Starting the new decade right: on solidarity, ‘lagom’ and #GE2020
‘Thank you for your €4 donation to Women's Aid.’ I was sitting on the 11 bus going through town as the auto-response text message came through. There was an orange weather warning for strong winds, and the rain was coming down in sheets, sideways. Through the condensation on the bus windows, I could just about see the sleeping bags tucked away in the doorways in a desperate attempt to get shelter from the damp winter cold. ‘Like Charity,’ the text message encouraged, and I thought about the statistic that says that no other EU nation donates to charity more than Irish people do.
As the 2010s are coming to an end, I worry about what that very statistic really means. ‘Irish people are so lovely!’ people exclaim after spending a few days here, and they’re right; Irish people are, generally and comparatively speaking, warm, exceptionally funny, and generous. But as we get closer to the next General Election, the Tory landslide over in the UK still reverberating in the air, I worry that the Irish are just too keen on giving out of their own pockets – at their own discretion and judgement – to ever give up on the low taxation and minimal financial redistribution that have caused the very problem their charity aims to fix.
We’re leaving behind a decade characterised by natural disaster, war and frustratingly fruitless Brexit debates, a decade of Instagram influencers and British Royal wedding mania, of uprisings such as the Arab Spring and the #metoo movement. The 2010s were when the first iPad saw the light of day, when Lady Gaga walked down the red carpet in what quickly became a legendary meat dress, and when most of us developed a love-hate relationship with the absolute relentlessness of WhatsApp conversations. And, of course, it was the decade of the Nordic lifestyle trends.
I published my book, Lagom: The Swedish Art of Balanced Living, in 2017, attempting to unpack one of the many concepts that might begin to explain why the Nordic nations consistently rank as among the happiest, most trusting and well-balanced people in the world. I wrote about everything from generous parental leave and non-hierarchical company structures to a minimalist, functionalist design heritage and a penchant for making the most of leftovers. Journalists asked for endless listicles outlining the most ‘lagom’ ways to achieve a balanced life, and I obliged: I spoke about regular coffee breaks, time in nature, neighbourly friendliness – all reasonably bite-sized and manageable ways to simplify and connect, the ‘lagom’ way.
No one seemed too interested in talking about financial redistribution and radically subsidised childcare, though – and why would they be? Journalists don’t write policy, after all, and there was no election on the horizon anyway. But there is now, and I can’t help but think of all those people who ask about Scandinavia when they hear where I’m from, wondering why on earth I choose to live here when I’m from what is practically utopia; I think about them and wonder if they’re going to vote for Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael again.
We’ve had a decade that started at the depths of a recession, continued with years of harsh austerity measures, and ended on a relative high with a semblance of hope after overwhelming majorities voted for marriage equality and a woman’s right to choose – so why is it that I don’t feel hopeful? People speak of winds of change, and yet, Ireland has never voted for any such thing in a General Election. For change from one socially conservative, fiscally liberal right-wing party to another, sure – like a tiring game of ping pong without a referee. And then some magazine reports about outstanding education in Finland, exceptionally family-friendly policies in Sweden and happier-than-ever children in Denmark, and people go, ‘How, just HOW do they do it?!’
I can’t stress this enough: it’s not because they light more candles per capita and drink more coffee than any other people in the world that Scandinavians are so happy – it’s because they’re safe and secure enough to even focus on that stuff. The secret to Nordic happiness is not really a secret: that these countries have been governed by left-leaning social democratic governments or coalitions almost uninterruptedly for a century – up until a couple of decades ago – is a well-known fact, and the policies people around the world appear jealous of are direct consequences of that. This is clearer than ever now that, in Sweden, a range of different, less left-leaning, more centrist and liberal coalitions have started to break the entire social security system down.
It’s hard to be happy when your landlord can do whatever he likes, when your private health insurance is a useless token and the hospitals have run out of trolleys in corridors to put sick people on. It’s hard to be happy when you can’t afford the childcare costs, but leaving your job means losing your home. And it’s really hard to be happy when you know that thousands of kids, thousands of fellow human beings, are homeless, and many more are stuck for years in substandard accommodation without proper kitchen and bathroom facilities. And hell yeah, I’m a fan of regular coffee breaks, but they’re not going to fix the mess that decades of Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael rule have put us in.
