It is difficult, even for those of us with limited attention spans, to bring ourselves apart from the developments in Egypt and the region at large. Nearly all of us are impressed with a great and palpable sense that history is moving in seismic shifts even as we watch. This sense is compounded by the speculation we all indulged in, a little more than a week ago, as to whether other countries in the Middle East would follow Tunisia’s example. To be sure, the self-immolation of Mohammed Bouazizi, as well as the subsequent toppling of Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, was more likely than most things to set off such massive demonstrations elsewhere, but most of us tend to quietly believe that history never progresses quite at the rate we would have it move if we were the deities of such things, and that the best realistic outcome was a few minor demonstrations scattered over the region, followed by the usual arrests.

On the other hand, nobody who knows anything about the Middle East could say that the demonstrations were unprecedented. Indeed, their coming to pass was inevitable, and the only unknown factor was time. There have been smaller demonstrations in the past, as well as a spiriting and dispiriting array of incarcerated opponents of Mubarak, not to speak of the opinion of most members of the Egyptian diaspora. More generally, as economist and political scientist Timur Kuran says:

A feature shared by certain major revolutions is that they were not anticipated. Here is an explanation, which hinges on the observation that people who come to dislike their government are apt to hide their desire for change as long as the opposition seems weak. Because of this preference falsification, a government that appears unshakeable might see its support crumble following a slight surge in the opposition’s apparent size, caused by events insignificant in and of themselves. Unlikely though the revolution may have appeared in foresight, it will in hindsight appear inevitable because its occurrence exposes a panoply of previously hidden conflicts.

But the possibility of predicting, in principle, the current crisis, does not remove from how unprecedented it feels. Whether or not they succeed, the demonstrations in Cairo, Alexandria, Suez, Sinai and Ismailiya represent a turning point in the politics and culture of the Middle East.

To get a measure of how large the effect will be, one need only observe the hesitant reactions of Western politicians when the news first broke. US Vice President Joe Biden, for instance, was quoted as saying, “Mubarak has been an ally of ours in a number of things and he’s been very responsible on, relative to geopolitical interests in the region, Middle East peace efforts, the actions Egypt has taken relative to normalizing the relationship with Israel … I would not refer to him as a dictator.” President Obama, as well as British Prime Minister David Cameron and many other Western heads of state, were all considerably less blundering than that, but they all seemed united in withholding their support for the demonstrators, and in merely doing the easiest thing possible: condemning the violence.

It is easy to be cynical about these reactions. It has become commonplace to hold up the tear gas canisters, emblazoned with the words “Made in the US”, and the fact that Egypt has consistently received one of the largest portions of the US foreign aid budget, as evidence that the West (and the US in particular) has behaved cynically in the past, and that therefore it is really in their interest to keep Mubarak propped up in power. But the question of the correctness, moral or political or otherwise, of these past actions, though important, bears only lightly on what is happening now. To be sure, the US might have done more in the past to keep Mubarak out of power. But most Western citizens hardly voiced a whimper in protest until these current protests. Spare a thought for Obama and Cameron and Merkel and Sarkozy, if you will. They were not the creators but the inheritors of the status quo, and their position is as difficult as it is possible to get in politics. Much as they might want Mubarak to leave, they must do battle with the question of political expediency, and of what is right in the long term.

And apart from our unavoidable deaths, the long term is an extremely difficult thing to work out. What are the potential consequences of the revolution, should it succeed? There are many worst-case scenarios that should be dealt with. One major complaint is the question of Israel. Egypt has been a reliable ally of Israel’s since 1979, and thus has been one of the major guarantors of its security. The fear of many is that a democratic Egypt, even if not taken over by the Muslim Brotherhood, would not necessarily maintain this alliance, leaving Israel in greater peril. That may be so (it is impossible to say with certainty), but if it is, that would make up for the greater long-term prospects for the region. Democracy, as is often said, is the best stability. The question of quite when a country is “ready” for democracy should be moot, since in Egypt’s case it is clear that the people want it, and what better indicator of its suitability is there than that?[1]

