nunoncastors

As our nation rumbles ever onward into a sort of Orwellian milieu of CCTV, knee-jerk legislation and mindless, dribbling enforcement officers, I find myself thinking how sad it is to be living in the declining years of a once great nation. I doubt many people give it much thought, ensconced as they are in ‘reality TV’ and other perennial nonsense, but the society that once gave the world the industrial revolution and changed everything, literally everything, now chiefly exports its own disenchanted population.

We seem to be a people inured to disappointment and societal neglect these days, as though all expectation has been ground out of us like grist to the mill. We are unique in Europe, potentially the world, in that we suffer an incompetent government in silence; watch our liberties as they’re worn away in the name of ‘security’ and huff and sigh as more and more of our lives are bound in red tape and smothered in fines.

Were I French, if you’ll excuse the cliché, I would doubtless have picketed, argued and obstructed my way into a position where my voice could be heard, kicked over a few bins and, while not necessarily achieving anything, at least give the impression that I had, or that I’d tried. Here, nothing. People seem content to care more about animal rights than they do about the erosion of their own, residual as they are, and as a great soporific mass we grumble, we mutter, and then we turn on our television sets and do nothing. A profoundly upsetting situation, I’m sure you’ll agree.

The event that caused me to board this train of thought occurred on Saturday when, for reasons that remain unclear, I was taken to one side and quizzed by a Police officer. They wanted to know why, as a member of the public, I was doing something as utterly mundane as taking photographs. This, apparently, constitutes ’suspicious behaviour’ and warrants the attention of our nation’s finest timewasters. Presumably there’s a quota to fill somewhere.

And so I was asked, politely at least, what was I doing, what is my name, and where do I live, before being told to delete the photographs of the Council House and move along. This, because I’ve never really got along with authority figures, caused me to point out that unless Nottingham city centre had suddenly become communist Russia, unless they were the Stazi in disguise*, or unless they had a Court Order, I’d be doing no such thing.

Ten points for knowing my rights.

I think the comment about communist Russia may have been a step too far to be fair, but they relented and wandered away after discerning that I wasn’t about to change my mind, explode, shoot someone, or threaten the security of the nation. It was a strange experience, more than a little unnerving, and it left me wondering; just when did we give in and allow nebulous institutions to dictate… well, everything. Was it gradual, was it sudden? Did anyone even notice?

So today I checked a few books out of the library that I suspect will result in my name being flagged on a hard drive hidden away in some shady government office building,** and this afternoon I’ve found solace in the realisation that Government, authority, laws; they only function by the consent of the masses. It’s a tiny little straw to grasp a hold of; just an idea really, but, to quote a really rather decent film, “People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people.”

Granted, I tend to treat ours with a sort of sneering disdain rather than fear, but you catch my drift. What with the fuel crisis, the constantly increasing cost of living, the sheer volume of shit being pedalled by those at the top, I think something’s going to give. I don’t think it’ll be our glorious institutions either, I think it’ll be our collective patience. Maybe then something’ll change.

*I know, I know. The Stasi were actually the East German secret police, hush.
** Because I’m paranoid.