What happened to Barcelona?

I have never been a great fan of Barcelona. To me, the city seemed always a bit too much to stomach, too lively, too much 'in your face'. However, it clearly has its charms and during a recent conference I had the chance to re-visit my original judgement.

When I visited the first time in the 1990s, the city had just hosted the Olympics and was in full throttle tourist mode. The transport infrastructure had gotten a facelift and there was a vibrancy about the place that was hard to deny. Almost 25 years on, and the city has not weathered with time all too well. The Rambla has more or less deteriorated into a somewhat tacky and over-crowded tourist avenue and the metro is creaking at the seams. So what happened?

The centre piece of tourist attraction - the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona

Part of the story of Barcelona is its port. It remains one of the biggest ports in the country but the rejuvenation of the city in the 1990s deliberately tried to eradicate this important part of the city's existence. Banished to the outer fringes, it is only visible from Montjuic. As part of the Olympics, the city elders tried to frame it with an artificial beach, but that never felt quite like a real one, and whilst popular with tourists, you see precious few locals there.

The other dimension Barcelona's tourist and city planners were keen to stress is her architectural history, with the Sagrada Familia as the crown jewel. However, it always appeared to me that they emphasised Gaudi at the expense of the 'other' architectural history of Barcelona, which is more ordinary, yet just as fascinating, though chaotic and resisting simple narratives. The official story however, with Gaudi's cathedral appears hollow.

Gaudi's cathedral, as important as it may be, is not easily 'domesticated' within architectural history. It did not emerge organically from any homegrown style or architectural school. It stands alone and represents, to an extent, a dead end in architectural style. Little in or around Barcelona (or anywhere else in fact) carries echoes of Gaudi's work. True, that speaks of the uniqueness of his style. But it also makes it look quite alien in the city scape.

In fighting mode - Barcelona's mayor Ada Colau

It does not help that Barcelona appears now on the path of a slow but frightening path to political polarisation paralysing the normal functioning of the city. Where the infrastructure urgently needs investment and modernisation, the mayor appears to exhaust her administration in endless cultural confrontations, embarking on en masse renaming of 'francoist' streets with the names of her heroes of the communist revolution. As rubbish collections need to be improved and green spaces need to be created, the new mayor prefers to demonstrate her 'solidarity' with house occupants and their 'fight against the repressive classes', by castigating the police who tried to implement court orders. The ensuing street battles do not help the city's image.

However, who looks long and hard can find the charms of Barcelona, far away from the crowded Rambla and overpriced restaurants. But I could not help to notice that the old vibrancy has turned into a staleness, that the makeup has somehow smeared and lost its freshness. The next time Barcelona launches itself it should perhaps make less of the things that are temporarily borrowed, and make more of the things that have always been there, a city of dockworkers and labourers, artisans and fishermen. Pretence tends to backfire.

The 'heart' of Corbyn and Farage

Political strategists like using metaphors when discussing politics. The 'heart of Labour' is all the vogue at the moment. The purpose of metaphors is to signal apparently agreed and shared meaning. The trouble with metaphors is that most are probably nothing more than cognitive crutches, dissipating in thin air under close scrutiny. The 'heartlands' of a political party is another one much used these days, suggesting the ability of a party to draw on rock solid support, conjuring up voters who trot to the ballot boxes like sheep, eager to put their cross in the foreordained box.

If the recent elections have demonstrated anything it is that the time of 'heartlands' of political party support is well and truly over in Britain. Where once the mighty Labour Party dominated, the landscape of political allegiances appears fractured and uncertain. Behind this picture of fragmentation of political loyalty however lurk familiar patterns for those who care to look closely.

