Episode 18: In case of emergency, do nothing.

From Under Dark Clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles, can you spot them?

See link below for contributions

Oops, fucked up, again! 

Once again, I was the kid in the corner of the class. Socrates hadn’t made me wear a hat or anything but he might as well. The lawyer's meter was ticking and so far the only value I could gather was that I was a fucking idiot and my wife had told me that for free. I thought Socrates had some leverage over the thieving bastard but since sloping off to Switzerland he had grown some balls and was levering back. Finally I asked him, in his two-hundred-Euros-an-hour opinion what could we do. He shrugged and said, "nothing." My dear blogees, when you pay good money for advice, take it.

I bade my leave and made for home to the wife in the hope that she would still be in a good mood before telling her about the latest developments, on second thoughts I would adhere to the costly advice of our brief and tell her nothing.

She was in good spirits and had cannelloni ready, it was a little al dente but two bottles of wine loosened it up nicely. I continued to follow the lawyer’s advice until bedtime when my dear lady wife took it instead.

The next morning, Socrates called me on the mobile. I was just about to set off for the town hall and he knew how I hated to speak while driving, well to be honest the speaking was the least of the problems, the hearing was the hard bit. I had once taken a hacksaw to my helmet to make it mobile friendly but it kept falling off. He had bought me a hands-free gizmo and had nearly killed myself finding out that it wasn’t compatible with 2-strokes.

Mike the IT guy brought me coffee, why did that man hate me so much? I tried to appeal to the well-assembled secretary but she was making busy with some papers. Mike asked me about the situation with the flats and I told him, in all confidence, that the police would come to evict them and that we could do nothing. He asked me if this was the official council lawyer or a personal brief, I replied the latter and he wafted off leaving a bad smell behind.

The phone rang, it was Socrates, the courts had issued a warrant and soon it would be in police hands. I asked what I could do and he reminded me of the lawyer’s bill and told me not to get in the way. Then he made me promise. I had to go down there, at least, and took Mike the IT guy and Tasos the janitor for support.

Grey Panthers? 2* 

A patrol car pulled up just as we arrived on foot and two officers got out. I asked them what their business was, the elder pulled out a piece of paper and apologised that he was just doing his job. I did nothing. He asked me to tell the residents to pack up and leave the building at once. I did some more nothing and said nothing for good measure. Just then a bus waddled up to the stop opposite and relieved itself of its contents on the pavement. The police entered the building to exercise the warrant. Another bus relieved itself at the stop from the other direction and about 4 tonnes of pensioners and waifs advanced on the town hall plaza. Mike the IT guy began waving and bouncing on his toes, I don’t recall ever seeing him quite so lively. I looked him in the eyes, which was not easy considering that they wouldn’t stay still, his face was all cheshire cat as he mouthed Facebook.

Soon the corridors and passage ways of the building were sardine-packed with all manner of derelict and dispossessed, some had found unoccupied apartments and had thrown down boxes and blankets to stake their claim.

The officers, failing to use authority to navigate the building found an open window and shouted down, “Mr. Mayor, you must do something about this, we are exercising a legal warrant to evacuate the premises.”

I asked him how much he earned. He huffed and told me that this was a very serious situation, I asked him again. He shrugged and told me around €800 a month. I asked him if he worked more than 4 hours a month. He huffed again, over 40 per week, “But please, Mr. Mayor this is no time—”

I did the maths, which wasn’t difficult and told him I could do nothing.

Through the open window I heard a walkie-talkie squalk and some unintelligible yelling. Mike the IT guy was tapping at the screen of his phone.

The officers arrived at the entrance in quite a state and proceeded to undertake a full audit of the equipment hanging from their uniforms.

It wasn’t long before a dark-blue coach equipped with meshed windows pulled up at the bus stop opposite and spewed out two dozen helmets and plastic shields. Socrates was going to be livid, fortunately not with me as I had done exactly as instructed but I knew he would be mighty pissed.

They were now ordering themselves into a rank on the pavement ready to take on 4 tonnes of waifs and strays. A Vespa pulled into the narrow street of the town hall plaza and a portly man alighted from a bare-foam saddle. He removed his helmet revealing a rather red face and smiled, not one of the locals, I presumed. Just behind him a herd of cars and mopeds were strewn and their occupants heading towards us. I looked to Mike the IT guy, he shrugged and shook his head, it was Tasos the janitor who answered my unasked query, Twitter, he said. The red-faced man pulled a gas mask and a camera from his bag and turned it on the now advancing heavy brigade snap snap, then disappeared into the building, “How do? Mr. Mayor,” as he passed me. I continued doing as I was told.

