NP The politics of the lonely crowd

[jbor]

An interesting recent article by sociologist Frank Furedi on, amongst other
things, the reasons why the mass protests against the Iraq War have had
"such little impact on society", and why it isn't a "movement" in the same
way that 20th Century "movements" were:

http://www.spiked-online.com/Articles/0000000CA449.htm

Some pertinent excerpts:

[...]
In their conviction that George W Bush is mentally deficient, children have
embraced the wisdom peddled by best-selling cynic Michael Moore,
sophisticated media commentators from both sides of the Atlantic, and
hundreds of thousands of anti-Bush protesters. Hating the stupid US
president was sufficient to mobilise large crowds of people during his
recent visit to London. In the USA, demonstrating how much you hate Bush has
animated discussion during the Democratic Party primary elections. Howard
Dean, who has perfected the art of being very angry, managed to mobilise
tens of thousands of young people to join his vociferous campaign - before
it failed.

It appears that how you feel, rather than what you believe in, has become
the defining feature of political protest. This sentiment was revealed by
the actress and veteran left winger Vanessa Redgrave, who announced her
intention to put on a one-woman play in London to 'express her anger over
President Bush's visit' in November 2003.
[...]

The coincidence of the politics of feeling and an apolitical populism is one
of the distinctive features of contemporary protest. By focusing on an
individual politician's personality, it personalises politics. But even more
importantly, protest has become a strikingly personal matter. It is about
the protester as an individual, and says more about how he feels about
himself than what he thinks of the issue at stake. That is why it is
difficult to define today's acts of protest as constituting a political
movement. On the contrary: they are the product of a profound mood of
political disengagement that afflicts most Western societies.
[...]

What has changed during the past two decades is the very meaning of politics
itself. Last century, political life was dominated by radically different
alternatives. Competing political philosophies offered contrasting visions
of the good society. Conflict between these ideologies was often fierce,
provoking violent clashes and even revolutions. 'Left' and 'Right' were not
mere labels - in a fundamental sense, they endowed individuals with an
identity that said something crucial about how they saw themselves.

Ardent advocates of revolutionary change clashed with fervent defenders of
the capitalist system. Their competing views about society dominated the
conduct of everyday politics. So debates about the health service or
taxation, for example, were not the bean-counting spats about exactly how
much a particular initiative will cost the consumer that they are today.
They were debates about the future direction of society, and the symbolic
ways in which today's policy could shape tomorrow's world.

The twenty-first century offers a radically different political landscape.
Politics today has little in common with the passions and conflicts that
have shaped people's commitments and hatreds over the past century. There is
no longer room for either the ardent advocate of revolution or the fervent
defenders of the free market faith. Political sentiments rarely acquire a
systematic form, in which vague aspirations for change are transformed into
real-life discussions about how change might come about. This is definitely
not an age of political programmes. Where political life was once defined by
debates about the welfare state or privatisation, now similar-sounding
manifestos pick over class sizes in schools and university tuition fees.
[...]

Some critics of the prevailing social order believe that the public's
disenchantment with contemporary politics provides an opportunity for the
flourishing of radical dissent. Witness, for example, the delight among the
one-time left at the million-odd people in the UK who turned out in February
2003 to march against the military invasion of Iraq. Claims that these were
the biggest anti-war protests since Vietnam, not to mention the first
protests since Vietnam to attract any number of young(ish) people, implied
that the reaction against the Iraq war was spawning the kind of radical
political movement last seen in the 1970s.

But confusion and distrust of the political system or suspicion towards
authority are not inherently progressive responses. In such circumstances,
cynicism, passivity and a sense of fatalism can influence public attitudes.
Such attitudes do not preclude acts of protest - but they do mean that such
protests express the politics of disengagement. So it was fitting that one
of the most prominent slogans of the movement against the 2003 invasion of
Iraq was 'Not in my name'.

'Not in my name' is self-consciously framed as a personal proclamation. It
is not a political statement designed to involve others, and does not seek
to offer an alternative. It does not call on anyone to choose sides or even
insist on a particular course of action. Insofar as it represents an
attitude, 'Not in my name' is a statement of individual preference and
represents an opt-out clause, rather than an attempt to alter the course of
events. This is a shrug of the shoulder, which reflects a mood of general
anti-engagement as much as it does a weariness towards war.

That is why, despite the mobilisation of millions on the streets of Western
capitals, this protest has had such little impact on society. Despite the
fact that so many opposed the war, the absence of passion or the belief that
protest could make a difference meant that the large numbers never amounted
to a movement, at least in the old sense of the term. The personal
presentation of anti-war sentiment contains an implicit renunciation of
social activism and protest.

Of course, disengagement is a troublesome concept. Certainly, people out on
the streets of London or Seattle, protesting 'against capitalism' or the
invasion of Iraq, do not think of themselves as disengaged. Today's
activists continually point out the large size of many of the recent
demonstrations. However, understanding the dynamic of mobilisations and
protests cannot be gained through just counting numbers.
[...]

There are many activists who feel that their activism represents a valid
form of engagement. To these individuals, no doubt it does, in a personal
sense. But engagement in a wider social sense is not reducible to individual
activism. Political engagement involves action directed at influencing
aspects of public life. It is not simply a personal statement, but part of a
wider communal project. Engagement expresses an attitude and an orientation
towards interaction with others. It is undertaken as part of a wider
dialogue that seeks to establish or alter the prevailing consensus.
[...]

The politics of self-expression are extremely influential, because they are
continually affirmed by contemporary culture. Self-expression is validated
as a genuine and authentic act, and is often favourably contrasted to what
is perceived as the estranged artificial world of politics. The Italian
sociologist Alberto Melucci claims that one of the distinct features of
contemporary social movements is that people's participation within
movements is no longer a means to an end. 'Participation in collective
action is seen to have no value for the individual unless it provides a
direct response to personal needs', he writes.

When movements become an end in themselves, the link between protest and the
politics of change becomes ruptured. There is nothing objectionable about
individuals participating in organisations in order to become members of an
emotional community of people who feel the way that they do about certain
things. However, when the pursuit of self-discovery becomes an end in
itself, it represents another form of disengagement.

Some of the largest mobilisations in Europe during the 1990s have been
influenced by the trend of expressing 'personal needs'. I was in Madrid at
the time of the mass demonstrations in July 1997, which mourned the murder
of Miguel Angel Blanco by the Basque separatist group ETA, and was struck by
their strange emotional dynamic. At times the crowd exuded a sense of
intensity as if something tragic was just about to happen. At other times, a
sense of anticipation - not unlike at pop festivals - helped create a
feeling of exhilaration. Demonstrators told interviewers that they were not
sure why they were there and some suggested that they too felt like victims.
This reaction was self-consciously cultivated by the crowd with the gesture
of placing their hands at the back of their heads in the posture of
surrendering prisoners.

The crowds that thronged the streets of Madrid, like the protesters that
wish to vent their anger against George W Bush, are no more engaged with
society than the people who watch their activities at home on TV. They are
making a personal statement. It is their lifestyle choice. Such crowds echo
with the voices of the disengaged. They are above all motivated by the
impulse of finding meaning by taking to the streets, and do not think very
much about how to influence others. It is a lonely crowd indeed.

(Frank Furedi is a professor of sociology at the University of Kent. His
Therapy Culture: Cultivating Vulnerability In An Anxious Age is published by
Routledge.)

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