Take UKIP's rise in Wales and in the North of England, in Labour 'heartlands'. Previously inconceivable, UKIP, articulating a xenophobic and isolationist agenda, attracts significant number of Labour voters despite Labour's professed principles of solidarity, internationalism and economic equality. It seems that what binds Labour's working class support and UKIP's message together is not commitment to progressivism but notions of social order (or bemoaning the loss thereof) and socio-economic entitlements. The foe of Labour's and UKIP's voters is, so it seems, the assumed or imminent loss of control and of old certainties. In this respect, to be controversial, Jeremy Corbyn does not differ much from Nigel Farage. His windmill is societal change, brought about through socio-economic dislocation (capitalism) whilst Farage's windmill is immigration (European or otherwise). The irony is however that both party leaders battle this threat of impending change in their country with metaphors that belong to the past.

Back to the Future - Labour Leader Jeremy Corbyn on 1 May 2016
(Foto: AFP/Justin Tallis)

For Farage it is the vision of a bucolic English countryside, cleansed of foreign influences (whatever that may mean in a country that embraced migration for centuries). For Corbyn it is a country that conforms to the description of Marxist class struggle, with a disenfranchised working class pitted against a greedy capitalist elite (naturally wearing a top hat and waistcoat).

The latest elections however have shown that both Farage and Corbyn's versions of what is going on in Britain are largely fantasies based on flawed interpretations of reality. That is why Corbyn's speeches sound so hollow: struggling to meaningfully connect with reality. To be clear, this does not bother Corbyn, as his worldview had not been formed by looking at the facts in the first place. His mind, just like Farage's, appears to move effortlessly solely within the certainties of theoretical constructs, such as  antagonism between workers and capitalists. His thought, untrammelled by reality checks, appears to be buttressed by the logics of socialist wordplays.

For Farage it is 'the other' that is at the centre of social and cultural transformations that is to be feared. Remove 'the other', Europe or immigrants, and things will fall into place again. What neither Corbyn nor Farage would like to do at any rate is to embrace change in order to shape the future. For both, politics is about a return to a past that offer certainties.

Yet, for politicians without any interest in shaping the future, policies are irrelevant. That's why neither Farage nor Corbyn ever formulate anything beyond slogans. To articulate policies requires them to think about how to actively shape the future. Corbyn's and Farage's basic attitudes remain defensive, with a strong retrograde impetus. This speaks of a de-spiriting lack of aspiration on their parts, something that defines their 'heart'.

What's wrong with Colm Toibin?

I am a big fan of Colm Toibin's books. His writings often remind me of beautiful melodies, capturing moments of haunting beauty or devastating realistic insight into human frailty. More recently I started reading Toibin's novel 'The Master', a fictional account of Henry James in England. Whilst Toibin once again at times manages to conjure up literary marvels the novel itself somehow misses the emotional mark. With Toibin, a writer of great precision and quality, the most interesting question is why.

Henry James, the brother of the American philosopher William James, is still read widely today but his record is mixed. His writing style is often compared to the impressionism of Monet and others, offering a multitude of dots that require distance to comprehend the whole picture. James also occupies a curious position within the American canon as a lifelong exile (in Britain) yet never quite making Britain his home. The main reason for the latter was his abject failure at producing any good play and Toibin homes in on James' experience of Guy Domville's flop in London's West End which arguably traumatised James and produced a creative crisis (not least as James had the misfortune that his play's failure contrasted with the enormous success of Oscar Wilde's work on the London stage at the time, a writer he despised).

Toibin may have been motivated to write about James by his subject's curious position in English literature, something they both share. As an American, James was at once removed from English manners and customs, whilst curiously drawn to them. The remove afford him a critical distance, yet the fact that he shared the same language intimated a closeness that was probably illusory. Toibin may feel something similar, being Irish (now mostly living in Spain) yet invariably drawn to the enormous (at times negative) influence of the English on his homeland. James' experience of being a closet homosexual in a country that both cultivated 'queerness' in London high society and repudiated it violently in law may be something that Toibin can sympathise with as well.

