Worse was to follow, because the radio phone-in was heavily weighted to a pathetic ‘too little, too late’ sentiment. This infuriated Cass L’Impotadur, as Deprived Jimmy was rendered sterile before he walked on to the TV set. It was obviously going to make the debate more like a broadcast for the BNP!
Sniffy contacted Cass and sympathised, but insisted he should not see it that way. If Jimmy could be relentlessly steered to specifics on Red Tape, causes and effects, and leave the doctrine issues to Otto, this could herald episode two, where IR would be given a chance to outline the order of his own tasks, with the audience already clamouring for common sense, and insisting that major surgery was required prior to more insipid promises of mere policy simplification.
Sniffy added the potential of ‘serialisation’ which TV could achieve much better than the other media. The idea of stage-wise assessment appealed to Cass, and the ripples were smoothed. The spit-roasting of Deprived Jimmy would not only be acceptable, it was owed to the citizens. Whether as a result of his own failure as Council Leader, or as a managed exploitation, Deprived Jimmy would accept that deep down, it was his last chance to up-value his memoirs when the dust had finally settled. Sensationalism without really upsetting anyone – all was not lost, Luvly Jubbly.
Chapter 7
When IR entered the Old Oak he greeted Old Speckled Hen, who always seemed to be there but rarely involved in anything, including drinking. He proceeded to activate the Owl, and got off to a nervous start by declaring that he had to be brief as Enrico was expected soon. The Owl displayed concern at the involvement of a third party but agreed to a cautious exchange of pleasantries as a start.
IR got straight to the point of tackling P.C. and particularly the psychologists. Enoch was silent, and his palpable unease finally gave way to an almost resigned tone, “It will be difficult to use my living experience to project what the current situation needs. My programmer keeps me abreast of life in general, but there are many things in society now which were not present back then. However, as I said, we must use the past to pinpoint decision branches where eradication, modification, purging or reinforcement can be employed. The method during my living years was encumbered in two main areas. Firstly, psychologists are invisible to the populous all of the time, but only invisible in government when the firing squad is being assembled. Their self-preservation raison d’etre infallibly identifies some other part of the circuit as the fuse, which then blows to protect the integrity of the status quo. Secondly, in every branch of psychology, from dealing with paedophiles to education, there is an inbred arrogance, masked as enlightenment, in which they believe they can cure everything. Bear in mind we are talking about cures that we cannot measure by any concrete means, except ultimate failure. If and when a recommendation backfires, it is considered a temporary setback, unlike death, or any other finite measure. The expression ‘means to an end’ is one sided to them, there are only means. ‘End’ is a bad word. Consequently, cure means not the end. Policy is what they thrive on, as it does not have to have an end. So, when things go wrong and shake-ups occur, they observe the demise and move to a new host, then a different parasitic cycle starts and the agenda remains. In Darwinian terms they are a very successful species, just think how many there were a century ago and look at today. Just as a business needs an accountant, all walks of life now need a psychologist. It is very clever because we accept this without being told that this is how it will be. Therein lies the problem. Even if we expose them and suggest central redundancy we would be seen to be picking on a benign group of fluffy bunnies. Political suicide would be the result for the aggressors. The crowning absurdity comes with the belief of front line politicians that they are a necessary buffer, giving them a kind of alternative medicine with words, not products, so that it is the infected who continue to perish, not the apothecary. Well, I hope I have not blunted your enthusiasm Richardson?”
“N-No, not really, but you’ve made me feel more like prey rather than the hunter, maybe terrorism would indeed have been easier!”
“It is more a question of priorities,” thundered Enoch, his upbeat mood returning. “You are starting in the right area as far as recognising the disease is concerned, but the surgery you have in mind must be replaced by medication, not to attack the cells but to create an environment that they do not like”
IR suddenly felt wonderful. “That’s exactly what I said to Mosey, fantastic, how do I do that?”
“The opportunity will come to you, simply because their meddling is addictive and therefore manifold. You must wait for the appropriate example and we will talk again.”
IR gestured in frustration and glanced at his History of the World volume, wondering if he would ever be able to connect the dots.
“Look at it this way,” chimed the Owl. “In any public forum, we have been brainwashed into aligning ourselves with the compassionate, neutral, tolerant, accommodating, enlightened speakers, and this conveniently obscures the object of the particular issue, so that reaching a decision is not too important as long as consensus prevails. Proposals for the greater good, which could conceivably impact on any minority, no matter how small, have little chance of survival. The ancient Nomads who became farmers would laugh themselves silly, if they’d had the time to waste on such ludicrous prevarication.”
Richardson wondered if the Owl had been reading the same book which he himself was currently trying to decipher.
“But I still need a starting point,” pleaded IR.
