon betroffen.

Das lässt sich zwar auch als Symptom der bitteren Konflikte abtun, die durch die Krise der Eurozone ausgelöst wurden. Dass man Griechenland aber auch Irland und Portugal mit riesigen Geldmengen beistehen muss, um ihre Pleite abzuwenden, erklärt nicht alles. Die aktuellen Probleme beschränken sich nämlich nicht nur auf die ökonomische Sphäre; die EU ist auch durch eine politische und kulturelle Krise bedroht.

Die Lage der griechischen Wirtschaft ist anerkanntermaßen katastrophal. Alle wissen seit Monaten, dass man um eine Restrukturierung der griechischen Schulden nicht herumkommen wird. Doch auf dem jüngsten EU-Gipfel wurde das Unausweichliche erneut durch ein Rettungspaket aufgeschoben, das Europas Banken und Staaten zu weiteren Stützungszahlungen verpflichtet – obgleich man mehr oder weniger wusste, dass sie Griechenland bestenfalls vorübergehend Luft verschaffen werden. Und schon wird deutlich, dass auch diese Milliarden an den Finanzmärkten wenig Eindruck machen. Neben Irland, Portugal und Spanien droht nun auch Italien der Staatsbankrott. Die Medizin wirkt einfach nicht, und die Eurozone gerät in immer dramatischere Turbulenzen.

Entsprechend wächst der Euroskeptizismus in den wohlhabenderen Regionen Europas. In Deutschland zeigte eine Umfrage kürzlich, dass 30 Prozent der Befragten ein „unabhängiges Deutschland“ befürworten und die Rückkehr der D-Mark verlangen. Daher mahnt Bundeskanzlerin Angela Merkel (CDU) Griechenland unentwegt zu entschlossenerem Sparen. Ein portugiesischer Journalist beschreibt diesen Vorgang als das Füttern des populistischen Monsters, das in der Eurozone heranwächst. Doch es wird davon nicht einfach verschwinden.

In Finnland haben vor einigen Monaten die „Wahren Finnen“, eine nationalistische Partei, die gegen die Rettungspakete ist, aus dem Stand fast 20 Prozent der Wählerstimmen gewonnen und wurden zur drittstärksten Partei. Ihr Erfolg zeigt, dass die ökonomischen Verwerfungen sich inzwischen zu einer politischen Krise auswachsen. Die europhile politische Klasse verliert rapide an Autorität und steht wachsenden euroskeptischen und populistischen Bewegungen gegenüber.

Auch die Flüchtlingskrise im Gefolge des „arabischen Frühlings“ erweist sich als Belastung der europäischen Einheit. Zunächst feierten die europäischen Staatschefs die Rebellion in Nordafrika, und man hoffte, Brüssel könne hier seine diplomatische Softpower zur Geltung bringen. Doch leider ist die EU in der Person der Britin Cathrine Ashton mit einer ungewöhnlich ungeschickten Repräsentantin gesegnet. Seit ihrer Ernennung vor über anderthalb Jahren ist die ehemalige Labour-Politikerin beißender Kritik ausgesetzt. Ihre Unfähigkeit, eine Strategie für den Umgang mit dem Umbruch in Nordafrika und Nahost zu entwickeln, ist ein weiteres Indiz der politischen Lähmung Europas. Und unterdessen sorgt die Ankunft zahlreicher Flüchtlinge aus der Region für neuen Zündstoff in der EU.

Die Frage, wer denn die Verantwortung für das Wohlergehen der Flüchtlinge übernehmen soll, hat zu einem grundlegenden Streit über die Bedeutung der nationalen Souveränität innerhalb Europas geführt. Angesichts der von Italiens Premierminister Silvio Berlusconi als „menschlichen Tsunami“ bezeichneten Flüchtlingswelle verlangte seine Regierung zusammen mit den Führungen anderer Staaten, den freien Verkehr im Schengenraum aufzuheben. Kurze Zeit später hat dann der kleine und bekanntermaßen liberale Staat Dänemark ohne Absprache mit anderen Ländern tatsächlich permanente Grenzkontrollen eingeführt. Dies ist ein schwerer Rückschlag für die Europäische Union, denn die grenzüberschreitende Bewegungsfreiheit innerhalb der ganzen Union ist eines der zentralen Symbole des europäischen Einigungsprojekts.

Wie vorherzusehen, reagierte der Präsident der Europäischen Kommission, Jose Manuel Barroso, mit einer scharfen Warnung vor solch gefährlichen „unilateralen Schritten“. Die EU-Kommission drohte sogar mit einer Klage gegen das Land. Einzelne Politiker riefen zu einem Urlaubsboykott auf. Barroso und seine Kollegen befürchten nicht zu Unrecht, dass sich nach den Dänen weitere Länder ermächtigt fühlen könnten, ihre nationalen Interessen robuster zu verfolgen. Schließlich sind Vorbehalte gegenüber offenen Grenzen in ganz Westeuropa ein Thema. Die Idee, dass offene Grenzen Kriminalität, Drogen- und Menschenhandel sowie Arbeitslosigkeit und kulturelle Konflikte befördern, stößt heute auf breite Resonanz. Und das wiederum hat zur Folge, dass viele die europäische Idee für die Unsicherheiten verantwortlich machen, die sie – ob zu Recht oder Unrecht – als Bedrohung wahrnehmen.

Die einzige Antwort aus Brüssel auf diese missliche Lage scheint darin zu bestehen, immer mehr Geld in PR-Maßnahmen zu stecken. Die Europäische Kommission investiert mehrstellige Millionensummen in ihre zahlreichen Propagandakampagnen, um die europäische Politik zu „erklären“ und sich „besser mit den Bürgern zu verbinden“. So möchte man „das Bewusstsein der Existenz der Union erhöhen, ihre Legitimität stärken, ihr Image aufwerten und ihre Rolle beleuchten“.
Dass die EU die Dienste hunderter Spindoktoren benötigt, um den Bürgern ihre Legitimität „bewusster“ zu machen, belegt wie gering ihre tatsächliche Legitimität in den Augen der Öffentlichkeit heute ist.

Früher befürchtete man, deutsch-französische Rivalitäten könnten die europäische Einheit untergraben. Doch Europa erwies sich stattdessen als sehr effektiv in der Handhabung der historischen innereuropäischen Konflikte, die in der Vergangenheit für große Turbulenzen sorgten. Sogar die Herausforderung der deutschen Einheit und der Aufnahme Osteuropas in die EU wurde reibungslos bewältigt.