The possibility of the Muslim Brotherhood taking over has been much discussed, and it seems to be the consensus in the liberal media that it is rather unlikely. After all, the Brotherhood have about 100,000 supporters in a country of 80 million, as we are often told. This is an encouraging statistic, but not unambiguously so. The Brotherhood are the most popular opposition party in a state in which opposition parties are effectively outlawed. So the current 100,000 might turn into 10 million when its ideological brethren don’t have to live in so much fear. The number, therefore, might be misleading. However, there are other signs that its influence is not as strong as it would like. The New York Times has a piece showing that throughout the demonstrations the Brotherhood has been a bumbling and barely acknowledged presence. At first, it wavered on whether to support the protests, and later it wavered on whether to support ElBaradei. It does not seem to know its own place, and indeed one member of the Brotherhood categorically stated that the revolution had nothing to do with Islam, still less Islamism, and everything to do with the people.

Obama’s very careful and gradual Middle East policy has arguably been dealt an unexpected and significant blow. He called for change in the region, and was forthright about its need for democracy in his Cairo speech. “Let me be clear,” he said, “no system of government can or should be imposed upon one nation by any other. That does not lessen my commitment, however, to governments that reflect the will of the people.” Thus, the way he deals with the current crisis may turn out to be the defining point of his term, as far as foreign policy goes. If he is too eager to support the demonstrators, he risks weakening his alliances elsewhere in the region. If he does the opposite, then he will appear to be perpetuating the decades of US foreign policy that have hardly charmed the leaders and citizens of the Middle East. It is an unenviable position.

That is, if it really is his position. Perhaps the very impossibility of taking decisive action hints that it is not actually the place of the US President, or any other world leader, to do so. Rather, their position is a subtler but probably easier one. They must promote democracy implicitly, by the use of cultural rather than diplomatic influence, by exposing the citizens of the world to the liberating effects of democracy. This is, of course, not enough in itself, but it is a vitally important factor in the awakening of the democratic mind. Once the aspiration to democracy has taken hold, as it evidently has in Egypt, events must be allowed to take their natural course. The only official position, then, of a statesman qua statesman, should be a bold stand against violence, as well as a covert support of the protesters. As for the position of a statesman as a human being, that is another matter entirely.

Picture courtesy of http://yfrog.com/h0onggjj.

George Orwell spent his life employing the political essay and novel in pitched battle against the forces of totalitarianism, in whatever form that might have taken, be it Stalin’s Communism or the British Empire. In 1984 he put forth a vision of totalitarianism so far beyond the realms of history and (perhaps) not so far beyond the realms of possibility that it stuck permanently to our collective imaginations. To us, the state of Oceania is the logical conclusion of totalitarianism, and a dystopia that as happily free citizens we must do our best to halt, and that dictators the world over do their best to install. Thus comes the word “Orwellian”, meaning any combination of the following: an all-seeing government that controls every aspect of our lives (even, as far as it can, our thoughts), a world in which everyone and everything exists for the state, a state which exists primarily to perpetuate itself, and a political class which frequently not only lies, but tells the exact opposite of the truth, with the populace having to believe it even to the point of absurdity.

The scariest and most pernicious of Orwell’s inventions was that of “doublethink”, which really is totalitarianism taken to its extreme. It is thus described in 1984:

The power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one’s mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them… To tell deliberate lies while genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed, to deny the existence of objective reality and all the while to take account of the reality which one denies…

If the state cannot control the minds of its people directly, it can at least force them to control their own minds, through an endlessly repeating process of “correcting” their thoughts. Doublethink is perhaps the most important feature of an Orwellian world, because without the freedom to think as you will, the last chance of rebellion is eradicated.