Police vs Pensioners 3*

One of the paramilitaries pulled a bull horn and addressed the building. The building answered with jeers and some domestic projectiles. The sergeant repeated his demands and was once more answered with jeers, a few domestic projectiles, supplies were obviously short, and a corn field of wrinkled, liver-spotted fists. A half-eaten bread-stick struck one of the helmets sending a spray of crumbs and sesame seeds over his confederates. At the opposite end of its arc was a giggling boy, Despina’s boy, things were taking a desperate turn.

It struck me that if there was any time for the black-shirts to show their solidarity with tha pippel this was it, but they remained conspicuous in their absence.

The ranks advanced and I continued to follow legal instructions, I had no idea then, how that would change.


Images 2* & 3* by kind permission of TeacherDude

Where it all began

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Episode 17: No Good Deed goes Unpunished

From Under Dark Clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles, can you spot them?

See link below for contributions

I don’t mind telling you, my dear Blogees, I was feeling fine. The fair lady Mayoress had been so overcome with pride by my selfless benevolence for the good people of this town that she bestowed great and glorious benediction upon my lowly being; twice. And once more before waking the kids for school. I was first into the town hall that morning and as I sat, almost looking forward to Mike the IT guy's coffee, I wore a smile that made my head numb, although that could well have been due to forgetting to remove my helmet.

I drew up an agenda and spent the rest of the day in a series of meetings with all the staff to tell them how fabulously I thought they were doing their jobs. Some had to explain exactly what job they did, which, strangely some were unable to do. But I told them one by one how marvellous I thought they were. None of them returned the compliment but I suppose it can be difficult to applaud your mayor. Don’t worry, they’ll vote.

Why aren't they taking us seriously

At the end of play, I was eager to get home for some home-cooked fayre and some quality time with the kids, who were, by the way, also awesome. I mounted my trusty Vespa, dismounted then went back into the office to retrieve my helmet; safety first!

What greeted me on the way home could only be described as a media circus. I know it was a circus because as I rolled closer the crowd opened and I felt like the act with the baggy trousers and the collapsing car. Some of the new residents were gathered around the entrance to the new Town hall plaza. Despina’s boy looked scared and was clutching a large club to his chest although on closer inspection it could have been a bread-stick. There were cheers and excitement and reporters. With a shudder, I remembered the last run-in with these vultures but felt resolute in the fact that I was the hero of the day and they were not going to steal my thunder. As the crowd opened I spotted the local priest, stealing my thunder.

Despina had invited him to bless their new home. He was waving bushels and books and each of the residents were receiving lots of symbolism. I parked up and tried to observe from a safe distance.

After the main blessing, he took the forum and began to tell the reporters and the gathered crowd about the extent of my christian charity, by that time he had pulled me close and was referring to me as a vessel of the Orthodox God’s grace. I was unaware that there was an unorthodox God, I always assumed that it was his game and he made the rules; go figure. He continued to praise the faith in God’s great plan for these Christian sons and daughters and that their prayers would always be answered, so long as they stayed true to the chosen path, a fate that could not be expected by those who had strayed from the flock of our lord. I began to feel a little uncomfortable, I don’t mind telling you, dear Bloggees. He began to describe some of the less desirable fates that could be expected by those who had weakness of will and sullied faith. Had he read my file?

Dante laughed his head off

His speech was definitely rousing and caused some stir amongst the crowd, not least with some of the black shirts with the minimalist haircuts who had filtered into the crowd. He drew breath and smiled down at me, who he had released from his hug but continued to hold by the shirt sleeve. Christ! (sorry!), he had heavy hands; the work of the lord must be one hell (sorry, again!) of a workout. I readied myself for my turn, when I undoubtedly would be expected to talk about my most Christian service to the community.

His breath was exhaled with more words; I continued to smile and nod like some comical sidekick. Finally, the forum was mine; his holiness left and so did the crowd.

All that was left was the press but I puffed up my chest for an official address. Meetings, signing stuff and public addresses, it’s what mayors do best! I began to tell the gathered, such as they were, that this was the least that we could do in lieu of the great service provided by the good —. Yes, all the new residents were employees of the town council. Yes, they had all been made homeless, for a variety of reasons. No, they would not have the accommodation deducted from their salaries and I could give no substance to the rumour that they had not been paid by the council in nearly a year.