Dass das alles so problemlos verlief, liegt daran, dass man in diesen großen Einigungsschritten der achtziger und neunziger Jahre des vergangenen Jahrhunderts nicht auf öffentliche Zustimmung angewiesen war. Der entscheidende Charakterzug der EU-Politik besteht darin, dass sie ihre Entscheidungsprozesse bewusst von der Öffentlichkeit abkapselt. Vom Standpunkt der politischen Eliten Europas liegt einer der Vorzüge der EU-Institutionen in der Isolierung der Entscheidungsträger von den Formen öffentlichen Drucks und öffentlicher Rechenschaftspflicht, denen Politiker normalerweise in den nationalen Parlamenten ausgesetzt sind. Deshalb kann die EU auch politische Entscheidungen treffen, die unter offeneren parlamentarisch-demokratischen Gegebenheiten umstritten wären und sich schwerer rechtfertigen ließen. In allen Ländern Europas verstecken sich die Politiker immer wieder hinter den undurchschaubaren Entscheidungsprozessen der EU-Apparate.
Es ist für Politiker natürlich recht angenehm, ihre Entscheidungen öffentlichkeitsfern zu treffen. Doch die Sache hat einen Haken: diese Form bürokratischer Elitenherrschaft beeinträchtigt nicht nur die Legitimität der Politiker Europas, sondern damit auch ihre Fähigkeit, die Wähler zu überzeugen oder gar inspirieren. Deshalb braucht die EU PR-Maßnahmen, um ihr Legitimationsdefizit zu kompensieren. Doch Loyalität und Begeisterung lassen sich kaum durch Spindoktoren wecken.

Früher gelang es der EU recht gut, hinter verschlossenen Türen den reibungslosen Ablauf ihrer Verhandlungen zu gewährleisten. Doch Entscheidungen, die das Leben hunderter Millionen von EU-Bürgern beeinflussen, lassen sich heute nicht mehr gegen den wachsenden Ärger der Öffentlichkeit abschotten. Dass die Dänen den EU-Verträgen trotzen, zeigt, dass zumindest eine Regierung erkennt, dass es auf Dauer keine Option mehr ist, sich hinter undurchschaubaren Entscheidungsprozessen zu verstecken.

Aus dem Englischen übersetzt von Kai Rogusch.

Frank Furedi ist Professor für Soziologie an der Universität von Kent und Mitbegründer des Manifesto Club. Er schreibt regelmäßig für NovoArgumente. Seine Website findet sich unter frankfuredi.com. Dieser Artikel erschien unter Titel The new buzzword in Brussels: ‘Crisis’“ zuerst beim Novo-Partnermagazin Spiked. Zuletzt erschien von ihm bei NovoArgumente Online „Fördert das lesen, nicht die Lesekompetenz“.

First published by NovoArgumente, 29 July 2011

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How modern society deals with fear
Frank Furedi recently spoke at Tallinn University in Estonia. Here's a video of his talk.

Frank Furedi - Demo from Tallinna Ülikool on Vimeo.

First published by Vimeo, 28 July 2011

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Reflections on a civilised witch-hunt
I don't have to listen to the news to realise that probably earlier today a high-ranking police official or a media executive or a political consultant resigned from their post. Demanding someone's resignation has become a central feature of Britain's very real reality television drama.

Sitting in my taxi on the way to the airport, I am not surprised by the latest act in this performance of well-rehearsed outrage. I hear that veteran Labour backbencher Gerald Kaufman has just called on Prime Minister David Cameron to “consider his position”. My cab driver smiles and informs me that he knows that he really matters when someone asks him to resign.

As I get on my flight to Estonia, I am actually glad to leave behind this hothouse of scandal for a few days. In the past few days Britain has been afflicted with that contagious disease of scandalmongering. Everywhere you go, you encounter the latest version of the received wisdom of the week. It is not just tired media commentators that inform us that the root cause of the epidemic of scandals engulfing Britain is that those who possess power have become too close to one another.

I even overhear the ticket collector at my swimming pool elaborating on the breaking news story she heard on breakfast television. “You know Cameron even invited Rebekah Wade (Brooks) to his Christmas lunch,” she states, before shifting gear and offering her unsolicited opinion about the former News International chief’s striking red hair.

At the pub, the boys are sharing jokes about bent coppers. One offers his reflection on the Chipping Norton Set (Elisabeth Murdoch, Brooks and Cameron). Chipping Norton! I had not heard of this place until a couple of days ago. Now it makes the infamous Cliveden Set of the 1930s fascist sympathisers appear positively patriotic and public-spirited.

In just a few days, the media crusade against the intrusive and immoral practice of phone hacking has mutated into an outburst of bitter frustration verging on hysteria. This is no longer outrage focused on the phone hacker or the newspaper editor or even the Murdoch. This is a free-floating outburst of frustration that is casual, almost to the point of indifference, about its potential target.

It is as if the British public has been given permission to vent its stored-up disappointment and anxieties against an ever-expanding rogues’ gallery of public figures. Shallow outrage is top of the menu of today’s British cultural consumption.

The constant repetition of the theme of a close and cosy relationship between the media, the political class, the police and business conveys the impression that Britain is dominated by a uniquely corrupt and secretive Establishment. How long before the exposure of the next cabal of public figures who are discovered to have seen one another too often?

In such circumstances, having a business lunch with the wrong person or thoughtlessly allowing a soon-to-be scorned public relations hack to be your friend on Facebook can invite speculation about your motives. and behaviour. Is that why Cameron proposed that meetings between politicians and journalists should be recorded and made transparent?

If such a rule is deemed necessary for meetings between politician and press, why not expand it to every date in your diary? Can we trust anyone to be allowed the privilege of a private discussion?

British society and particularly those who influence public opinion are suffering from an acute outbreak of historical amnesia and are now in danger of losing the plot entirely. The sudden discovery that politicians, officials, journalists and the police are too close to one another suggests that, for many otherwise highly educated people, history begins in the late 1990s if not last year.

One does not need a PhD in social history to understand that those who hold power are rarely isolated individuals who refuse all contact with other powerful people. Indeed, the possession of a robust network of influential friends and contacts is one of the widely recognised markers of power. Since the beginning of the modern era, ambitious politicians have been close to powerful players in the media, business and the professions. Historically, a dense network of powerful and influential figures, who closely collaborated with one another had a name—the Establishment.

In recent decades there have been numerous examples of writers for the press reinventing themselves as members of parliament or even as government ministers.Retired politicians often turn up as media personalities and newspaper columnists. And yes, they get very close to colleagues in their newly chosen profession, frequently eating around the same table and attending each other’s birthday parties.

In principle, there is nothing wrong with different sections of the Establishment being very, very close to one other. The issue at stake is not their physical proximity but the use to which such close relationships are put. If they violate the norms of public integrity then the parties to such immoral and potentially illegal acts should be condemned. Everyone should be held to account for breaking the law and for undermining the reputation of public service.

As it happens, strong and reliable national leadership can benefit from a close collaboration between public servants and people who possess influence and power. Such co-operation is particularly useful for dealing with major challenges such as a national emergency.

The current epidemic of scandal-mongering does nothing to enhance the quality of public life. Instead of focusing on tackling acts of corruption and law-breaking it seeks to sow suspicion and mistrust in the institutions of public life. A confident and tolerant public culture knows how to distinguish between moral and immoral behaviour.

Sadly, the British public is being taught not to have any confidence in its capacity to discriminate between right and wrong.

The cure of faux-transparency is even worse than the illness it is meant to sort out.

First published by The Australian, 23 July 2011

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The real truth is that there is no hidden agenda behind the story
The lack of integrity of some individuals cannot be allowed to create a world where public discussion and debate has as its premise that what counts is not people's words but their motives.

