Get real. Brexit and other stories

For those feeling buffeted by current politics and angst, it is relentlessly tempting to seek a universal theory of everything that could explain the zeitgeist in one fell-swoop. In all honesty it's highly unlikely that such a thing exists, and if it does, it almost certainly won't be discernible before a few decades, at least, have passed.But, if one were to indulge the mind's craving for a simple story, could the decline of authenticity be a contender?

I recently attended a concert which featured a remarkable singer, a soprano who wowed the audience into enthusiastic cheering and foot-stamping. I, however, was left cold. The singer had an undeniably impressive technique and performed dazzling acrobatics but this was coupled with what seemed a self-conscious attempt to be a remarkable performer. It's hard to find the words to describe it exactly, but rather than portraying a passionate woman, betrayed by a feckless lover, she appeared to portray what a singer would look and sound like if she were portraying a passionate woman, betrayed by a feckless lover. The exaggerated and frankly distracting movements of body and octopus-arms screamed “look at me, I'm an emotive actress”. I didn't want to look at an emotive actress; I wanted to look at a woman betrayed in love, and to hear her pain and emotional journey. I couldn't get past the performer to the character at all, and as a result, felt cheated. It was almost comically hammed-up and yet most of the audience approved and wildly so. My neighbour tried to share the euphoria with me and was stunned by my negativity. When I asked him the simple question “but were you moved?” he faltered and said “no, but it was astonishing”. I left it at that, sad at heart that even the concert-hall is not immune to the con-artist. The performance would not stand up to repetition. Apart from anything else, the sound was not infrequently ugly, but most importantly, eventually the listener would become accustomed to the dazzle and finally notice the absence of genuine emotion and musical communication. Boredom would swiftly follow.

Is this a metaphor for politics? Brexit is certainly the monster-child of inauthenticity and swagger. The author of it all, Nigel Farage, wholly embodies inauthenticity. His act is “Man of the People” and his props include a pint of beer and a packet of fags. But when the dazzle wears off you notice he is actually a stockbroker, alumnus of the elite Dulwich College who once expressed dismay at “having to deal with low-grade people every day”, and claimed that his £85,000-a-year salary left him “poor” compared with his City banker friends. And the greatest scena of all for his empty swagger is the fishing boat - despite seizing a spokesman role for the industry, he has nothing to offer but empty PR stunts. He had the gold-plated opportunity to do something real to help fishermen if that were genuinely his concern; sitting on the EU fisheries committee, in a three-year period he attended just one out of 42 meetings. That is the very definition of inauthenticity. And yet the crowd loves him. Why?

The Brexit stage is littered with similarly shallow characters including Boris Johnson, Michael Gove, Liam Fox, Andrea Leadsom and even Mrs May herself. Just like the soprano, they wave their arms and make the audience cheer, but ultimately deal in empty soundbites. After nearly two years they still have nothing concrete to offer. Nothing.

Lack of authenticicty also goes a long way to explaining the demise of Amber Rudd. Her claim that the Windrush cases were heartbreaking rang very hollow indeed. They were the entirely predictable outcome of a pernicious immigration policy which she implemented with gusto. Complaints and concerns mounted between individuals and the Home Office as The Guardian published example after example. It is inconceivable that Rudd did not know. And if the cases were indeed heartbreaking, the very first to come to her attention would have led to intervention. That she waited until there was a fullblown national outcry tells us the truth of her heart – the approval of Theresa May and her own job security were more important than anyone else's misery.

Maybe the media is to blame. The BBC's Question Time revels in the inauthentic stage-genre. Panellists and audience-members alike can be guaranteed a rousing cheer and enthusiastic applause by peddling jingoism, however nonsensical. Any empty rhetoric, followed by “let's just show some belief in ourselves, after all we're British, we won the war” brings the house down in a bacchanalian display of sham patriotic honour. True patriotism surely involves commitment to the well-being of one's fellow countrymen and women, pursued through considered and trustworthy action. Question Time, like the soprano, shows us the hammed up version of people impersonating people who truly care.

Tragically, the whole sorry blather of Brexit has been built in the same fashion. With notable exceptions, our viewer-hungry media provide ever bigger and glitzier stages for the ham actors and the crowd is driven ever wilder by the frenzied cheering of those around them. The glitzy veneer cannot but wear off and what will be revealed underneath is an exceedingly cheap and ultimately damaging ideology.