Poverty Safari, page 13
Even at 33 years old, this theme continues to define my life. Well I’ve told you all about my life, now here’s what I would really like to say.
I no longer believe poverty is an issue our politicians can solve. Not because they don’t want to, but because an honest conversation about what it will require is too politically difficult to have. If those in power were straight about what addressing this problem would require it would shock us to our core. And not merely because of the magnitude of the task facing society, which is unconscionable in scale, but also because there is a certain level of personal responsibility involved that’s become taboo to acknowledge on the left. For all the demand we in left-wing circles feign for fundamental change and radical action, people get a bit touchy and offended when you suggest that might apply to them too. The truth, whether we want to accept it or not, is that when it comes to poverty – not as a political football but as a global phenomenon in which we all play an active role – there is no one actor or group that we can blame with any certainty.
Contrary to what we’ve been told, the issue of poverty is far too complex to blame solely on ‘Tories’ or ‘elites’. It’s precisely because of the complexity at play, and how difficult it is to grasp, that we look for easy scapegoats. Whether it be the left blaming the rich or the right blaming the poor, we tend only to be interested in whichever half of the story absolves us of responsibility for the problem. That’s not the sort of thing a politician looking to get elected can say to a potential voter.
Poverty has become a game played between a few competing political teams. The teams vary from country to country but the rules of the game are usually the same. Blame for poverty is always ascribed to someone else; an outgroup that we are told not only enables poverty and benefits from it, but also gets a kick out of people being poor. This game is so underhanded and cynical that the truth, itself, only becomes true when it can be appropriated, weaponised and redeployed by one side against the others. Rather than admit that nobody really knows what to do, besides tweak some knobs here and there, our hapless leaders, with their own immediate political dilemmas to consider, simply pretend to have the situation under control. And when they inevitably break their empty promises, made in haste to placate our anger, they tell us it’s because the other teams are deliberately impeding progress. This game is played by all parties, regardless of which end of the spectrum they claim. And we eat this nonsense up like fucking children.
Let’s take a moment to truly consider the damage this game is doing to our society.
When one political party blames another for the problem, it creates a false impression in the public mind that this complex issue is within the competence of one political actor or group to solve. This is a dangerous oversimplification. An oversimplification which forces us to cast one another as heroes and villains in the long-running saga of poverty, often based on our unconscious bias, false beliefs and, increasingly, our resentments. Just like stress creates a demand for relief through alcohol, food and drugs, so too does our refusal to get serious about grappling with the complexity of poverty; creating a demand for the sort of political juvenilia that reduces every person to a caricature and every issue to a soundbite. These partisan rivalries are now so toxic that the idea of getting around a table with your opponents, in good faith, is almost laughable. Proposing such an idea is regarded widely as naïve. Meanwhile, trying to build a consensus or, God forbid, acknowledging the virtue or integrity of people you disagree with politically or conceding where other ideas have succeeded, can get you publicly shamed and lynched – by your own team.
Not even the stark reality of child abuse, the inexorable rise of crime, the ubiquity of violence, the horror of domestic abuse, the scourge of homelessness or the tragic inevitability of alcoholism or addiction that underscores so much of it is enough to humble us into showing some contrition in the face of this issue. This despite knowing fine well that we’ll never be able to address a problem of this scale in any meaningful way without input from right across the political spectrum. We’d rather play games. Sadly, there is absolutely no incentive whatsoever for a politician to be honest about the true extent of this problem. Let’s be honest, we wouldn’t accept it. We all need someone to blame. For some it’s the bankers and for others it’s the poor themselves. We’ve become so tribal in our thinking that politicians have little choice but to supply our demand for illusory quick fixes, over-simplified soundbites, scapegoats and comforting, reassuring platitudes that conveniently ascribe blame to the people we don’t like. It’s a truly sorry state and if blame is being apportioned, there’s certainly enough to go around every one of us.
In these conditions of tribalism, bad faith and political uncertainty, the problem is only likely to get worse. The time has come to face this reality which will place a heavy burden on those of us who are resolved to see progress on this matter. With no appetite for cross-party consensus and even less for radical change, despite the odd flourish of rebellion every few years, people with an interest in helping the poor (or themselves for that matter) must now begin grappling with the notion that this system, and all its internal contradiction, is here to stay for the foreseeable future – certainly for the lifetime of anyone reading this book in the year 2017.
And while insurgent political parties and social movements may force grudging concessions from the powerful, much as they did throughout the last century on a range of issues, the sort of fundamental shift required to truly tackle poverty at the root is unlikely to materialise within our lifetimes. That doesn’t mean people should stop fighting for what they believe in. Nor does it mean we should submit to forces that are clearly acting against our interests. Just that we should let go of the idea that all we require is for capitalism to collapse or for a new country to be created and everything will just work itself out. It won’t.