In contemporary times people are far more likely to have an agenda, personal issues or ulterior motives than strongly held views.

Typically major statements made by public figures are scrutinised not for what they say but for what they are attempting to hide. Recently, when I was asked by a journalist to explain why Julia Gillard was so committed to promoting her carbon tax, my questioner expected me to reflect on her real intention regarding this issue.

When I replied that “probably Gillard actually believes that her carbon tax proposal is the sensible way forward”, I was met with a look of incredulity.

In an era where it is assumed that little is as it seems, only the naive are likely to assume that public figures often really believe what they say and that not every editorial is a vehicle for a clever subliminal message.

One consequence of our obsession with the story behind the story is a growing tendency not to take seriously the arguments and ideas that are actually put forward by the key protagonists. As a result far more energy is devoted to the behind-the-doors wheeling and dealing that lead to the elaboration of a proposal than to a rigorous assessment of its merits.

Take a momentous decision, such as the invasion of Iraq and the overthrow of Saddam Hussein. As someone who was opposed to this invasion I felt totally frustrated that so much fruitless effort was devoted towards uncovering the hidden motive that drove Bush and Blair to opt for war. The issue at stake was not their motive - as it happens, Tony Blair appeared to genuinely believe in rightness of his policy - but whether or not this was the right course of action.

Of course people do not always say what they mean and sometimes their actions are motivated by calculations that if exposed, would no doubt discredit their authority. But the lack of integrity of some individuals cannot be allowed to create a world where public discussion and debate has as its premise that what counts is not people’s words but their motives.

It is possible to have a rational and constructive debate about what people have written or stated in public. It is also possible to provide an interpretation of a statement to demonstrate its meaning. It is even possible to go a step further and suggest on the back of such an act of interpretation that what a statement means contradicts what is said. So a response to the statement “I am not a racist, but ... “ can legitimately note that its real meaning is conveyed by that but.

However, what is not possible is to have a reasonable and productive conversation about hidden motives. The statement that someone’s argument is underpinned by an ulterior motive represents a call to close down a debate. Such a claim communicates the idea that the opponent’s argument should not be taken at face value, which is another way of saying that it should not be taken seriously since it represents an act of deception.

From this standpoint, the very attempt to engage with such a statement is not only pointless but it also distracts attention from focusing on what matters, which is the hidden agenda.

All too often protagonists in a debate find it easier to question each other’s motives than to advance a compelling argument. It is this visceral mistrust of human integrity that has led a group of moral entrepreneurs to demand a review of the media in different parts of the Anglo-American world. This emphasis on the media’s integrity and its ethics is not just an after-the-event response to the News of the World phone-hacking scandal. Rather it represents an attempt to somehow insulate the media from the hidden agenda that apparently drives it.

As an academic I am painfully aware of a culture of confusion towards how to evaluate the status of arguments and written statements. Unfortunately, contemporary culture regards the truth as a subject worthy of fiction rather than of intellectual pursuit. It is frequently asserted that there is no such thing as the truth. Instead of the truth, people are exhorted to accept different opinions as possessing comparable truths.

Invariably cynicism towards the truth leads towards a compulsive desire to expose the hidden agenda behind a statement. This obsession even extends to the study of literature. Articles dealing with literary subjects sometimes read like an amateurish social science expose of the authors’ “internalised” sexism or racism. For example, post-colonial literary criticism is devoted to the project of uncovering the “implicit” racist and colonial assumptions buried in classic Western literature. From this standpoint, an allusion to colour by a Victorian novelist is sufficient to indict it for its racist premise. This act of deconstructing the text serves as an exemplar to the way that hidden meaning is extracted from public statements made by policy makers and opinion formers.

Of course we all have our own interests and agenda. Anyone with convictions will use a variety of rhetorical and presentational strategies to persuade and convince the targets of their arguments. Sometimes, even the most honourable advocates will be tactical and selective in the way that their case is presented. Those who oppose or question their case have a responsibility to engage with what is a matter of public record.

A conflict of words is transformed into a constructive debate when the argument is challenged and pursued. Experience suggests the art of logical argumentation is far more demanding than the simplistic act of condemning a person for what they have not said.

Speculating about the story behind the story requires minimal intellectual resources. But for all that it can be an effective way of fuelling suspicion and mistrust. The lesson the media and its critics must learn is that first, there is no story behind the story and second, we have to learn to deal with the story in a more serious and grown-up way.

First published by The Australian, 18 July 2011

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End of an era looms over a leadership-starved European Union
Lurking behind the calamitous state of the euro is a profound political crisis confronting the European Union.

The slide of the euro on the money market signals the possibility that the EU may not survive its sovereign debt contagion in its present form. However, European policy-makers refuse to acknowledge their own responsibility for this problem and are reluctant to adopt any decisive action to contain it.
Policy-makers are often drawn towards the cultivation of responsibility avoidance. However, EU functionaries have perfected the practice of responsibility avoidance and transformed it into an art form.

In previous years when I talked to insiders in the Brussels belt-way they often went to great lengths to lecture me about their disappointment with British euro-sceptics. During the months following the first stage of the euro-crisis, their disappointment shifted its focus to Germany. All of a sudden German unilateralism became the spectre haunting the EU political class. At times one even heard the suggestion that the Germans were deliberately attempting to transform Europe’s little economic difficulty into a major crisis in order to extend and consolidate their influence over the entire continent.

That was then. In recent weeks, after the downgrading of Portugal’s sovereign debt to junk status, EU group-speak mutated into a frenzy of invective against the big three American credit rating agencies, Moody’s, Standard & Poor’s and Fitch. All of a sudden these three American credit agencies were accused of malevolently conspiring to destroy Europe. The president of the European Commission, Jose Manuel Durrao Barroso, swiftly assumed leadership of this depressing blame game and condemned Moody’s for being responsible for Portugal’s economic predicament. He denounced the company’s analysis of Portugal’s financial crisis as biased and speculative.

Barroso’s refusal to confront Europe’s financial crisis is shared by a significant section of the EU political establishment. But this analysis is rarely put forward with conviction by its advocates. Indeed in recent weeks the impression I gained when talking to people in Brussels is that they sense that Greece is only the beginning and that what is at stake is not only the euro but the whole EU project. I have visited Brussels regularly during the past five years, but this was the first time that my interlocutors appeared to signal their fear that the euro crisis was more than a financial one. It represented the end of an era.

Since visiting Brussels last week, the euro slid further on the money markets and Italy shows every sign of becoming the new Portugal, if not the new Greece. However, what’s really fascinating about developments is not the financial crisis but the political paralysis of EU policy-making. Typically politicians are pointing the finger at each other. Italian President Silvio Berlusconi has openly clashed with his Finance Minister, Giulio Tremonti, though no doubt they agree that an American credit rating agency is to blame for exposing the mess that the Italian economy is in.