I made to continue my address— . Yes, I was aware that the property belonged to the previous mayor and yes, he would have to take the credit for this philanthropy.

The crowd dispersed along with my smile and I walked away with the priest, vessel of God’s will, eh? He looked at me with sagely eyes and patted my shoulder. “The lord works in mysterious ways, my son.” He repeated the words very mysterious with a gentle shake of his head and a sympathetic gaze.

I expressed my appreciation for his kind words and that I did feel rather good about what I’d achieved with this place, not pride or anything sinful, of course, just helpful and good, but not righteous, but all things considered that maybe he had been a little strong on the atheists and —.

“Were all those horrid things a metaphor or could I really expect…”

Oxymoron?

“You, my son, have done well and have nothing to fear from the wrath of the lord.” I deflated with relief. “But, my child, you are in a world of shit if your predecessor discovers what you are doing with his building.” He smiled, took his heavy hand from my shoulder and left.

Just then my phone rang, it was Socrates. He was furious. He had spent the last two hours with our lawyer. I made a mental calculation of the cost, those bastards are expensive! Maybe he could give us a wholesale rate, considering the amount of work we had given him since my foray into the world of politics. He told me of the calls back and forth to Switzerland and the way our lawyer had physically soiled himself when he discovered who was representing the plaintiff. Then, I finally fell in….

…the ex-mayor had found out I had subleased his property. 

Where it all began

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Why Optimism Sucks

Optimism is the new dogma. You can’t turn these days without some cheesy-grinned motivator telling us all to turn that frown upside-down and look at the positives.

Keep calm and suck it up!

 Pessimists, we are told, die young and lead less fulfilling lives. All your clouds must have silver linings and you glass must be half-full. If we are to believe some of the gurus, an optimistic outlook even brings success. They tell us that optimism makes us better leaders, cures cancer and makes us sexier. Rhonda Byrne, in her book The Secret tells us that just believing and wishing for good things will cause the whole Universe to realign toward their manifestation. And God help you if you don’t. Let me tell you now, ladies and gentlemen, optimism is bullshit.

Twitshot

A while ago, I watched a documentary in which a soldier was asked about his experiences during a 9-month hostage situation (I have spent ages trying to find it again but as yet nothing). The one comment that stuck in my mind was that it was always the optimists that broke first. They were always the first ones to look for a rope and a chair. This confused me, after all, everyone knows that looking on the bright side is the only way to be. Well, I’ve been thinking about that comment for some time and realised that it makes perfect sense.

Optimism is exhausting, you begin each day in the belief that everything is going to be hunky dory and it invariably isn't. Someone is always throwing banana peels at your feet and you are bound to come up against someone whose idea of things going well is things going wrong for you. Think about it, you want a pay-raise so you go into your boss and ask for more money. Now, his idea of a good day is to address flagging profits which is eating into his bonus or margins. Who is going to have a great day?

So what are we to do, give up? No! Well yes. I propose a new approach and I call it Constructive Pessimism. Under the rules of Constructive Pessimism you are not to assume that your day will have any success, you will assume that, as Murphy’s law so wisely states, what can go wrong, will go wrong. Now, I can already hear you jeering and you have every right to do so but hear me out.

Spot the optimist

Begin your day with a list and start with the weather, are there any clouds? It’s going to rain, take an umbrella or rain-mac. How do you get to work? Bus, car, train? There will be delays, leave early. You are already prepared. Optimists will tell you that each mishap is a lesson; bollocks! Having a raincoat is a lesson learned, being on time and keeping your job is a lesson learned. 

Optimistic spin on disaster is sign of a slow learner.

You have a big business meeting, the board will hate your proposals. What will they hate? How can you counter their objections and what will you do when they turn you down flat.

You have to budget a project. What will it cost? Wrong! It will cost much more. Sell it to the optimists at the lower amount but keep some aside for the hitches.

Optimists may help you but pessimism will save you.     

Experts tell us that pessimists suffer with stress that leads to neurosis and heart problems. They tell us that optimists take risks and succeed more. Well, I’ll tell you that the belief that every silver lining has a cloud will mean that you always have a brolly and a glass half-empty will lead you to a tap for a refill. Constructive Pessimism will keep adrenaline levels high making you more aware and ready to deal with life’s slings and arrows.