As usual Toibin manages to capture moments of fascinating insight and beauty in 'The Master'. His writing is full of fitting observations of Englishness as seen from a distance. And yet, the novel somehow does not quite hit the mark perhaps because Toibin, by linguistic means, is too close to the English (language) that serves as the backdrop to James' emotional upheaval.

Poignancy over extravagance: Colm Toibin.
Foto: David White/NZ Listener/REX

Toibin is not an extravagant stylist at the best of times. His mastery does not reside in innovative linguistic playfulness but detailed descriptions of moments, based on acute awareness of social dynamics that conspire to poignant insights. He is almost unrivalled in this amongst contemporary writers but the outer limits are defined by his unwillingness to push into more poetic writing. At the core, his style remains realistic and factual. This is usually an asset when writing fiction, yet when creating a simulacrum of actual events, the factual can come to predominate and artistic construction takes on the cloak of the humdrum of reality.

This makes 'The Master' a difficult read as Toibin clearly wants to pass it off as a realistic account of James' existential and emotional struggle in England. Yet the main linguistic tool, given that Toibin eschews poetic flights of fancy, remains a third person narrative that sounds precocious, distant and impersonal at times. Whilst Toibin manages to paint some stunning scenes, James as a character remains unfinished and sketchy. Toibin may have wanted to create this effect as it may mirror James' precarious experience of living in self-imposed exile, requiring him to never disclose his emotions and views quite fully to his friends and foes populating his English world.

But, as a fictional biopic, Toibin's refusal to turn the hero inside out for the reader to see his inner workings (and failings) makes it a difficult read. At the end of the day, his novel resembles one of Monet's paintings, composed by a myriad of individual details but requiring distance to identify the overall motif. Artistically, this may be an enormous feat achieved by Toibin, yet being constantly held at bay we sometimes lose interest in the image supposed to occur before us.

The conceit at the heart of British membership in the EU

The key to political success is to beat your opponent to framing any issue in terms favourable to yourself. Once an issue is seen through the lens you selected, the fight is almost won.

The European referendum may just offer some evidence for this claim. Both camps have been busy trying to frame the issue of European Union membership, at times frantically. The leave side is hamstrung by the fact that predictions of things to come are always difficult to articulate, so their argument is necessarily focused on problems and difficulties of the present. They have made some hay of the fact that Britain has transferred sovereignty to Brussels. What they do not mention is that Brussels is an intergovernmental organisation at best, granting the British government a voice at the table. In fact, it is difficult to pinpoint a single issue that has not been passed by Brussels which did not receive the express consent of some British minister.

The Brexiters are on safer ground when it comes to the argument that Britain joined an organisation that was fundamentally different to the Europe today. As a BBC documentary recently offered a fascinating look behind the moment Britain joined. And it seems that Britain did not sleepwalk into a Europe with a single currency and parliament. The truth is more complicated yet also more embarrassing for the Conservatives who wholeheartedly supported joining the European Communities in 1974 (including one Margaret Thatcher).

In 1974 the roles were curiously reversed to those adopted today, with most of Labour opposed to joining Europe and the Conservatives largely in favour. At the heart of Ted Heath's strategy to convince his parliamentary colleagues was a conceit however. The Government argued that this was a community of independent nation states promoting free trade in Europe. On the Monday following the 'yes' vote in 1974, then Prime Minister Ted Heath was given the agenda for his first meeting with other European leaders. The civil servant, glancing at the agenda, noticed that one point to be discussed was 'establishing a common currency by 1980'. He mentioned this to Heath and, apparently Heath looked up and said: 'That's what it is all about'.

The BBC documentary interviewed Heath before his death in 2005 and pointed out to him the discrepancy between what he argued in public and what he had known all along, the true destination of Europe. In the documentary Heath looks puzzled and says something to the effect, 'so what?'

I always felt that the way the British joined the European Communities was the Achilles heel of those wanting to make a positive case for European Union membership. At the heart of the British membership remains a conceit by one of the most dishonest politicians, Ted Heath. You may argue about the pros and cons of pooling national sovereignty in European institutions, but you cannot argue that Germans and French politicians were not clear with their electorate about the final destination. The same cannot be said for the British. I would not be surprised if this will come to haunt them on June 23rd.