“No you don’t,” insisted Enoch, “I made that mistake, many years ago. You have to believe me that attacking the parasite is not for you. Others will be only too pleased to accomplish that objective if you can deliver the environment to which you have already referred. That being facilitation of a sterile rather than a toxic atmosphere. You need to cultivate your own focus on the end, and let others become the means. You must unbridle citizens’ power by dismantling Red Tape. The sequence will then become much clearer. Now where is this Enrico?”
“He’ll be here anytime now but I may have brought him prematurely in view of this discussion.”
“Maybe not,” interjected the Owl. “If what you have told me is accurate, he has a good background to appreciate what we are trying to achieve. It is possible we can learn from him, but in addition, he could be a good disciple if he is so well liked.
***
“Buona Sera, Reynarda gave me a lift, it is ok she stays to take me back?”
IR looked sheepishly at the hologram.
“Certainly,” hailed the Owl. “Please come closer.”
The Silenzios blinked in amazement, IR quickly explained and their jaws dropped further but they complied and took closer order.
Chapter 8
It may have seemed to the reader like an oversight, an unconscious omission, or just ridiculous. Failing to mention which party IR was serving – well actually, it was deliberate. You had guessed anyway. He was proud to display his belief in the W.C. party - though having come from an immigrant family he had no direct experience of working class mechanics in this country, or indeed the class divide evolution. The now distant ancestors of his family had witnessed more stark realities between affluence and survival. Therefore in today’s Coliseum, even he thought the mainstream parties had been simply writing modified lyrics to the same music for almost half a century. That the music itself was verging on redundancy and made little difference to the strident career lyricists, had been the trigger for his interest in politics.
The F.O.B. (Fundamentally Oxbridge Brotherhood) party members were more distinguishable from his own by their attire rather than their politics. The H.U.F.F. (Hybrid Universal Fellowship and Fantasy) party were pretty perfect clones of the others, with an unhealthy sprinkling of knee-jerk denials in their recent history. Politics had become a contest of relativity of appearance, voice and presentation training, suppression of personal malpractice, deferring decisions, and promising the indefinite. Whether any of this brought
progress had become largely irrelevant. The continuance of the illusory symphony was king.
IR had always detested inertia, but found himself thrust to the forefront of confrontation (as everyone else ran for cover), despite his discomfort in harbouring such a ‘dark’ secret. It was only now that he had declared such heresy that he would face impending yet meticulous isolation.
The leader of the local F.O.B. party had requested to be the third presence on the TV debate, and was refused, so the next best mission open to him was to discredit Otto in such a way that the new leader of the W.C. Council would be forced to meet with the F.O.B. representative in a subsequent debate, and this would be billed as the real heavyweights, a slur by deliberate omission of the H.U.F.F. candidate. Why did he think there would be a second debate? One could only guess!!
He was Tarquin De Vere, a peacock whose ancestry was impeccable, if judged by bloodstock alone. But then there was the slur of perceived narrow genetic inheritance. This combination was accompanied by an ‘education for the elite,’ which amongst other compulsory subjects, included development of an ingrained, overt distrust of the ‘proles.’ His natural, metaphorical spitting venom was a warning that caution was prudent, if not mandatory during early exchanges. He requested Monsieur Cass L’Impotadur to approach IR and arrange an informal introduction to ‘flesh things out’ in the true luvvy style of a vampire.
***
Back at the pub. “Tell me, Enrico, do you have concerns yourself about the way society is unfolding? I know you are here at the request of our young friend Richardson, but I am also curious as to how you feel, compared to when you first came here”
“Scusi, Mr Owell, I am a bit mystified about how your programme can be so quickly updated to be able to have this up to the minute conversation. If I did not know better, I would think you are an audiovisual projection of some dead person, coupled with the current views of someone alive, who agrees with the political views of the dead person. But, mia culpa, I am just a café owner and not technically literate, or how you say these things?”
“Hmmm, does that make any difference to the question I asked Enrico?”
