Where were you when Britain left the EU? The question doesn’t exactly match 9/11’s historic mood shift, but it’s the first of these cases where I wasn’t entirely at odds with the public mood.
For me, 9/11 is synonymous with a Megabowl birthday party; crashing from sugar highs into a living room illuminated by news coverage and aghast faces not willing to hear about my sick Spare. Michael Jackson’s death wasn’t much better; announced by a DJ when I was inebriated and emotionally impervious to his Man In The Mirror tribute.
For Brexit day, I was traipsing through Nottingham city centre after a coach trip from London. The trip was revolved around my mum’s birthday and, until the week arrived, I had failed to register the inevitable clash with Brexit celebrations.
Like the majority of Nottingham, my family largely voted to leave. We’ve disagreed on many subjects but there’s been a stronger slant to our political conversations since the referendum vote in 2016 – ranging from heated frustrations to comical swipes from both sides.
As I suspect with many families, this division just became part of the fabric. Conversations about Boris Johnson were sandwiched between work updates, Harry Styles and new bathroom fittings. It was never a dealbreaker, just a reminder we were separate generations not entirely in sync.
Out of sync is a polite way to phrase London’s relationship with the UK. Walking through Nottingham’s drunken core at 11pm, I was caught off-guard seeing UK flags flying high outside council buildings, with passers-by quickly trudging past or cheering in unison. It’s irritating how national pride throughout my life has been a weapon of nostalgia. London 2012 Olympics aside, it’s hard to see a union jack without nightmare visions of royal street parties or Nigel Farage.
My own disenchantment however is patriotic catnip for my bloodline. They were in the local pub, united as one, to celebrate the occasion. At 11.20pm, slightly exhausted and in a lucid state from playing Kentucky Route Zero, I arrived to drunken hugs and playful digs.
“You can sit here if you voted Leave.”
I jokingly feigned walking out. They laughed. We moved on.
Over the next 20 minutes, conversation pivoted between Meghan Markle, Greta Thunberg and others I realised we had drastically different viewpoints over. As opinion divisions ballooned, within earshot my grandma mutters to my aunt that I’ve been “corrupted” by London’s fancy-pants liberalism; a lost cause exposed to the big smoke factories which pump out rainbow energy and glitter cannons of tolerance.
Not in those words, but I got the gist.
I pretended not to hear it, of course. If 20 years of listening to Conservative conversations has taught me anything, it’s no comments from a 28-year-old will help the situation. I love my grandma too, who has travelled all over the world and been admirably open to keeping up with modern life – which makes her political views even more jarring sometimes.
The next day in a car journey to a Chinese restaurant, the subject of politics is raised again with joking hesitance and a wink nudge in my direction. “You’ll grow out of it soon and realise,” my gran remarks, equating my political views to a stubborn suck of the thumb. My response is dismissive and slightly rattled which I felt weirdly guilty about, but it’s quickly forgotten. I’m the token London liberal of the family after all.
At the same time, maybe my opinion will change. Party politics is engineered to lock minds into supporting one ‘team’ your entire life which is counterintuitive to changing circumstances and attitudes. I can’t imagine not believing Boris Johnson is a detestable liar of the third degree, but I’m sure all Tory politicians aren’t on this wavelength. We rightly encourage people to vote but I didn’t want to back anyone in the latest election. No politician feels aligned to my interests.
While studying fascist leaders like Hitler or Mussolini (stay with me), I often thought about the youth groups they managed to galvanise for support. I can’t imagine feeling so blindly passionate about politics or an ideology. Many were brainwashed from a young age, of course, but what’s it like having your whole belief system embodied in one individual? What’s that drive even feel like? It’s the same with terrorists and religious beliefs. My only relatable cases are Arctic Monkeys and Zelda games, but I certainly wouldn’t instigate genocide for either. Maybe that’s messed up.
So my grandma may have an unintentional point. Although, what if this is #blessed corruption? My disenchantment with British politics and our national identity could be liberation from tying myself to a random patch of land on this earth. Traditional values around the world could dissipate as older generations kill themselves clutching to the past, all while we cavort with nationalities the world over and breed into a homogenised utopia beneath their noses.
There was a corrupt Englishman, Irish woman and a gay couple from Russia, and we all just fucked.
StarkTreatment 