These are powerful ideas, which people would rather kill in infancy than suffer in perpetuity. However, a mild personality cult seems to have formed itself, centred on the prophetic figure of Orwell. Eric Blair, as he is otherwise known, is watching over his followers like Big Brother, imploring them to see Orwellianisms everywhere, even in places where they are far removed. Doublethink, or at least its milder strain, lazythink, can replicate itself in unsuspecting carriers much like the H1N1 virus—even though the society is officially vaccinated against totalitarianism. The seriousness of lazythink should not be underestimated: though it seems quite innocuous, it can lead to active involvement in unspeakable evil. How many of those who committed such terrible crimes in the name of National Socialism would not have done so had they really questioned the nature of what they were doing, and the ideology on which their actions rested? The Orwell cult probably won’t go down this route, but what their attitude leads to, quite ironically, is a stifling of debate—exactly the sort of thing that they would otherwise be quick to condemn as antithetical to a healthy, non-totalitarian society.

Not only does it stifle debate, but it chokes the natural breath of progress. A politician in an opposition party need not be so devilishly underhanded to call a government policy Orwellian, but with the use of that one word he has won a few easy points with great swathes of the voting public. Once the word is planted in the minds of people and combined with lazythink, we witness a downward spiral in which the accused government cannot do anything that’s not Orwellian, though they may have the best of intentions. It is unfortunate for Gordon Brown and his new iteration of New Labour that they quickly established themselves as serious and socialist. In that atmosphere, accusations of Ingsoc-style policy are even harder to banish. Obama has a similar (though milder) problem with the Fox News-watching American right. Although the current healthcare debate may not bring his presidency to ruin, it is likely that the accusations brought forth now will find a way to stay, even if the initial fervour ends up dissipating.

Alertness to sinister politics is a perfectly fine thing, of course. There will be times when the fears of encroaching totalitarianism are not unfounded. But being so quick to see the worst in a policy is just as counterproductive as seeing only the best. Let us not jump on the easy bandwagon with such important matters, nor try to look too clever. Rather, let us try to understand the situation in the cold light of day, with a sober and a present mind. Only if something is genuinely Orwellian should we ever use the word. In that way some of its rightful value will be restored, and Eric Blair might once again be proud to have it used in his honour.

This idea has been the overriding theme of the presidential race so far. Hillary Clinton insisted that she had more of it than Obama, though how she would have changed her tack when facing McCain, had she claimed the Democratic presidential nomination, is anybody’s guess. She clearly favours Obama over McCain: assuming this is genuine (and, despite the nature of party politics there is no reason not to think so), this is a tacit acknowledgement that experience is not the be all and end all, and that intellect and ideas are important after all.

McCain insists that he has more experience than Obama, but the question is, how important is experience in and of itself? Obama must have reflected on this pickle himself, and concluded that it wasn’t very much, except as a useful disarming tool; but it would be impolitic of him to express this publicly as he would draw jeers of “elitism” from the hungry media crowds. To take a hypothetical example: imagine an unintelligent person who is born into a privileged family with political connections, which he uses to embark upon a mildly successful political career. During the course of this career, he meets many politicians, engages in many debates, sees what goes on behind the scenes, becomes suitably cynical, and is able to put on a good political mask. By any standard, he would have had a lot of experience. But would this mean anything? He is unintelligent, and therefore gleans very little of substance from all these things. Of course, in this extreme example, experience would be meaningless.

McCain is not this hypothetical example. But he claims to be a man of experience, and a man of substance. It seems to me, that if one truly is a man of substance, one should not keep reminding others that one is a man of experience. It is little more than an insecurity smokescreen. A true man of substance would not have to consciously describe himself as anything, but would let his policies and his actions be the true narrator. It is also a cynical tactic that, far from showing his sincerity, tends actually to show his falsity, and his desperation. Knowing that his experience is a selling point to many Americans, it is a mere word he has to use, an advertising jingle. Therefore it is also an insult to the electorate. Can they not judge for themselves the extent, nature, and importance of his experience without constant reminders?

