By Our Chief Correspondent for National Shrugging Affairs
Britain has always been a nation of traditions.
We queue. We apologise when someone steps on our foot. We make a cup of tea during every crisis, including crises caused by making too many cups of tea. But perhaps our greatest national tradition, the one truly deserving UNESCO World Heritage status, is standing perfectly still while something obviously terrible happens.
Modern society has elevated passive observation to an art form.
A man falls unconscious on a train platform. Twenty-seven people immediately reach for their phones. Not to call for help, of course. One is filming. Three are Googling whether filming counts as helping. Nineteen are checking social media to see if anyone else has already uploaded it. Four are composing heartfelt posts beginning: “This is what’s wrong with society today…”
Meanwhile, society today continues to be wrong with society today.
A politician promises to fix a problem he personally created. The public responds with outrage. For approximately six hours.
Then someone posts a picture of a dog wearing sunglasses.
The problem remains.
A corporation announces that, due to “economic challenges”, the company must increase prices by 30%, reduce staff by 20%, and award the chief executive a bonus equal to the GDP of a medium-sized island nation.
Consumers are furious.
They express this anger by clicking “Accept All Cookies” and continuing their purchase.
Workers complain about exploitation. Homeowners complain about costs. Renters complain about rent. Drivers complain about traffic. Cyclists complain about drivers. Pedestrians complain about cyclists. The cyclists complain about pedestrians wandering into cycle lanes while looking at phones.
Everyone is furious.
Nobody is available on Wednesday.
The internet was supposed to unite humanity in the fight against injustice. Instead, it has united humanity in the fight against strangers who preferred a different biscuit.
Somewhere in the world, democracy is collapsing, corruption is rampant, public services are crumbling and inequality is soaring.
But that can wait.
A stranger on social media has just suggested that bourbon creams are overrated.
The situation is now critical.
Experts say people have become desensitised. We have witnessed so many crises that we treat societal collapse the same way we treat bad weather.
“Horrific scandal today.”
“Oh dear.”
“Entire institutions failing.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Massive corruption uncovered.”
“Shocking.”
“Would you like another biscuit?”
“Go on then.”
The average citizen now consumes more outrage before breakfast than previous generations encountered in an entire decade. Consequently, the emotional response to catastrophe has become indistinguishable from the emotional response to discovering the milk has gone off.
A brief sigh.
A moment of irritation.
Then life continues.
Of course, many people insist they would act if things became truly serious.
Unfortunately, “truly serious” keeps moving.
Thirty years ago, people worried society might collapse.
Today, society arrives at work wearing collapse casually on Fridays.
Every week brings a new absurdity. Every absurdity becomes normal. Every normality becomes background noise.
And so we drift.
Comfortably.
Calmly.
Politely.
Towards whatever cliff happens to be directly ahead.
The remarkable thing is that everyone can see it. The warnings are clear. The signs are illuminated. Experts are waving diagrams. Citizens are expressing concern. Journalists are shouting. Economists are sweating through interviews.
Yet the national response remains:
“Someone really ought to do something.”
That someone, unfortunately, is always someone else.
History books often ask how great civilisations declined.
People imagine dramatic scenes: revolutions, invasions, armies at the gate.
The truth may be far simpler.
Perhaps civilisations die because too many people become spectators.
Not villains.
Not fools.
Just spectators.
People who mistake awareness for action.
People who confuse posting with participating.
People who believe caring is the same as doing.
And so the nation carries on, endlessly discussing solutions while carefully avoiding the inconvenience of implementing any.
At this point one is forced to ask a difficult question.
If everyone sees the injustice, everyone recognises the absurdity, everyone knows the system is failing, and everyone is waiting for somebody else to act…
Who exactly is left?
The answer, it turns out, is nobody.
And when a country reaches the stage where nobody intends to save it because everybody assumes somebody else will, there is only one reasonable conclusion.
The country is doomed.
Not with a bang.
Not with a revolution.
Not even with particularly good planning.
But with a collective shrug, a quick glance at a smartphone, and the immortal national phrase:
“Terrible, isn’t it?” 🍵🇬🇧