The rhetoric of responsibility aversion among policy-makers in the EU is underpinned by the realisation that their institution lacks the authority and the political resources to deal with the current crisis. It is important to remember that the EU is a technocratic institution that has always responded to new challenges through cobbling together behind-the-door deals. From its inception, the EU was an elitist managerial project that was able to construct and promote its agenda without having to directly respond to popular pressure. Decisions are never arrived at through public debate, and the majority of EU laws are formulated by the hundreds of secret working groups set up by the Council of the EU. Most of the sessions of the Council of Ministers are held behind closed doors and the EU’s unelected European Commission has the sole right to put forward legislation.

The most distinct feature of the EU’s governance is that it is systematically pursued through the principle of insulated decision-making. For decades the EU political establishment has self-consciously constructed institutions that could insulate them from the necessity of having to respond directly to the type of public pressure faced by a democratic parliament. The EU’s invisible decision-making allowed a variety of political actors in Brussels and in the national capitals to avoid taking responsibility for unpopular decisions. In effect, policy-makers were insulated from having to account for the consequences of their decisions.

While insulated decision-making served as an excellent administrative convenience for avoiding responsibility, it also eroded the EU’s capacity to respond to unfolding events. The slowness with which EU ministers responded to the crisis caused by the eruption of a volcano in Iceland last year exposed a failure of responsible decision-making. The unnecessary shutting down of European airspace was an act of a political establishment estranged from the ethos of leadership.

But this all pales into insignificance in comparison to the present financial crisis. The pre-requisite for dealing with the decline of the euro is crisis management exercised through political leadership. It requires that political leaders actually tell it like it is and go out and win support for the painful measures required to restore economic stability.

Political leadership is not simply a desirable option. Without winning over a significant section of the European electorate it will prove extremely difficult to restore financial order in Europe. Regrettably, the EU establishment lacks the capacity to offer such leadership. Policy-makers who are used to behind-the-scenes manoeuvring are rarely able to re-invent themselves as persuasive leaders.

It is ironic that even today there are many EU apologists who refuse to acknowledge the negative consequences of this institution’s democratic deficit. Amartya Sen, the Harvard University professor and a Nobel prize-winning economist, recently accused the credit rating agencies of undermining legitimate governments and for the marginalisation of the democratic tradition of Europe. He takes strong exception to the unopposed power of rating agencies and their power to issue unilateral commands. Typically, he is oblivious to the unilateral commands of Brussels. No doubt the rating agencies have their own agenda and are no more democratic than the European Commission.

But good on them for forcing the EU to face the real world.

First published by The Australian, 16 July 2011

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‘We name and shame the evil tabloid hacks!’
The cultural elite’s crusade against News International is only a more erudite version of the News of the World’s war on perverts.

The furore that surrounds the demise of the News of the World has little to do with the specific morally corrupt practices at that tabloid. Rather, as with other highly stylised outbursts of outrage in recent years – from ‘cash for questions’ to the MPs’ expenses scandal to bankers’ bonuses – this is a media-constructed and media-led furore. The main reason the sordid phone-hacking affair has become the mother of all scandals is because the media assume that anything which affects them is far more important than the troubles facing normal human beings.

Outrage-mongering, which is essentially an accomplishment of the media, is parasitical on today’s depoliticised and disorganised public life. In the absence of true political conviction, of any meaningful political alternative, strongly held views have been replaced by expressions of frustration and outrage. In such circumstances, the cultural elite can substitute its own agenda for that of the public, and in effect an outraged media reality becomes the reality.

Over the past week, many have claimed that the News of the World’s phone-hacking practices have offended the British public. Time and again, journalists claim to have detected a powerful public revulsion against the machinations of News International. Even a sensible columnist like Matthew d’Ancona argues that ‘David Cameron and Rupert Murdoch are swept up in a public fit of morality’. In truth, this ‘public fit of morality’ is actually confined to a relatively narrow stratum of British society. People in the pub or on the streets are not having animated debates about the News of the World’s heinous behaviour. Rather it is the Twitterati and those most directly influenced by the cultural elite and its lifestyle and identity who are emotionally drawn to the anti-Murdoch crusade.

Take the example of Justine Roberts. She runs the parenting website Mumsnet and is the partner of Ian Katz, deputy editor of the Guardian. She claims that Mumsnet users’ outrage about the phone-hacking scandal is the most intense she has ever witnessed on the website. No doubt ‘intense outrage’ is exactly what she and her mates feel towards the News of the World. Yet those who run the competing website Netmums report that, while many of their users were angry about phone hacking, a far larger number were interested in the online discussion about sports than the discussion about the News of the World. Netmums says the difference in attitude between the visitors to these sites is down to the fact that their participants are likely to be less cosmopolitan than those who use Mumsnet.

Public outrage, like public opinion, is not always as it seems. Often, when people speak on behalf of public opinion, or claim merely to be responding to outrage, what they are really expressing is their own views and those of their friends. Since its discovery in the eighteenth century, public opinion has tended to be represented in a way that flatters those who claim to represent it. In fact, numerous writers have tended to manufacture ‘public opinion’, conveniently discovering that it holds and expresses the same views that are held by some self-selected group of educated members of the elite.

In one of the first English-language studies of public opinion, William Mackinnon wrote: ‘Public opinion may be said to be that sentiment on any given subject which is entertained by the best informed, most intelligent, and most moral persons in the community.’ Mackinnon’s narrow definition of public opinion, written in 1828, was significantly more candid than the outpourings of those who currently try to present elite views as the opinion of the masses.

Of course, all of us have a tendency to project our beliefs on to other people, and no doubt the vanguard of the anti-Murdoch camp has genuinely convinced itself that it is the authentic voice of Britain. Those who live by the reality of the media can easily lose sight of the other reality: that is, the one that most people live by. So Labour Party leader Ed Miliband can refer to the demise of the News of the World as the result of a heroic display of people power. ‘It is clearly people power that has forced this decision’, he declared. Well, of course it is – if by ‘the people’ Miliband is referring to the metropolitan cultural oligarchy. Depicting a media insider-led coup as an expression of people power is a self-serving fantasy. Will history characterise a campaign from above which involved a few hundred people and which succeeded in shutting down a newspaper read by millions as an expression of people power? I think not.

My argument is not that the views of the media do not matter. They do, and the media is frequently successful in its attempts to influence people’s attitudes and imagination. Indeed, the News of the World itself was very effective at transforming its readers’ insecurities into a kind of morally disorienting outrage.

Outrage from below and outrage from above

The News of the World’s ‘name and shame’ campaign against paedophiles in the year 2000 demonstrated how quickly vigilante journalism can turn people’s anxieties into outrage. Preying on the public’s fear of so-called predatory paedophiles, the paper’s campaign successfully provoked groups of anxious parents into organising vigilante groups. It showed that the systematic cultivation of outrage can turn fear into something like mob rule.

Readers’ responses to the News of the World’s name-and-shame campaign expressed, if not Miliband’s ‘people power’, then certainly a form of public outrage. But this was the outrage of people living on council estates, the kind of uncouth, badly educated people who are often dismissed as brainless tabloid readers. There were, of course, some very good reasons to be appalled by the somewhat frenzied atmosphere created by the name-and-shame campaign. But the main reason members of the metropolitan elite tended to be hostile to it was because this was an expression of outrage from below, springing from and representing the malevolent universe of the tabloid reader.