The only thing worse than an unjust economic system is an unjust economic system when it implodes. The idea of rubbing our hands waiting for this to happen is, at best, exceptionally uninspiring. At worst, it’s short-sighted and slightly sinister. Once we accept this is wishful thinking, we can channel our energy in other directions based on a more realistic assessment of what is currently possible. As well as discussing and debating the abstracts of ‘the system’ we can also begin considering less intangible aspects of poverty that are within our immediate grasp to address. As I’ve already outlined, poverty comprises many domains of the human experience; social, psychological, emotional, political and cultural. Some things we can’t immediately impact, like the economy. Others we can affect intermittently, like political parties. But other areas, such as our mental health, consumer behaviour or lifestyle, which also play a significant role in our quality of life, are not as intangible and inalterable. What we now need to ask ourselves, as a matter of urgency is, which aspects of poverty can we positively affect through our own thinking and action? If poverty is negatively affecting our quality of life, is there any action we could take to mitigate this harm? Ultimately, which aspects of poverty are beyond our control and which are within our capability to change?
On the left, I see constant talk of new economic systems, of overthrowing elites or of increasing public spending. I see endless debate about the overlapping, interdependent structural oppressions of western society and the symbolic violence inherent in capitalism. But I rarely see anyone talking about emotional literacy. It’s rare to see a debate about over-eating. I never see activists being more open about their drink problems and drug habits or the psychological problems fuelling them.
Nobody ever seems to be writing a dissertation on the link between emotional stress and chronic illness or writing an op-ed about how they managed to give up smoking. As if somehow, these day-to-day problems are less consequential to the poor than the musings of Karl Marx. As if somehow, we can postpone action on the things that are demoralising, incapacitating and killing us until after the hypothetical revolution. Beneath all the theoretical discussion and torturous terminology about politics and economics, these problems of mind, body and spirit and what we do to manage them as individuals, families and communities, are the unglamorous, cyclical dilemmas that many people are really struggling with.
These are the issues that compound poverty-related stress. These are the problems that make people apathetic, depressed, confrontational, chronically ill and deeply unhappy. And it’s these painful emotions that drive much of the self-defeating consumer behaviour that delivers adrenalin to the heart of the very economic system many on the left allegedly want to dismantle. Yet on these matters we, on the left, have very little to say. Or at least, very little that people in deprived communities are interested in listening to. And it’s not hard to understand why.
Every problem is discussed like it’s beyond the expertise of the average person. The cumulative effect being that responsibility for poverty and its attendant challenges is almost always externalised; ascribed to an unseen force or structure, a system or some vaguely defined elite. These things are undoubtedly constituent parts of the problem, but our analysis rarely acknowledges the complexity of poverty as it is experienced by human beings, day-to-day. A systemic analysis which focuses on external factors unwisely foregoes the opportunity to explore the role we, as individuals, families and communities, can play in shaping the circumstances that define our lives. A systemic analysis does not account for the subtleties of poverty at ground level; the link between false belief and self-defeating action that keeps so many of us trapped in a spin cycle of stress and thoughtless consumption.
But these problems, as banal as they seem, are as fundamental to tackling poverty at the root as any critique of an economic system. Yet rather than integrate this truth into our analysis, we have allowed right wing movements to monopolise the concept of personal agency and the notion of taking responsibility. Worse, we vilify anybody who implies that poor people may sometimes play a role in their own circumstances, whether they be desirable or adverse. We’ve forgotten that not every problem or issue can be ascribed to broader social problem or power dynamic. We deny the objective truth that many people will only recover from their mental health problems, physical illnesses and addictions when they, along with the correct support, accept a certain level of culpability for the choices they make. Yet such an assertion has become offensive to our ears despite being undeniably true. When was the last time you heard a prominent left-wing figure speak of the power inherent within each of us to overcome adversity and transform the conditions of our own lives?
I’ll wait.
Instead, we peddle the naive idea that everything will be fine just as soon as the current system breaks down. We push the lie that trading one political or economic system for another is merely a painless formality. We set forth the proposition that it’s easier to redesign an entire society to suit our ever-evolving personal needs than it is to make some moderate adjustments to our own thinking and behaviour. And we cry foul any time somebody in our own ranks has the temerity to point this stuff out. So, I apologise if you think this isn’t constructive. In the absence of real leadership, it’s time we demanded more of ourselves. Not because it’s easy or fair but because we have no other choice. We must now evolve beyond our dependence on political figures to map out reality on our behalf. Poverty is not a game and it’s going nowhere any time soon. Poverty is here to stay and things will get worse before they improve. That’s the truth our leaders know but don’t have the guts to tell us.
Which is why we must open another frontier in politics. Not one solely based on railing against the system, but also about scrutinising our own thinking and behaviour. One which is about reclaiming the idea of personal responsibility from a rampant and socially misguided right wing that has come to monopolise it. A new leftism which is not only about advocating radical change but also about learning to take ownership of as many of our problems as we can so that we may begin rebuilding the depleted human capacity in our poorest communities.