At the end of an optimistic day you will count the lessons learned and resign yourself to the good of the big picture. At the end of a pessimistic day you will be able to lock your door and count the things that didn't go tits-up, not to mention being glad you had that brolly with you.

Optimism sucks the life out of you, believing in the good nature of the universe is like willing your stocks to stop falling. The Universe does not know who you are and definitely has no great plans for you. 

Coming to terms with that may make you feel insignificant but it will put you back in the game.

             

Episode 16: A place in the sun and a roof over your head

From Under Dark Clouds

From Under Dark Clouds

'From Under Dark Clouds...' is a Gonzo fictionalisation of current events in Greece as seen through the eyes of our unnamed hero as he fumbles from paranoia to public office, under the mentorage of the shady Socrates.

Each episode is based on real events. Readers are invited to share their experiences for the Under Dark Clouds treatment. Many have been included in cameo roles, can you spot them?

See link below for contributions

I sat at my desk, willing myself to drink the coffee Mike the IT guy had made me; how it is possible to screw up instant coffee. The grumbling and complaints had emptied from the offices and the town hall had survived another day, barely. I stared at the cold hard truth in front of me willing it to change but like the coffee it remained bitter. Dear Blogees, we were in dire straits and I don’t mean the 80s soft-rock combo.

Home sweet home

What I had found in the basement pained my soul. Camp beds, mattresses and blankets on the floor with suitcases and gym bags for wardrobes. Half of my staff had taken up residence in the town hall. I called a meeting, the second of the day, it’s what mayors do. This time it wasn't round the cobbled tables in the conference room but in the back room of the Symposium taverna. They were cleaning up after the lunchtime service, such that it had been and Kostas, the owner was overjoyed to see such a big group of diners until I told him that this would be his treat. He writhed and wriggled in pain but I pointed out the favours he owed me. He gawped in disbelief. I told him I had averted a visit from the fire service about his safety licence for him, which may have been true.    

There were 12 or 13 of us round the connected tables, most were singles apart from Niki and Alex, a couple in their early 30s who both worked in the offices and Despina, a recently divorced lady who had her 11 year old boy with her. The salads and chips arrived and Despina’s boy dug in greedily.     

Mike, the IT guy had been the first to move into the Town hall Plaza after being evicted by his landlady with 6 months arrears. One by one, I went around the table; evictions, loan foreclosures, bereavement, divorce. Tasos the janitor had followed after some protracted bureaucracy with his pension. “You’ve retired, Tasos?”  He shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor. “So why do you come in to work every day?”  He mumbled that he had nothing else to do and besides he was with friends. Many around the table averted their gaze and pursed; no, I hadn't thought him a popular man either. The one factor that they all had in common was that the council hadn't paid them properly for almost a year.

“THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!” I leaped to my feet some moments after the information had been processed, “and who is responsible for this shameful situation?” The table went quiet apart from the slurps and lip smacks of Despina’s son who was still grazing the table clean.

“Well,” began Mike, the IT guy. “That would be the Mayor, Sir, Mr. Mayor.”

I smiled and reached for my mobile. “We’ll get this sorted out in a jiffy!” I called the well-assembled secretary as she always seemed to know the answers.

She took a good time before answering, “Yes, Sir.”

“Listen, we have this huge misunderstanding but it appears that some of the staff haven’t been paid for ages and well,” the line seemed to go quiet and then I heard a conversation in the background. “are you there?” I heard the bleeping of a supermarket checkout. “Are you busy?” She replied that she was at the supermarket. “I’ll call when you’re finished. When will that be?”

“About 9.30, tonight.”

She called me back 20 minutes later and explained that no one had been paid properly, something that she had told me before, but that there were nowhere near the funds to pay everyone, which she had also told me before. How the fuck was I supposed to remember all these details, being the Mayor is tougher than it looks.  But, she would have a look at the books the next day to see what could be done and that she had to get back to her checkout.

Just letting the food digest

I slumped in my chair at a loss for what to do. I couldn't pay these people and I couldn't have them living in the basement, or could I? NO, I couldn't. I ordered industrial grade retsina for everyone and drank most of it.

The room was empty and the lights had been dimmed when I woke. Retsina is a sneaky bastard; it slips down like rain water then switches off power at the mains, without any warning. The cleaner, who was just finishing the dishes after evening service, made me a sit-up-and-beg cup of coffee and soon I was out in the night air looking for where I had left the Vespa.