If William Mackinnon had been alive, he would have described the frenzied atmosphere around the name-and-shame campaign as a form of ‘popular clamour’. Mackinnon and his nineteenth-century co-thinkers made a distinction between the opinion of the educated public and the opinion of the rest of society – that is, they distinguished between ‘public opinion’ (good) and ‘popular clamour’ (bad). Mackinnon wrote: ‘Popular clamour may be said to be that sort of feeling, arising from the passion of a multitude acting without consideration; or an excitement created amongst the uneducated, or amongst those who do not reflect, or do not exercise their judgement on the point in question.’ He made a very clear moral contrast between the ‘clamour’ of those who do not reflect on things, and the ‘opinion’ of those who do. Today, this contrast has been recast as the outrage of those who matter (outrage from above) against the outrage of those who do not matter (outrage from below).

The News of the World turned the cultivation of outrage-from-below into an art form. And paradoxically, its demise is largely due to the outrage-from-above directed against it by its opponents. The groupthink, groupspeak and low-life moralising of the crusade against the Evil Murdoch Empire is the cultural elite’s equivalent of the anti-paedophile name-and-shame campaign. These two campaigns have far more in common than they would ever admit. In the case of the vigilante mob, the hysterical search for perverts became a way of evading the routine existential problems that face people in difficult circumstances. And the moral outrage now directed at News International is also motivated by the impulse of evasion. It is a displacement activity for those bereft of political imagination, who prefer moral condemnation to the project of coming up with and articulating an alternative.

What both of these campaigns indicate is that the politicisation of outrage renders public life utterly simplistic. Such outrage offers us scapegoats, but never any solutions.

A powerful mood of cultural dissonance prevails in British society today. Under the surface, there is an increasingly uneasy relationship between conflicting values and lifestyles. Sometimes it appears as if the cultural elite and ‘the rest’ live in entirely different worlds. Such dissonance is particularly striking in relation to how the tabloids are perceived. For the cosmopolitan elites, the tabloid is a lowlife and degenerate form of media, which could only possibly be considered satisfying or interesting by morally inferior people. For the millions of people who buy these papers, they are merely sources of news and entertainment.

Frank Furedi’s On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum in August 2011. (Pre-order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 11 July 2011

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Common sense, not research, nurtures our kids
Most parenting research is not only unnecessary, but also serves to confuse the life of mothers and fathers.

Anyone involved in the business of rearing children will know there is always the potential for failing to understand the actions of the younger generations. No doubt, inter-generational miscommunication is a fact of life. However, today, matters are further complicated by the displacement of good old reliable common sense by the rhetoric of formulaic parenting advice and so-called research.

These days virtually every discussion on childhood begins with the ritualistic recitation of the words “research shows”. Public figures and experts rarely feel able to say: “I believe children need a stable family environment”; or “Children need boundaries if they are to develop good social skills.” Instead they are likely to state: “Research shows that children flourish in a stable family environment.”

And since research can be converted to promote any agenda, some will argue the opposite: “Research shows that a stable family environment is over-rated.”

It is deeply annoying to hear perfectly obvious points about children’s lives communicated as if it were the amazing discovery of scientific research. Earlier this month research commissioned by environmental group Planet Ark revealed that fewer Australian children were climbing trees or playing outdoors. This report noted that children engaged far less in traditional outdoor activities, such as hopscotch, tag and street games, than previous generations. No doubt this was a well-intentioned attempt to warn the Australian public about the growing estrangement of children from the outdoors. But why package this widely known and all-too-obvious fact of life through the incantation of “research shows”?

Is it because participants in discussions about childhood believe they will not be taken seriously unless they can draw on the authority of research?

Nothing is held to be self-evident in childhood research. So instead of stating the obvious, which is that children benefit from a father’s involvement in their upbringing, we rediscover this fact through academic research. It requires the Fathering Project at the University of Western Australia to remind us that dads are not entirely irrelevant to their children’s needs.

Similarly, instead of noting that when children devour a lot of junk food they are unlikely to turn into elite athletes, the web page of Taste.com.au informs its readers that “our kids are getting larger” because “research shows” they are eating the wrong foods.

One would think it is not necessary to mobilise the resources of science to substantiate the point that getting children to perform household chores is good for them and for their mums. But instead of simply reminding us of this home truth, the Australian Parenting Centre believes this extraordinary discovery needs to be communicated as the wisdom of expert opinion. So, last December, Warren Cann from the Parenting Research Centre provided the public with the startling revelation that getting everyone to do their share was good for kids and relationships.

A clear illustration of this depressing tendency for scientific research to discover the obvious is a six-year study involving 10,000 children published by the Australian Institute of Family Studies. This study discovered that it was the “simple” things in life that made families happy. One of the institute’s researchers, Jennifer Baxter, said the study showed that family bonds were consolidated through daily routine activities, such as getting youngsters to help with cooking meals. After pointing out the importance of simple family routine in the kitchen, Baxter added: “We know that’s where families bond.” But, if we already know this, why was it necessary to mount a six-year study to find out what we know?

Most parenting research is not only unnecessary but also serves to confuse the life of mothers and fathers. Such research is based on the premise that most things to do with child-rearing are so complicated that it requires the resources of science to reveal the secret of good parenting. That is why even the best-intentioned research projects that promote the obvious inadvertently complicate the lives of parents. Experts communicate the idea that by themselves parents are unlikely to know what’s in the best interest of their offspring.

But parenting is not a complex science. It is not a science at all. In fact, it is a normal and natural undertaking. Child-rearing involves a unique and special relationship that can rarely be illuminated by a general formula. No one is likely to understand the situation of your child better than you do, so you may as well do what you think is best.

Parenting researchers and experts are seldom asked to account for themselves. Sadly, many parents don’t ask the obvious question: “Why should this person presume to know more than I do about the needs of my child?”

Of course hiding behind the language of “research shows” is not confined to discussions of parenting. Clear statements about belief and values have given in to a reliance on a technocratic language. That is why officials promote policies on the grounds that they are evidence based rather than because they are right or good.

But research is not a substitute for moral clarity and values. Yet in any grown-up discussion about children such clarity is what is called for.

Changes in relations between men and women and the structure of family life have created a situation where important questions about everyday life are continually contested. We live in an era of moral confusion, where the absence of consensus encourages competition between moral values. Debates about family values, lone parenting, the roles of mothers and fathers, homosexuality and parental responsibility are often embedded in competing moralities. Such confusion can serve as a prelude to clarity. But not if the tendency to avoid such a process of clarification through opting for the language of “research shows” continues to dominate public life. What’s required is not more research but confidence in our ability to spell out just what kind of a childhood is worthy for our children.

First published by The Australian, 9 July 2011

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It’s health-and-safety gone mainstream!
British officials love to laugh at mad bans on conkers and snowfights, yet they continue to institutionalise a cult of caution.

Not for the first time, the UK Health and Safety Executive (HSE) has issued a statement which refuses to take any responsibility for diminishing children’s opportunities to enjoy the experience of risk-taking. The head of the executive, Judith Hackitt, has come out fighting against ‘misguided jobsworths’ and bureaucrats who apparently ‘use health-and-safety as a convenient excuse [to] disguise their real motives’.