Now of course, if a politician just happens to be naturally constituted in such a way that they actually are the polar opposite of the currently-hated politician, without need of styling, then there is very little they can do to protect themselves from the accusation that they are pretending. After all, the only way to truly prove their genuineness is for us to step inside their minds (unfortunately an impossible proposition, but one that might save a lot of time and money). However, it surely must have crossed the minds of at least some American voters that what Obama is offering is not that radical or new, and that it only seems to be so because it seems to stand in contrast to what the Bush administration stood for. Hope, equality, opportunity for all, change—these are all values that America was built on, and that therefore it would be absurd for any potential president not to stand for. What Obama has successfully done so far (and what he will most likely continue to successfully do until he becomes president) is give the persuasive illusion that he really does genuinely stand for these things. This is largely an aesthetic skill: it lies in his rhetoric of hope, so much more convincing as it is than any of his rivals’; it lies in his gait, his manner, his style, his confidence (as contrasted with the desperation of the ghastly Mrs. Clinton), and his image—inspiringly but somewhat cornily represented in The Audacity of Hope.

These are all perfectly fine qualities, and ones that will undoubtedly stay with him during his (nearly assured) tenure as president. But charm aside, we are still in the honeymoon period between Obama and the American people. Honeymooning necessitates a marriage, and marriages in politics more so than in life come—at the very least—with disagreements. In life, marriages end either in divorce or in death; in politics, the end is invariably divorce. The question is, then, what possible reason could there be for America to divorce such a charming man?

The answer must lie somewhere in the inevitability of the political machine, a machine which, as it turns so relentlessly and indifferently, catches all politicians in its spindles and gears. We surely cannot be so cynical as to suppose that most politicians enter into their chosen careers solely for the money, for there are many more lucrative paths for them to take. I suspect that most do genuinely hope to improve the world, and it is just that some succumb to simple pragmatics in the hopes of acquiring the power that will ultimately allow them to enact their good intentions. “Simple pragmatics”, however, is just the alluring face of the machine that, after tempting the unwitting politician, ensnares him, and never lets him out until he sees the necessity of lying, and then becomes desensitised to it. By this I don’t mean gargantuan and stupid lies (here I’m thinking of Hillary Clinton’s under-fire-in-Bosnia incident), but merely small and pragmatic ones. And as we all know of lies, they have a tendency to snowball until, at the very best, your sheen of respectability is lost, and at worst, you are essentially forced out of office (here I’m thinking of Hillary Clinton’s husband). The point is this: it appears to be an innate fact of the system that lies are inevitable, and impossible to avoid. Nothing here is innate in the politician, but in the environment he finds himself in, and in the specific kind of pressure put upon him. Consider how all political underlings (by this I mean all those who are not the presidents or prime ministers of this world) must, almost of necessity, side with the views of their party leaders. Whenever they disagree passionately with their leaders, as was the case with Robin Cook and Tony Blair on Iraq, they feel impelled to announce their resignations. Often, they are much admired for their supposed bravery, but is it not really cowardice? To leave politics, the arena in which you hoped to change the world for the better, over a disagreement, however large? I pose the question not rhetorically, but because I do not know the answer. The opposite is much more common of course, and is certainly cowardly—pragmatic, but cowardly. I cannot count the amount of times I have seen Labour politicians squirming their ways out of uncomfortable interview positions when confronted with the question of Iraq. Conservatives, of course, lie just as often, but because they are the opposition party, and not directly culpable for the war, theirs are comfortable and confident lies, just as disingenuous, and in fact condemning the government for their obvious disingenuousness—for the most part, just because it is obvious. So the politicians on the attack lie because it is easy to, and those on the defence lie because they have to.

I do not mean to suggest that Barack Obama has anything but the best intentions, though I am sure the same can be said of John McCain. I merely posit that Obama has set himself an extremely difficult task with his emphasis on “change we can believe in”. Apart from the phrase seeming to smack of the populist, really the only change he means is that of undoing what everyone accuses Bush of having done, and “undoing” is not the same as “change”. Regarding the Iraq war, Obama proposes removing American troops, ignoring completely the fact that this is likely to worsen the situation there. Regarding climate change and American dependence on oil, Obama proposes investing in new energy sources; this is appealing insofar as it is the opposite of the current administration’s policy, but at the same time so obvious that a child could have thought of it. What if these ambitious plans, along with many others, fail? Why then Obama will find himself firmly in the spindles and gears of the machine—the very machine that he proposes to change. One can only hope that he doesn’t fail, however; but it is exactly this hope, rather than objective analysis, that is likely to win him the presidency.