Image North Atlantic King of Fish
Well, well. It seems an atmosphere of uncertainty infuses thinking at every level. Overheard while trying to pass a crocodile of bobbing heads the other day was ‘it might be because of brexit‘. “Will it stop at Christmas?” ‘Dad said it’ll never stop.‘
Atmos, Greek for vapour, coalesces as a notion to convey some ephemeral, lingerless possibility; its dispersal an ever-present threat. Which returns us to the protectionist policy of Brexit so troubling to those Year … 4’s(?).
At that age, I struggled in ceaseless confusion amid Cold War and Cod War. They melded in my mind and with hindsight one wonders how my contribution to dining table discussion didn’t highlight this lack in knowledge.
A troubling upshot of uncertainty is the seepage of alarm into the cracks of stability. Radio news & current affairs programmes are subsumed by the subject such that one’s deep fatigue is in danger of switching off the ability to care about the British departure from the Union.
It’s ironic: the only argument which ultimately might have tilted my pencil towards Leave was that suggesting determination of fishing policy and restoration of control over UK waters. [Tiens, eh ben dit donc or Nå må jeg sige as Danes might say: even after March, Poseidon will seemingly continue to answer to Copenhagen].
Emotional resilience, as we’ve been hearing in recent weeks, is increasingly recognized as a core constituent of balanced stability. A demand it makes is to recognize individual sovereignty to assume responsibility for our actions. Being answerable for all we do guides a kinder infusion into the atmosphere we generate.
Image: Bob Vila
The avalanche of news as well as weather is ironic: when the hole we’re excavating gets deeper, convention is to stop digging.
It’s hard to conceive how a greater hash of Brexit could be made. The heroic absence of sensitivity towards the EU appears a badge proudly borne by the Government’s negotiators to whom it grows increasingly implausible to credit the ability to deliver an imaginative, workable deal.
Listening is done with the ears; with the heart, eyes, skin: attending with the complete self to the complete picture in front of you.
The team of British negotiators are lost, have lost, were lost before they began in virtue they just don’t get it. They don’t get the hurt the EU feels and they don’t get we no longer have a voice.
Blustering in with demands will not achieve them. Deafness to the impact our message yodelled across the channel in June 2016 will only shrink further the shred of benevolence for which it’s plausible to hope.
Infusing the approach to negotiations with emotional intelligence would still not alter that unfortunate inevitability of approaching severance. It would, however, demonstrate an intellectual sensitivity and willingness to show strength through flexibility: better that than the brittle snap of failure to which we toboggan.
Love Story – a ’70s film which gripped the smooching generation – had a strap line of Love means never having to say you’re sorry.
In similar vein, developing Emotional Intelligence means never having to talk about your emotions.
In firing a weapon of any kind, it’s preferable to squeeze the trigger while controlling breath. Thus, on this day when the Prime Minister triggers Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty to formalize the long process for UK withdrawal from the EU, developing the intelligence to accommodate the passions this evokes would seem a prudent move.
For the second time since 1415, England has waggled two fingers at those it faces across the channel. This, then, may be a moment for kindness to inform professional dealings. Self-raising flourishing implicit to those with heightened skill in negotiation could infuse and nourish dealings with symbiotic tenderness and rational calm.
It is in the interest of these isles that breadth and depth of GB negotiators expand in empathic grace to understand the dismay with which their EU peers approach the table.
Are you struggling too? Struggling to work out why its taken the PM three months to articulate what was patently obvious from the outset.
When we suggested, a week before the Referendum, fastening seatbelts would be an idea, myopically we did not foresee how long it would take for the full implications to be grasped and accepted as a whole new reality. You are encouraged to wander back to the June pages of this site to see what we mean and/or massage our egregious egos.
But acting in haste is as a mangle to tears and it’s probably right the pace should be glacial – slow moving rather than chilly, you understand.
Undulations of language do, though, map contours of uncertainty: Brexit means Brexit being as persuasive as Because I say so, as informative as How Hi is a chinaman.
Will Theresa May be wearing ruby slippers as she glides into No. 10 on Wednesday?
The political scene in overview then:
- Tories: …. few, we band of brothers …
- Labour: Twas on the good ship Venus …
- LibDems: Hello, it’s me
- UKIP: …. wide eyed and legless …
- Scotland: My love is like a red, red rose ….
- Eire: Seventy years man and boy, never have I danced for joy
- Wales: .. slow black, crow black fishing-boat bobbing sea
Mrs May has been Home Secretary a long time and is consequently woven into the fabric of Homeland Security. This is evidenced by her vigorous attraction to Trident, Britain’s quartet of nuclear submarines. Prudently, the Armed Services will have mapped her understanding to their perspective: it is not in their interests to lose this ‘deterrent’. Objectively, one wonders, how truly crucial these stealthy vessels are to national well-being?
Trident’s renewal will be debated this week, before the House rises: but before formal transition of power? Tell me: for whose benefit are we contemplating to spend a sum anywhere from £22bn to £205bn, depending on which report you read? A contract has already been awarded to build outflying, protective helicopters which might seem a clue that the debate is window dressing.*
Should we Munchkins not all take a breath and compose ourselves before hurtling on? It’d be unfortunate to grab at ephemeral solutions to profoundly important issues merely to appease the Miss Grolsches of the world?
There is no short-cut to acquiring the Testimonial, Medal and Clock (Brains, Courage, Heart) the Wizard handed over to the weary Yellow Brick Off-Roaders and dashing to quick-fixes is always doomed.
There’s no place like home anymore as home is unalterably changed.
* we’ll be returning to this, most fishy story.
Resisting anything but temptation, restraint is futile particularly when there’s a luscious lake from which to fish out opportunities to grow.
David Cameron seemed perplexed last year when he was wheeled out of each tête-à-tête with his opposite numéreaux essentially having evolved nothing in renegotiating terms by which Britain placed itself amid the European Union. This lack might have told him something about the EU appetite to mop Britain’s brow and cater to whimsical idiosyncracies.
After a good few centuries, Britain’s epoch of treating the rest of the world as it treated India up until Partition is over. This cannot have been more starkley demonstrated than by voisins’ voracious vocalizing to speed the triggering of Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty and begin ejection.
As the Prime Minister’s finger has never been sensitive to the pulse of change, it’s understandable he seems not yet to have discerned that everything is now altered. The more gracefully the UK steps aside giving another a turn at global plutocracy, the more strength and stability is retained and gained.
There is every hope this severe pruning to the country’s self esteem will support luscious growth in its compassion and humanity. It won’t be pretty, nor pain free. Ultimately though, it is plausible to posit a future of kindness and a modicum of humility.