Many commentators have welcomed Hackitt’s statement as a long overdue recognition that our terrible addiction to the rituals of safety has deprived children of the freedom of the outdoors. Hackitt’s acceptance of the fact that risk aversion has a destructive impact on childhood indicates how hard it is, even for her organisation, to deny the consequences of the culture of health-and-safety. However, let’s remember that the HSE has always sought to deny, despite the evidence, that it bears any responsibility for the implementation of bureaucratic rules that stifle children’s lives.

For over five years, the HSE has run a campaign designed to distance itself from various examples of ‘health-and-safety gone mad’ that have featured in the media and have been condemned by much of the public. Since 2007, it has run a ‘Myth of the month’ campaign, which aims to show that attempts to link the latest over-the-top risk-averse action to the HSE is wrongheaded. So in September 2007, the ‘Myth of the month’ was: ‘Kids must wear goggles to play conkers.’ In June 2010 it was: ‘Health-and-safety risks stop children playing “pin the tail on the donkey”.’ Throughout 2009, virtually every monthly myth published and mocked by the HSE dealt with another ridiculous intrusion into children’s lives.

The aim of the ‘Myth of the month’ campaign is to show that HSE also recognises that that the micro-management of children’s lives has gone too far and to underline its claim that it has nothing to do with these ridiculous acts. In one sense the HSE and Judith Hackitt are right to point out that often it is litigation-averse local authorities and unimaginative educationalists who are directly responsible for banning pancake-making or a snowball fight. However, the HSE is responsible for institutionalising the obsessive culture of safety which underpins British society’s estrangement from the idea of risk-taking.

The HSE is in the business of rule-making in relation to risk. And when you have this culture of looking for new problems to regulate, it is easy to move beyond sensible safety measures into the realm of the absurd.  I still remember when, four years ago, I was told that health-and-safety rules prevented me from shifting a small filing cabinet from one part of my office to another. A week later I discovered that such practice was the norm within the HSE itself. According to a report, HSE employees were also banned from moving furniture in case it compromised their safety. And just in case anyone misunderstood this rule, a sign on the wall in the HSE office stated: ‘Do not lift tables or chairs without giving 48 hours’ notice to HSE management.’

The HSE is not an innocent bystander to the explosion of regulations that has engulfed children’s lives. However, nor is it the principal driver of the policing of childhood. Rather, the regime of child protection is underpinned by a powerful consensus around a culture of precaution. That is why periodic outcries and backlashes against the bubble-wrapping of children’s lives can quickly give way to yet another wave of risk-averse practices.

We need action, not words

It is important to note that it is now routine for officials periodically to decry the culture of risk-aversion surrounding children’s activities. National newspapers regularly run stories criticising the stupidity of schools that ban conker games in the playground. Commentators frequently discuss the problems caused to children by the decline in outdoor play. And the phrase ‘health and safety’ is often used as a pejorative shorthand for stupid rules that prevent people from doing what they should, or want, to do.

In 2006, the first report of the government’s Better Regulation Commission called for a more sensible approach to managing risk, including a recognition that risk can sometimes be beneficial. And the HSE has launched campaigns against petty health-and-safety concerns, under the banner ‘Get A Life’. In 2007, Ed Balls, then the Labour secretary of state for children, schools and families, made the headlines by advocating conker games and the need for children to learn about risk through unsupervised play. Launching the government consultation document ‘Staying Safe’, which aimed to ‘strike the right balance between protecting children while allowing them to learn and explore new situations safely’, Balls argued that we want our children ‘to be protected from harm and abuse’, but ‘this does not mean we should wrap them in cotton wool’. He added: ‘Childhood is a time for learning and exploring.’

In January 2008, then prime minister Gordon Brown set up a new watchdog, the Risk and Regulation Advisory Council, with the aim of developing ‘a better approach to the understanding and management of public risk’. This was widely hailed as an attempt by the government to untie some of the red tape – or, in the words of one news headline, ‘Brown vows to fight nanny state culture that bans hanging baskets and conkers’. Launching the Conservative Party’s ‘Childhood Review’ in February 2008, party leader David Cameron spoke of ‘the risk-averse health-and-safety culture which, at times, has poisoned the relationship between adults and children’.

Unfortunately, however, despite a growing awareness of the problems caused by risk-avoidance, it still remains a central message in policy and culture. Ed Balls’ ‘Staying Safe’ consultation began with the admonition: ‘Keeping children and young people safe is a top priority.’ And if safety is flagged up as a top priority, then the space allocated to healthy risk-taking is likely to be rather narrow and discrete. More importantly, the idea that children’s safety is itself a quasi-moral value has become deeply culturally ingrained, with the result that adults obsessively evaluate their children’s activities with reference to the levels of risk involved. The sacralisation of safety encourages an absolutist standard of child protection. It also encourages the expansion of the meaning of safety, which in turn reduces any tolerance for children enjoying unregulated experiences.

The backlash against ‘health-and-safety gone mad’ contains some spirited insights, and there have been thoughtful suggestions from some quarters about how policymakers might go about supporting a culture of healthy risk-taking. Ultimately, however, this backlash is unlikely to alter the premise of existing policy. Why? Because there are powerful cultural forces that counteract common sense on this subject. ‘Better safe than sorry’ has become the fundamental principle of public life. And once a preoccupation with safety has been made routine and banal, no area of human endeavour can be immune from its influence.

That is why, last week, British teaching unions criticised the Lib-Con coalition’s education secretary, Michael Gove, after he unveiled plans to make school trips easier through reducing the amount of paperwork required. The National Union of Teachers was horrified by the idea that the Department of Education had reduced the 150 pages of guidelines to just eight. It suggested that the reduction in paperwork represented a diminishing of ‘best practice’ and that life without a very thick rulebook ‘could lead to a lot more accidents’. The NUT’s complacent response – ‘we live by best practice’ – is symptomatic of a general tendency to perceive children taking risks as a problem rather than as an opportunity for cultivating a spirit of independence.

Reducing guidelines to eight pages is a step in the right direction. Now the challenge facing society is to understand that helping children to become independent and resilient, and allowing them to develop for themselves a sense of responsibility, will make them far more secure than any bureaucratic attempts to immunise them from risk. The best contribution that the HSE could make to this project is by replacing its ‘Myth of the month’ campaign with a monthly chucking out of a rule that stifles life and adventure for children.

Frank Furedi’s On Tolerance: A Defence of Moral Independence is published by Continuum in August 2011. (Pre-order this book from Amazon(UK).)

First published by spiked, 5 July 2011

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Fördert das Lesen, nicht die Lesekompetenz!
In westlichen Gesellschaften erleben wir gerade, wie sich ein nicht unbedeutender Teil der Gesellschaft mehr und mehr von der Welt der Bücher und des Lesens entfremdet.