After about 20 minutes I still hadn't found the Vespa but I did bump into an apartment building, and that isn't figuratively, for rent. I remembered it from another trip round the town and I also remembered who owned it. Oh, and I also remembered that my Vespa was parked right outside the town hall.

The next morning I arrived a little late into the office, the offices had already begun to fill with grumble and complaint. Soon I was sat at my desk, willing myself to drink the coffee Mike the IT guy had made me; how it is possible to screw up instant coffee but practice makes perfect and the well-assembled secretary was occupied with something on the PC and far too busy ignoring me.       

When the coffee kicked in I made a sweep of all the offices throwing all the grumblers and complainers out of the front door and locked it. Then, I called a meeting, that’s what mayors do, after all.

We assembled in the lobby.

“ladies and gentlemen, I have a plan." I had expected rapture but what I got was muted groans and shuffling. “When we shut up this afternoon, I want you all to go down to the basement and get your belongings and meet me here.” This caused some confusion. I had forgotten that not everyone was living down there. They were a hard audience and I was visibly floundering, “Trust me.”

I then sent them back off to their offices and opened the doors. As the punters took their grumbles back to the appropriate departments I heard one say, “Well, I didn't fucking vote for him!”

After the days play, all the residents of the Town hall plaza had gathered in the lobby and I entered through the main doors looking a little shabbier than usual but with a huge smile and a clear head. Despina’s boy had returned from school and was the first to approach me, “I'm hungry.” I patted his head and ushered the rest to follow me.

where's the buffet?

We eventually arrived outside the apartment building that belonged to the previous mayor that now wore a huge hand-painted banner greeting ‘Welcome home’. Inside I allocated a room for each of the ex-transients. I flicked a light switch with pride and the room was illuminated, Tasos had hijacked a live power line. Some of the apartments had hot water from solar panels on the roof and Mike had even managed to get Wi-Fi from somewhere. The furniture had been found around the building, left by previously evicted tenants, the rest were futons made from pallets and some clothes racks from a fashion store that had closed down in the high street.

Despina approached with misty eyes and hugged me. Her son said one word, “Souvlaki?”          

Where it all began

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Naked life

Life without walls

Just picture your neighbourhood without walls, your neighbours walking around around in their underwear, drinking their morning coffee in plain view of all before they manage to get their face to sit straight. The warm familiarity of a warm hand down the front of your trousers while watching TV or that moment when the bile rises in repugnance of a spiteful comment from your dear spouse. Our lives depend on walls. Without walls when would we pick our noses or break joyous wind.  But this is exactly the experience that camping gives us and I have to admit, it is a very pleasant one.  

As a Brit, I have always viewed camping as an exercise in resilience. I remember shivering

kingdom of rain

throughout the night as a small child, fear stoked by campfire ghost stories; the sounds of nature morphed by the imagination into ghouls and monsters. Waking up with a raging hangover in a puddle after a stormy night at a festival as a teen.  Camping in Britain is a badge of honour, a rite of passage to fill the heart of any Victorian explorer or even Baden-Powell himself.

Then, I tried camping in Greece. Camping in Greece is not an SAS survival course; it is an exercise in prolonged nudity. Not just the fact that you spend most of your time in your trunks or bikini but  that people set up complete roaded suburbs from canvas and string, it is true open-plan living.  The result is taste of life without walls. The barbeque indicates the kitchen, a piece of string the laundry room.

What really started to make an impression on me, though was how a life without walls can be quite liberating. Stripping life back to basics is 5star living on 1star expenses, your every need is fulfilled because you don’t have any. The most taxing dilemma of the day is whether to make the trek down to the beach or sit and read a book in the hammock. The most arduous task is lighting the barbeque for dinner.

Your neighbours are all very semi-clad and this seems to make them more open to a good morning and a friendly chat. The lack of boundaries makes open visits so much easier and we enjoyed meeting people that we may not have otherwise spoken to on a hotel break. We shared food and drinks with them without fear of encroaching or interference.

The whole experience got me thinking what my own neighbourhood would be like without walls. Would we be a little more considerate without our doors to close, a little more charitable if we saw what was on other people’s plates.

life al fresco

Then there is the matter of vanity; you would think that being naked all day would make you very self-conscious but quite the opposite is true. When the illusion of perfection is no longer made possible by push-up bras or baggy shirts, people look more human, more flawed and less intimidating. We tend to imagine what we cannot see and we tend not to imagine the worst. That said, you do become more in-tune with your own body and are more likely to pass on another sausage from the grill when you feel your tummy starting to protrude. One of my neighbours was a young guy with a fantastically chiselled physique but seeing his mealtimes served from a carefully prepared Tupperware box helped me appreciate that nothing comes for nothing. I personally found people less pretentious and more attractive for it.               