In this far bleaker context, where politicians have no real solutions and can’t even bring themselves to discuss the matter honestly, what hope can we offer to people living their lives right now – without filling their heads with false hope or lies? What do we have to say to the people who won’t be around when the third industrial revolution begins? The people who’ll never see Universal Basic Income being rolled out? Well, I suppose we could start by being honest: There will be no revolution. Not in your lifetime. This system will limp on and so must we.
Much of the reason this system endures is directly related to how we think, feel and behave as individuals, families and communities. Just as we are products of our environment, our environments are also a product of us. From the foods we consume, to the products we buy. The newspapers we read to the politicians we vote for. So many of the problems we face, that we often attribute to ‘the system’ are, to some extent, self-generated. Therefore, many of these problems (though certainly not all) are within our individual and collective competence to positively affect. Considering this, and in the absence of a bloodless revolt any time soon, the question for people on the left is no longer simply ‘how do we radically transform the system’, but also, ‘how do we radically transform ourselves?’
And something about my dead mum.
19
Tales From the Mall
TODAY I STAND defeated at the counter of a McDonald’s, where I appear to be ordering food against my will. I’m now entering my third week of eating junk food, having previously managed to lose ten pounds during a period of abstinence. This success makes my regression into emotional eating more difficult to stomach. I know this feeling well. After all, it’s not the first time I’ve relapsed.
I take the food to my table, mortified that I might be seen by someone I know. I tell myself, this is the last time. In my head, I continually perform calculations that involve calories, kilograms, litres, pounds. Running parallel to these estimations I tally up miles, kilometres and steps. My apps track everything I eat and drink, every act of physical exertion. Throughout the day I receive a constant stream of data. But if knowledge is power, why do I feel so pathetic and weak? So overweight?
All bad habits involve a routine, any deviation from which creates anxiety and agitation. This stress triggers the urge to resume the habitual behaviour, a powerful impulse that can override all other considerations.
In other words, when my brain wants a McDonald’s and I’m tired or stressed, then the urge is very hard to disobey. I open the box containing the chicken burger and empty a portion of fries into the lid, laid out flat like a little cardboard bowl. I start with a couple of stray fries that have fallen onto the table and then turn my attention to the straw, tearing the wrapper and unsheathing it with my teeth. The straw is then placed in the large plastic cup and I take my first sip of Coca Cola.
The ice-cold fizzy drink rejuvenates me and I am filled with a wave of optimism bordering on elation. The shame is banished from my mind. But I immediately squander this wave of positivity by fantasising about a life where I never visit McDonald’s again.
I return to the fries. This time a bigger handful is required, followed by a swig of Coke. The process of eating and drinking accelerates and my appetite gets more ferocious as more food enters my system. Which is why I have taken my usual precaution of ordering an extra portion of fries. It’s always comforting to know it’s there, almost like the company of another person, but without the social anxiety.
The quantity of food I can consume in this gluttonous trance is obscene. Scrolling through my phone, reading people’s accounts of falling off their diets, I grow increasingly disgusted at myself. It’s like my brain forgets that I’m full and goes into autopilot. The rush of elation soon passes and melancholy descends. I look around. Most of the people in the restaurant are also overweight and alone. I wonder if, for them, too, the temporary high of those first delectable mouthfuls is a curtain raiser to the deep feelings of shame and powerlessness that push us through the door in the first place.
I don’t think it’s possible to be overweight and enjoy this food. Some people might be able to kid themselves, but I see them struggling to fit into their cars when they leave. I see them staring into space across the road from the chip shop, debating whether to put the health kick on hold. The thought of those first few bites, the emotional relief and instant fulfilment they induce, possesses such an allure that resistance is futile; an allure so intoxicating that you forget things you swore you would always remember. Like how deeply it depresses you to obsess about this sort of food and gorge on it.
Only days ago, I was hiding sweet and chocolate wrappers in a jacket pocket because I didn’t want my partner to know I had been bingeing again. Yes, there are millions of people who enjoy McDonald’s in moderation. But for people of my disposition, with serious impulse control problems, emotional eating is not only dangerous but also soul-destroying. The thought at the end of the meal is always the same: I don’t know why I did that. This cycle of emotional discomfort and self-defeating behaviour extends to many other areas of my life. For many years, I believed my lifestyle and associated health problems – fatigue, depression, anxiety, gum disease, insomnia, toothache, obesity, sexual dysfunction, alcoholism and substance misuse – were by-products of capitalism. In many ways they are. But that’s not the whole story.
Like many people my age, my terrible eating habits can be traced directly to my grandmother. She was born in the early ’30s and grew up in a time when the food products we now associate with poor lifestyle either hadn’t been invented or were very hard to come by. This was a time before mass public transport, mechanisation and telecommunications, which meant that people were likely to be engaged in physical work every day, probably walking to and from their jobs. Physical exercise was a constituent part of everyday life. It was in the early ’30s that the first American drive-in restaurants started popping up, signalling the dawn of a new age of tasty and affordable fast food. This phenomenon, and the problems that came to be associated with it, would likely have arrived in the UK a lot sooner. We temporarily dodged that bullet by becoming engulfed in the Second World War.