So zeigt z.B. eine Studie, dass britische Kinder in einem internationalen Vergleich in punkto Lesefähigkeit von Platz 3 (2001) auf Platz 19 dramatisch abgefallen sind, und dies in allen Begabungsprofilen; tatsächlich haben abfallende Leistungen unter den „besseren” Lesern sogar am meisten zum schlechten Abschneiden Englands beigetragen. Der Bericht kommt zu dem Ergebnis, dass das Lesen Kindern heute im Allgemeinen weniger Freude bereitet, als dies noch vor 5 Jahren der Fall war. Auch verbringen sie heute weniger Zeit damit. Genauso ist es in den USA. Eine großangelegte Studie fand dort heraus, dass junge Menschen immer weniger aus Lust an der Unterhaltung lesen und dass ihre Lesefähigkeit ebenfalls abnimmt. Vergleichbare Entwicklungen lassen sich auch in Deutschland erkennen. Was solche Untersuchungen offenlegen, ist nicht nur eine Abnahme der Lesekompetenz, sondern ein grundsätzlicher Verlust des Interesses an Büchern unter Jugendlichen, auch unter solchen mit einer höheren Lesekompetenz. Man hat den Eindruck, dass das in den Grundschulen geweckte Interesse am Lesen zum erliegen kommt, wenn aus Kindern Teenager werden. Untersuchungen legen nahe, dass Kinder nach dem 8. Lebensjahr deutlich weniger lesen und dieser Mangel an ernsthaftem Lesen bis ins frühe Erwachsenenalter andauert. Laut einer Studie der us-amerikanischen Behörde National Endowment for the Arts haben Lesekompetenz und Leselust unter College-Absolventen stark abgenommen.

Auf den ersten Blick ist es schwierig, eine Erklärung für das besonders unter jungen Leuten abhanden gekommene Interesse an Büchern und am Lesen zu finden. Bücher und Lesen haben nämlich nie zuvor in der Geschichte eine so große kulturelle und gesellschaftliche Wertschätzung erfahren. Es gibt heute mehr Buchläden als zu irgendeinem Zeitpunkt in der Vergangenheit, nahezu jede Stadt ihr eigenes Literaturfestival und in ganz Großbritannien sind Buchclubs aus dem Boden geschossen. Obendrein haben aufeinanderfolgende Regierungen beachtliche Summen zur Förderung des Lesens in die Schulen investiert. Warum also ist das „Lesen aus Vergnügen” so wenig verbreitet?

Viele Pädagogen und politische Entscheidungsträger verweisen auf den ablenkenden Einfluss durch digitale Technologien und Videospiele. Sie meinen, dass eine zunehmende Auswahl an Freizeitangeboten zur Verfügung stehe und dass deswegen das Lesen gegenüber dem Fernsehen, dem Computer und dem Handy vernachlässigt werde. Medien und neue Technologien werden schon seit langem für diese Probleme verantwortlich gemacht. Doch hängt das Lesevergnügen bei Kindern nicht davon ab, ob sie online chatten oder sich mit Computerspielen beschäftigen können. Kinder werden nicht per se von Medien wie dem Fernsehen oder elektronischen Spielen angezogen – man schreckt sie regelrecht vom Lesen ab.

Heutzutage sehen auch die leistungsstärksten Schüler Bücher eher als Mittel zum Zweck denn als Quelle des Vergnügens an. Die Leseförderung, wie sie an den Schulen betrieben wird, ist daran nicht unschuldig. Schulen setzen gemeinhin auf die Instrumentalisierung des Lesens. Es wird als nützliche Sache und nicht als Bildungsselbstzweck dargestellt. Eine Gruppe überdurchschnittlich erfolgreicher 11-Jähriger gab auf die Frage, was sie vom Lesen hielten, eine glasklare Antwort: Lesen sei lediglich für ihre Karriere und ihr Fortkommen von Bedeutung. Diese Einstellung könnte man vergleichen mit Hunden, die nur deswegen durch eine Schlinge springen, um einen Knochen als Belohnung zu erhalten.

Derartige Einstellungen werden solange die Oberhand behalten, wie politische Entscheidungsträger und Pädagogen die Förderung der „Lesekompetenz“’ dem Lesen um seiner selbst willen vorziehen. Der engstirnige Fokus auf die Lesekompetenz reduziert den Akt des Lesens auf eine Pflichtübung im Hinblick auf anstehende Multiple-choice-Tests. Es geht nicht darum, eine Kultur des Lesens zu fördern, die das Lesen um seiner selbst willen wertschätzt. So kommt es, dass sogar offensichtliche Steigerungen der Lesekompetenz mit der Entzauberung des Lesens einhergehen. Dieser beunruhigende Trend ist besonders auffällig unter Jungen. Die Studie macht deutlich, dass Jungen kaum Geschichten, Gedichte und Sachbücher lesen. Sie gehen auch kaum in eine Bibliothek. Eine internationale Studie zeigt, dass z.B. britische Kinder seltener aus Freude an der Sache lesen als Gleichaltrige in anderen Ländern. Die Fokussierung auf Lesekompetenz unterminiert die Chancen, dass im Klassenzimmer eine lebendige Buchkultur gedeiht. Eine bloß kompetenzorientierte Lesestunde ist etwas ganz anderes als ein Gespräch über ein Buch. Und außerhalb der „Literaturstunde“ verschwindet das Buch häufig völlig in den Schulen.

Die Autorenvereinigung Society of Authors stellt fest, dass Sachbücher überwiegend nur noch im Frage-Antwort-Modus gelesen werden und Unterricht heutzutage fast ausschließlich auf Arbeitsblättern aufbaut. Nicht selten werden Schüler in der Projektarbeit dazu aufgefordert, Informationen im Internet zu suchen, aber nicht auf die Suche in eine Bibliothek geschickt. Wenn Studenten dann an die Universität kommen, haben sie bereits verinnerlicht, dass – verglichen mit der Informationssuche im Netz – das Lesen von Büchern recht mühsam sein kann.

Viele Universitäten haben diese instrumentelle Haltung dem Lesen gegenüber angenommen. Vermehrt werden Studenten dort etwa sogenannte Lernhilfen (learning resources) zur Verfügung gestellt. Diese bestehen aus Webseiten, Handouts, Vorlesungsskripten, Datenblättern, Artikeln in Fachzeitschriften oder sogar gelegentlich fotokopierten Buchexzerpten – aber selten aus dem ganzen Buch. Der allmähliche Rückgang an regelmäßigem Lesen unter Absolventen, wie es die NEA Studie zeigt, macht deutlich, dass die Universitäten keinesfalls mehr zur Begeisterung für das Lesen beitragen als die Grundschulen.

Schrittweise haben anglo-amerikanischen Bildungseinrichtungen so erfolgreich an einer Sinnentleerung des Lesens mitgewirkt. Dies führt zwangsläufig zu einer saloppen Haltung gegenüber dem Gebrauch der eigenen Sprache unter jungen Menschen. Folgerichtig betrachtet man die Vermittlung von Grammatik eher als Last denn als Vorbedingung für die Pflege der Lesekultur. Vor kurzem wurde berichtet, dass viele Lehrkräfte in England mit der Grammatik ihrer eigenen Sprache auf Kriegsfuß stehen. Eine Studie der Universität Exeter belegt, dass Englischlehrer, in deren Schulzeit Grammatik nicht Bestandteil des Englischunterrichts war, ein deutliches Defizit an Sicherheit in grammatischen Fragen an den Tag legen, was selbstverständlich negative Auswirkungen auch auf die Grammatikvermittlung im Klassenzimmer hat.