Put the fences up!

UKIP and the Brexiters have been very adept at conflating the migrant crisis in Europe with the issue of Britain's membership of the EU. Once the floodgates are open at Europe's outer borders, so the argument goes, Britain will be swamped by all sorts of folk from far flung countries.

Whilst this line of argument conveniently overlooks the fact that neither migrants nor asylum seekers (and these are two different groups indeed) won't be able to move about within Europe at will since they have no European Passport and can't gain entry to the UK unless they become citizens of a European country, it obviously resonates with many who feel frightened and worried about unchecked emigration. That moving around in Europe is easier said then done for migrants and asylum seekers does not matter much to the UKIPers.

Within this wildly distorted debate about Europe and migration, it may be useful to reflect on a similar episode in English history that fostered xenophobia and led to calls to uphold border controls. Here is Nicholas Fuller MP on the 'madness to tear down borders' between Scotland and England in 1607:

'One man is owner of two pastures, with one hedge to divide them: the one pasture bare, the other fertile and good. A wise owner will not pull down the hedge quite, but make gates and let them in and out ... if he do, the cattle rush in multitudes and much against their will return ...' (Davies, p.553)

Fuller's intervention proved decisive. The English parliament refused to approve the Instrument of the Union between Scotland and England for another hundred years.

Grinding poverty

There have always been two different approaches to poverty. Some have seen poverty as a product of financial inequality, to be mitigated by additional resources, mainly welfare payments. Others have seen it as an indicator of insufficient inclusion or access to opportunities, in particular opportunities brought about by work. The first approach is largely driven by indignation about differences of means, whilst the second feeds on philosophies rooted in personal responsibility. The former leader of the Conservative Party, Iain Duncan Smith (IDS), who has resigned from his post as Work and Pensions Secretary on Friday was a believer in the second approach. Having been booted out by his party colleagues from the leadership post in 2003 he re-invented himself as a fighter against poverty and hopelessness. He founded the Centre for Social Justice, visited the Easterhouse Estate in Glasgow and, over the next 8 years, formulated a sophisticated welfare reform strategy. In 2010, being appointed Work and Pensions Secretary in the first Cameron cabinet, he implemented wide-ranging welfare reforms designed to tackled worklessness and poverty of working families. His efforts culminated in the announcement of the National Living Wage last year which will lift income from work beyond the level of means that can be obtained through out of work welfare payments. It crowned a long and distinguished career of a compassionate conservative. Yet, it was not always like this.

Vision for change - IDS at the Easterhouse Estate in Glasgow in 2002.
Foto Murdo MacLeod/The Guardian

Poverty has been an object of political reform ever since the industrial revolution created winners and losers in the world of work. In times of full employment until the 1970s, it was largely seen as a consequence of low wages. As the West was hit by large scale structural unemployment, poverty became a by-product of worklessness as well. Ever since these momentous years in the 1970s, the debate about poverty has centred around sufficient welfare payments to those in need, giving them the means to live a decent life. The watchword was dignity.

However, as it became clear that increasing welfare payments contributed to a fundamental change in people's attitudes towards work, reformers changed tack. They began to argue that, whilst little could be done to change people's willingness to work, the consequences of worklessness could, and should be, mitigated through ever higher welfare payments. In particular, it was argued, children of parents who were out of work required additional resources. The main avenue to eradicate child poverty was increasingly perceived to be higher out of work welfare payments to parents, reinforcing a vicious circle in which parents were incentivised to demonstrate to welfare officers how poor they were to gain access to additional resources. A tragic spiral of low levels of personal responsibility, de-legitimising work as a source of income and welfare as a legitimate replacement for income through employment ensued that eventually led to some British families in receipt of hundreds of thousands of pounds every year. The logic was undeniable. Once need was identified, adequate welfare had to be provided.