This is what not voting for change looks like: I’m on a bus in what feels like the umpteenth storm this year, texting donations to a charity that helps survivors of domestic violence, looking out at doorways that are becoming campsites. Global warming, the safety of women and children, and the housing crisis are not the concerns nor the priorities of the people who run this country. If they were, we’d know by now. There’s no beating around the bush anymore: a vote for one of the two large establishment parties is a vote for homelessness, for a desperately crumbling health system, for complete inability to deal with the climate crisis in a meaningful, structural way, and for growing inequality between the rich and the poor. And if you ask me again about the secret to Nordic happiness, that’s the answer you’ll get.
‘So go back to your own country then, if it’s so great!’ I guess you know you’ve hit a nerve when the only retort is one infused with xenophobia. But I’m not saying that Sweden is perfect. What I’m saying is this: there’s a disconnect between the Irish generosity and the refusal to scrutinise old political habits, between a nation that wants to help those in need but that has never ever had a social security system worth its salt. The election is just one way to change that – just the tip of an iceberg, the beginning of a huge shift, and far from the solution to all our problems. But when I reflect on the decade that’s passed and think about the decade that’s to come, I yearn for that shift, for a little bit of self-scrutiny and heartfelt solidarity – for the compassion and community spirit that are the very heart of ‘lagom’: ‘alla ska med’. Everyone’s coming. No one left behind.
Rule of the people, anyone? On democracy and the system being broken
Look, I don’t mean to be patronising. If you’ve been to school, you know this; you’ll know it like the back of your hand. But today, it feels like perhaps we need to go back to basics.
The word democracy means ‘rule by the people’, derived from the Greek ‘demos’, for ‘common people’, and ‘kratos’, for ‘rule’ or ‘strength’. Democracy, in other words, is a form of government in which political control is exercised by all the people, either directly or through elected representatives.
Ireland is a parliamentary, representative democratic republic. Scrap the ‘directly’ bit from the definition above: representative democracy is a form of government in which power is held by the people and exercised indirectly through elected representatives who make decisions – and who are then held accountable for their activity within government.’
Now to the elements of direct democracy. When does a referendum need to be held? Whenever, says the Citizens Information website, the government wants to change the constitution. This is interesting, especially today. Is it when the government wants to, or the common people? If the former differs from the latter, how do we hold the government to account?
Cynics may say, bluntly, that we hold them to account by not reelecting them when it’s time for another general election. But what if the government is actively preventing a general election being called, using tactics so undemocratic that they should, by any democratic definition, be kicked out of the Dáil with immediate effect?
Year on year, the March for Choice grows, explosively. Every day, pregnant people break the law by necessity as they import and swallow pills to induce a miscarriage. Elected representatives put forward bills proposing a referendum to let the people decide whether it’s time to amend the constitution with regards to a change in attitudes towards reproductive rights. And as the government realises it’s divided on the issue and a vote would likely lead to collapse, what does it do? It blocks the bill, instead pointing to the process of a Citizens’ Assembly – yes, another group supposedly representing the people, just not actually democratically elected – to avoid having to make any decision on the issue at all.
To be clear, we’re not talking about making a decision on reproductive rights. We’re talking about the decision to call a referendum to let the people, the common people, decide. What was that definition of representative democracy again? Oh yes, representatives who make decisions. How can we hold them to account when they refuse to make decisions out of fear that they’ll trigger a general election?
It’s a shambles, and it’s not democracy. There’s no sense of rule or strength on the part of the public. We feel ignored, helpless and increasingly angry.
Judging by the government’s current tactics, the timeframe discussed for the Citizens’ Assembly, and the processes involved in preparing for a referendum, any change to the 8th amendment is years away. Just by the end of this year, another 850 people will have left Ireland to access reproductive healthcare elsewhere. Many more will have taken the abortion pill at home or remained pregnant against their will, and thousands will have gone through the maternity system without the right to informed consent.
I’m off to the Dáil to rally. I’m tired, and I’m losing respect for the people supposedly representing us. Who knows what the strength of the common people will look like if nothing changes soon? The system is broken.