Die Abwertung des Lesens und des geschriebenen Wortes hat einen unheilvollen Einfluss auf das öffentliche Leben und die formale Bildung. Das Interesse am Zeitungslesen hat in Großbritannien stark abgenommen. Schon 2006 wurde beobachtet, dass nur noch 42 % der 18- 27-Jährigen mindestens dreimal die Woche Zeitung lesen, während es 1986 immerhin noch 72 % waren. Die Instrumentalisierung des Lesens hat also Auswirkungen, die nicht nur auf das Buch beschränkt sind.

Es ist Ausdruck einer Schieflage, wenn man das Buch nur noch als Informationsquelle und nicht als Selbstzweck schätzt. Bücher und Zeitschriften werden schließlich immer noch gekauft, und Universitätsbibliotheken nehmen sie weiter in ihren Bestand auf, aber dies aus praktischen Gründen und nicht wegen der Freude am Lesen.  Vielleicht ist es an der Zeit, eine Weichenstellung weg von der Lesekompetenz hin zu einer Erziehung vorzunehmen, die wirkliche Freude am Lesen vermittelt.

Aus dem Englischen übersetzt von Josef Hueber.

First published by Novo Argumente, 4 July 2011

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Dwelling on past injuries only distracts us from present and future possibilities
The project of rewriting history is motivated by the impulse of reconstructing Australia's cultural identity.

So Sydney City Council has decided that the arrival of Europeans in Australia was an invasion. Others insist that it was colonisation or a form of overseas settlement.

No doubt historians will wade in and offer their conflicting interpretation of what happened more than two centuries ago. But as is the case with so much of Australia’s preoccupation with the past, whatever label the City of Sydney opts for, it has nothing to do with the past and least of all with historical accuracy.

The fact so much energy is devoted towards transforming events that occurred in the 18th century into a 21st-century morality play indicates that the project of rewriting history is motivated by the impulse of reconstructing Australia’s cultural identity.

There is little doubt that Australia’s history has turned into a topic that stirs deep passions such as resentment, guilt and, above all, disorientation. And it is this politicisation of emotion that drives the rewriting of history.

Lord Mayor Clover Moore’s remark about her failure to keep the council from using the word “invasion” in the council’s strategic plan this week serves as a testimony to the therapeutic turn of Australian history.

She said she had underestimated the depth of feeling on this issue and that therefore it was not possible to gain agreement on any middle ground. In other words, it is the “depth of feeling” and not the intellectual quality of the argument, nor a genuine public debate, that legitimates the transformation of history into a form of therapy.

Yet the project of celebrating strong feelings about the misdeeds of the past serves to estrange Australians from their own immediate experience and distracts them from exploring their relationship to the future.

So back in 2008, when then prime minister Kevin Rudd offered his much-anticipated apology to Australia’s indigenous people, he was underlining the principle message of therapeutic history, which is that the misdeeds of the past define who we are today. Rudd’s ritual of apology was underwritten by a culture that continually incites people to confront their past as way of solving their emotional and existential problems today.

Just as individuals are encouraged to dwell on their childhood and regard their mistreatment as the cause of their adult troubles, so, too, nations and communities are told to regard their problems as a result of their historic victimisation.

The pressure to come to terms with the past is fuelled through popular culture, for example through Oprah Winfrey or Jerry Springer on television.

Grandparents who acknowledge their abusive behaviour towards their children are the moral equivalents of politicians who are big enough to issue an apology. Supporters of therapeutic history claim that through recognising the injustices of the past, members of the victimised group will be able to come to terms with their so-called trauma and move on.

Experience tells a different story. The transformation of history into a form of cultural therapy endows victim identity with permanence and a profound sense of irresponsibility.

Just as individuals blame mummy and daddy for their adult disappointment, so victims of a historical injustice are in danger of becoming overwhelmed by a narrative of fatalistic passivity.

What the Sydney City Council’s discussion of Australia’s past shows is the powerful influence of the therapeutic imagination over the proceedings.

This promiscuous transformation of memory into a political ritual is only outwardly about the feelings of the Aboriginal community. It is far more about the quest of white Australians for status through the public recollection of past misdeeds.

It represents a search for meaning and cultural identity. Through a self-conscious distancing from the nation’s past, the seven city councillors who voted for declaring the settlement as an invasion have made a statement that they “are not like the invaders”.

In this manner, individual meaning is achieved through a moral distancing from Australia’s past. In this way, history becomes customised as an instrument of individual therapy.

So what do the Aboriginal communities gain from the council’s journey back to the 18th century? Yet another statement of contrition for past wrongs and another infantilising gesture that communicates the idea of “good on you for surviving”.

As Moore stated, “despite the destructive impact of this invasion, Aboriginal culture endured and is now globally recognised as one of the world’s oldest cultures”.

Patronising remarks about the durability of one of the “world’s oldest cultures” can only distract from the very real problems confronting Aboriginal communities in the here and now. What really matters is the future and seeking refuge in the past can only sidetrack people from this task.

Unfortunately, the sense of moral accomplishment gained through reading history backwards comes at a price.

When history is used as therapy, people become distracted from confronting the problems and opportunities that confront them here and now. In such circumstances, for some people what really matters is not what they accomplish today but what happened to them a long time ago.

The council’s history-as-therapy increasingly distracts people from living in the present. Nothing they do can repair the damage inflicted on their people centuries ago. Instead of getting on with life, the put-upon historical victim is encouraged to live and relive past experience, over and over.

But history can never be reversed, and identities based on the experience of victimisation and injustice produce people who live their lives through an intense sense of injury. Tragically they are victims of an infantilising culture of victimhood.

The cultivation of victim identity and the politicisation of historic grievances also undermines the prospect for national reconciliation. Like every nation, Australia carries a burden of past injustices.

A nation needs to remember but not live through the past if it is to possess the moral and intellectual resources necessary to face the future. Genuine reconciliation requires a commitment to move on and to resist the temptation to indulge in competitive point-scoring about who did what in the 18th century.

First published by The Australian, 2 July 2011

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Where gay matrimony meets elite sanctimony
Gay marriage has emerged as one of the most controversial and divisive issues of our time.

For more than a decade gay marriage has been the hot-button issue in US politics. As I write, the New York state Senate is deadlocked in its vote on a gay marriage bill. The issue is set to play a similar role in Australia.

Recently the Queensland Labor conference passed a motion demanding support for gay marriage at the ALP national conference in December. Similar resolutions have already been passed by Labor conferences in South Australia, Tasmania and the Northern Territory. It is evident that for a section of the ALP, support for gay marriage is a matter of principle. This sentiment is also shared by opponents of gay marriage, such as Liberal senator Guy Barnett.

Whatever one thinks about the pros and cons of gay marriage, a tolerant society cannot deny the right of homosexual couples to formalise their relationship. But the campaign for gay marriage is not just about rights but about the contestation of values and attitudes