IDS was not the first person to challenge this logic, but, looking back, it is hard to imagine today how difficult it once was to articulate a different strategy. The impetus for change however did not come from this country, or from conservative politicians, but from social reformers on the left in the US. They recognised the link between out of work payments, behaviour and increasing welfare needs. In a way, they argued, the missing component in eradicating poverty was personal responsibility. What was needed as a hand up, not a handout, echoing the slogans of radical social reformers in the 19th century.

When coming to office in 1992, President Bill Clinton embarked on fundamental welfare reform, based on the principle of incentivising work. Other countries followed suit, interestingly mainly socialist and social democratic governments. In Britain, significant welfare reform was judged a shot too far within the Blair and Brown Cabinets, although progressive reform minded Labour politicians like James Purnell articulated the need for change.

The resignation of IDS on Friday ended one of the most effective welfare reforms this country has seen since the introduction of the welfare state under Clement Attlee. IDS changed for the better the references for the debate in this country. We now speak of the need to support people to get into work, assess their fitness to work, instead of patting them on the back and sending them home with a welfare cheque. This has undoubtedly created frictions and difficulties. Changes to welfare entitlements have been fiercely resisted by those habituated into a life on the dole and the proponents of the status quo.

However the main parameters of the national debate are now around how to sufficiently incentivise employment. And it is IDS's contribution to have brought about this shift.

Hieronymus Bosch - chronicle of life and death at the end of the times

Paintings of the late medieval and early modern period are often suffused with symbolism that have increasingly become a barrier to understanding or even simple enjoyment. The works of most painters of that period are populated with biblical references that few of us are still able to decipher. What remains is a feeling of awe in the face of artistic skill, which is nothing short of a decapitation of meaning. That we still visit exhibitions may be testament to our hunger to be entertained and, at times our desire to be tickled by curiosity.

Hieronymus Bosch's painting has never been on top of my list of things to see (Vermeer occupies this place), but curiosity got the better of me recently and I made the journey to Bosch's birthplace which has just curated an extraordinary exhibition of most of his paintings. This is an incredible feat as his paintings are as prized as they are scattered all over the world and most museums are very reluctant to lend fragile pieces that are now about 500 years old. In addition, bringing the paintings of only one single painter together in a kind of retrospective removes his work of the vital historical, artistic and creative context, so these projects can be difficult to pull off. 

Bosch's works however are of enormous radiance and power to overcome any of these difficulties and  his paintings have clearly stood the test of time. In fact, they shine (in part because of the incredible restoration efforts of modern museums) as never before in the recent exhibition of the Noordbrabants Museum in his birthplace s'Hertogenbosch (NL). Seeing them all together in one exhibition is a real joy. Bosch's skills shows up most, however, when contrasted with paintings from his 'workshop' which retains some of the religious themes yet few of the artistic skills. Where his paintings tell stories and show multiple perspectives, depths and spaces, the paintings of some of his students look two dimensional and flat in comparison. 

Wayfarer or Prodigal Son?
Hieronymus Bosch, circa 1500-1510

Much has been made of his phantasmagorical paintings, the depictions of purgatory and hell, yet the exhibition also contains some of Bosch's more secular and mundane work (if that's the word for a world thoroughly defined by religion). That we still know very little and often cannot even agree on what his paintings show is demonstrated by the painting 'The Wayfarer' to the frame of which a previous owner has nailed the title: 'The lost son'. In truth, we have no idea what the painting depicts and some of the titles we give to Bosch's works are not much more than a good guess. 

If the exhibition is a magnificent achievement for the local museum and its curator, it does not steer clear of some grandiose claims, such as celebrating Bosch as a draughtsman in his own right. Whilst his sketches are interesting to see as part of the process of preparing paintings, they are nothing like the works of skilled draughtsmen like Albrecht Duerer, an example of whose work the curators (unhelpfully) included.