“Indeed not. I am disappointed, worried, I am even angry that many times the politicians we elect go against public feelings. I am not talking about things like taxes, but about the fabric of what makes the country work together, helping your neighbour, and promoting these values through our children. I came here because of secular evolution in my original birthplace, and it is now worse here than it ever was during my early life back there. The most irritation comes because we can see the obvious wrong direction we are taking but we are stupido, and do not demand a voice to articulate this to the decision-making mafia. Many politicians live in locations where the danger does not exist, others pretend they don’t exist because tackling them may be personally risky for them. Just visiting a location and shaking hands with a few citizens, or watching a slide show does not give anything like the full picture. There is no substitute for living there, and that is why we need local decision-makings, not distant bushy telegraph policy being forced on us. I am not the best in your language, but doesn’t ‘location’ have some derivation from ‘local?’ There must have been a reason for this back in time. I believe we have reached a point where the principles of democracy, operating in such a corrupted environment can render it a dangerous doctrine, and I never thought I would hear myself say that. Maybe this is to be expected - the universe we are told is expanding until it isn’t, then it is contracting – according to the laws of physics. The laws of interaction of citizens, if they exist, may be saying that democracy has the powerful flaw that most citizens in these times want ‘Jam today.’ So that is what you need to promise to get in to office, then when you do not deliver, you find some citizens will change even a lifetime of political allegiance in protest. If this continues like the expanding universe, it is logical that there will be a change of direction at some point, but when feelings run so high, the powerbrokers seem to listen even less. We can expect fundamental reverse, disrespect for laws and constitution. These first signs are with us now. At local level we see more sympathy for extremist parties because we know the main ones will not change. Left to its own course the possibilities are bleak - an increase in pressure from alternative political systems - fascism, communism maybe, either by election or revolution. At the same time we are being reassured by spinning doctors that the populous cannot be expected to judge such complex issues in a rational way, and citizens must accept that government will not be blown off course, but this course is actually only their own career paths. In the sixty years since the great conflict we have seen a need for cooperation and shared ideals gradually replaced by individual desires, and almost no requirement to interact with other citizens. This is in no small way related to technology, but it is presided over by government. The additional problem of an influx of uncontrolled ethnic groups has caused law-abiding, tax-paying citizens of long-standing local ancestry feel even more that they have no voice. This is unfair to them and the new arrivals. I was one, and I had the space, time and social climate to be seen as a contributor to the common cause. I am terrible sorry, I should stop now, it was a simple question and I have been rambling, as if I was giving a lecture. Please make allowance for my poor understanding of English.”
“Fascinating, may I risk another question?”
“Certo, I will try to be short this time”
There was a pause and the Owl enquired if Enrico was worried about expressing his views in public, as it may have consequences for his business and indeed his personal life. Enrico did not really understand why the Owl focussed on this, so he provoked clarification by stating he was a simple man, with simple needs, living in a complicated society with its plethora of distorted values, the so-called me, me, me society. He said he was aware that the collision course of such a society with the general ‘ivory tower’ mentality of the administration would inevitably result in tectonic abrasion, which, if not anticipated and addressed, would in metamorphic terms lead to Armageddon.
“Do you just hope all this will go away?” challenged the hologram, “or do you hope to help change any of it?”
“I do a little every day in my café to promote awareness and help citizens who feel helpless and alone. I make them feel ‘family’ in some way, but beyond that I confess I am apprehensive of trying and failing. I take some sort of perverse comfort in not knowing if I could make a real difference. Why do you ask this?”
“Because we have someone here,” alluding to IR, “who is willing to do exactly what you refrain from, and he is going to need all the help he can get. I know you came here tonight so he could avail of your experience as an immigrant, which will be a valuable reference for his mission, but he will still be in need of practical support in the mechanics of the task.”
“So may I ask you a question now?”
“Of course”
“Who are you, really?”
“You may only know that if we are successful in getting Councillor Richardson accepted on a much wider platform”
“I will think about what you have said,” offered Enrico.
“Thank you Mr Silenzio, I look forward to meeting again.”
IR listened carefully to Enrico for another couple of hours and noted he had a great strength in appraising citizens through conversation. He seemed to have an instinct for keeping polite humouring to a minimum whilst almost predatory in pursuit of the objective, just as he had done with the Owl. Reynarda spoke for the first time to say goodnight and held her father’s hand as they left. IR also headed home for some badly needed sleep, if that was possible.
Chapter 9
“I thought you would be delighted with my efforts in the media, yet you have an air of suspicion about you,” poked Sniffy.
“Well let me put it this way,” countered Enoch, “you are ahead of where IR needs to be. I suggest you delay his direct exposure on TV until a particular milestone has been achieved.” br />
“And that would be exactly?”
“That he has a decision to defend or hopefully parade, something tangible, as opposed to sound-bytes and imprecision. If common sense is to survive embryonic mortality it needs a real issue in which he has intervened.”
“Fair point,” admitted Sniffy, “I’ll play for time after the first debate. That actually has other merits than the one you have raised.”
***
It was Richardson’s first official council meeting, and rising from his spasmodic slumber, he could never have guessed what kind of day lay ahead.
The Council chamber was somewhere he had been before, but now with the weight of responsibility it seemed absolutely cavernous. The leather chairs were significantly older than himself. In some illusory way he was seeing the ornate cornice and richly coloured heavy drapes in sepia or black and white, and the attendees as Victorians from titled estates, with grotesquely exaggerated features. They sat in silence waiting for him. The mood was fortunately broken by some lowly subordinate pushing open the creaking oak door and carrying a large silver tray at the same time. Coffee was poured and the agenda distributed. His urge to make some kind of introductory speech was punctured by an outburst from Echo Tubthumper, an elderly weasel, and a hardliner with several decades of challenging everything under the sun, and a seemingly endless supply of pre-registered queries permanently tucked under his rather generous belt.