Crumple
The scent of failure seems to be hanging in the air this week.
Take the global economy. I'm no expert on such things, but the words "turmoil" and "recession" seem to be at the top of every news bulletin right now. Apparently sales of personal CCTV systems are going through the roof in the UK, because increasing numbers of people feel under threat in their own homes. The Coen brothers appear to have hit a nerve in the collective psyche with No Country For Old Men, a film which is, in many ways, about the inability of trusted patriarchs to hold back the forces of evil.
And then there's the UK government's plan to install metal detectors at secondary schools in the hope of reducing knife crimes. One of Home Secretary Jacqui Smith's arguments for this move is that young people shouldn't feel that they must carry knives in order to protect themselves from attacks, so the metal detectors will reassure them that they're in a safe environment. There's a twist somewhere in that logic, but I'm sure I'm too stupid to see it.
I don't come bearing answers. Maybe some schools really have become so difficult that this is the only thing they can do to improve matters. Maybe we need to allow mob rule to take over in the hope that a better status quo will eventually emerge on its own. But however effective or damaging metal detectors may turn out to be, I do think they represent a monumental and tragic failure. But a failure on whose part? Well, that's the key thing, isn't it? I think we're all culpable in one way or another. And maybe the metal detectors will turn out to be just the first of many 'slippery slope' measures until we realise that we all need to take responsibility for how our young people treat each other and us.
A metal detector is a barrier. We seem to keep putting up ones we don't need and taking down ones we really do need. This one is of the variety that creates unhealthy divisions. Perpetuating a corrosive 'us and them' mentality (or, in this case, a 'knife-wielding and knife-less' mentality) isn't going to foster decency between human beings in the long run.
I had similar thoughts when I read this week's Observer Magazine cover story about the factors which can lead to the radicalisation of Muslim men in the UK. It was an article that was as depressing as it was (oddly) reassuring, because it showed again that this is a situation as old as time itself. But it did highlight in no uncertain terms that people cannot be radicalised if they feel they belong to and are needed by the wider society in which they live. They won't want to kill their neighbours and colleagues and fellow citizens if they feel they are at one with them. And if they currently don't feel such kinship, then surely that too represents at least a partial failure on the part of everybody.
Maybe next week a breeze will drive this defeatist odour away. Or maybe all this is just in my head. I've spent the last few days re-reading what I'd hoped would turn out to be several chapters of my novel, chapters which represent months of effort... chapters which are a failure of the most abject, most heart-crushing kind. Slaving away night after night for weeks on end to produce something that makes you question whether you've been wrong all along about what you thought was your raison d'etre would probably be enough to make most people think a foul smell is lingering around every corner, seeping into your room through the gap under your door, with no intention of ever leaving.
Take the global economy. I'm no expert on such things, but the words "turmoil" and "recession" seem to be at the top of every news bulletin right now. Apparently sales of personal CCTV systems are going through the roof in the UK, because increasing numbers of people feel under threat in their own homes. The Coen brothers appear to have hit a nerve in the collective psyche with No Country For Old Men, a film which is, in many ways, about the inability of trusted patriarchs to hold back the forces of evil.
And then there's the UK government's plan to install metal detectors at secondary schools in the hope of reducing knife crimes. One of Home Secretary Jacqui Smith's arguments for this move is that young people shouldn't feel that they must carry knives in order to protect themselves from attacks, so the metal detectors will reassure them that they're in a safe environment. There's a twist somewhere in that logic, but I'm sure I'm too stupid to see it.
I don't come bearing answers. Maybe some schools really have become so difficult that this is the only thing they can do to improve matters. Maybe we need to allow mob rule to take over in the hope that a better status quo will eventually emerge on its own. But however effective or damaging metal detectors may turn out to be, I do think they represent a monumental and tragic failure. But a failure on whose part? Well, that's the key thing, isn't it? I think we're all culpable in one way or another. And maybe the metal detectors will turn out to be just the first of many 'slippery slope' measures until we realise that we all need to take responsibility for how our young people treat each other and us.
A metal detector is a barrier. We seem to keep putting up ones we don't need and taking down ones we really do need. This one is of the variety that creates unhealthy divisions. Perpetuating a corrosive 'us and them' mentality (or, in this case, a 'knife-wielding and knife-less' mentality) isn't going to foster decency between human beings in the long run.
I had similar thoughts when I read this week's Observer Magazine cover story about the factors which can lead to the radicalisation of Muslim men in the UK. It was an article that was as depressing as it was (oddly) reassuring, because it showed again that this is a situation as old as time itself. But it did highlight in no uncertain terms that people cannot be radicalised if they feel they belong to and are needed by the wider society in which they live. They won't want to kill their neighbours and colleagues and fellow citizens if they feel they are at one with them. And if they currently don't feel such kinship, then surely that too represents at least a partial failure on the part of everybody.
Maybe next week a breeze will drive this defeatist odour away. Or maybe all this is just in my head. I've spent the last few days re-reading what I'd hoped would turn out to be several chapters of my novel, chapters which represent months of effort... chapters which are a failure of the most abject, most heart-crushing kind. Slaving away night after night for weeks on end to produce something that makes you question whether you've been wrong all along about what you thought was your raison d'etre would probably be enough to make most people think a foul smell is lingering around every corner, seeping into your room through the gap under your door, with no intention of ever leaving.
Comments