Taking some of the pretence from life might help many to feel less inadequate and more happy with reality. The walls that protect us from prying eyes also allow us to become more influenced by illusions from the popular media than by the people we live around. Reality becomes what we think everyone else is doing.

I can thoroughly recommend a couple of weeks under canvas each year, without push-up, lycra or baggy trousers. It would help to realign our notion of reality and view others in a more human light, not to mention redressing the illusions foisted upon us by the photoshopped media stars.      

The Century of DIY part 4

How governments are realising that by privatising their obligations to you they can employ a freemium model letting social entrepreneurs take up the slack so they can prop up the private sector.

Twitshot

Every few years we get to exercise our democratic right to elect the government, the suits who will relentlessly appear on terribly dull news programmes talking about GDP, unemployment and who they feel we should feel we need to wage war on. Every few years, they tour round the country, kissing our grandmas and babies, get chummy with rock stars and actors and appeal to our good sense to give them our vote. Politicians are our representatives; they look after our needs and the needs of our nation. A democratically elected government is the management team, responsible for making sure our needs are met and we are cared for. This mammoth organisation is funded and its (our) employees are paid through the taxes. So why are they slowly but surely passing these obligations to private industry who charge us again for the same services? This is the century of DIY

Everyone knows that the Greeks invented democracy, the word itself means rule of the people. Around 6^th century BC some clever Athenians decided that every citizen of the state should have a say in how the state was run and taxes were levied on the people for the defence of democracy. This model was used by subsequent republics for millennia and the taxes were collected by monarchs and autocrats to keep them in palaces and armies.

It wasn’t until the 1850s when Otto von Bismarck, the first elected chancellor of Germany, expanded the remit of the government to the welfare of the people by taking over and consolidating the role of charitable organisations.

It was the British who really threw themselves into social welfare, maybe in a bid to stem the tide of communism or maybe because they were just really good people but liberal prime ministers Herbert Asquith and David Lloyd George furthered the reach of the government with state pensions, unemployment benefits and health cover.

This was the beginning of governments taking responsibility of the people they were expecting to keep them in a job. Under the guidance of John Maynard Keynes and the findings of the 1942 Beveridge report Britain established the welfare state to tackle what William Beveridge called the “five Giant evils” of squalor, ignorance, want, idleness and disease.  To this end, the people of Britain made contribution to a system of national insurance and in return received housing, schooling, unemployment and disability benefits, work and health care. This idea quickly spread and some countries, such as Sweden are famed for their high levels of taxation and exemplary public services while others lag behind with the bare minimum of welfare such as USA. The one thing is universal, we have become used to looking to our governments to provide for our needs and this justifies our payment of taxes. 

And the payoff was that it enabled the state to manipulate the populous and thus the economy more efficiently.

In the 70s, attitudes changed and a new age of neoclassical, laissez-faire economics came to the fore under the influence of Milton Friedman and Friedrich Hayek (Margaret Thatcher’s mentor). Hayek’s “Road to Serfdom”, written around the time of the Beveridge report, warned of the dangers of government intervention in welfare and Friedman openly spoke out against social welfare. Critics of the walfare state argue that if you provide for peoples’ needs you encourage them to develop their needs over their abilities. In fact, revered author and philosopher, Ayn Rands’ magnus opus, “Atlas Shrugged” tells the story of a world gone mad due to a society of need rather than giving the reigns to super dynamic industrialists.

By the 80s, many governments were beginning to devolve their welfare systems, sell public industries, sell public housing and encourage private industry to run free and proliferate. The result was a boom time for many. Wages rose, bonuses swelled and credit made almost everything attainable to almost everyone. But it wasn't to be for long; the boom went bang.  

The 90s were spent trying to balance the books after the bust. The main strategy was to deregulate banking and finance and allow laissez-faire economics to drive a new era of wealth and then when things were looking good, it all collapsed around our ears.  

Now governments are trying to rake back the losses made from propping up the private sector, a new welfare state, for the welfare of industry.

As for Sir William Beveridge’s “five Giant evils”

Squalor: Public housing has been sold off leaving private landlords to turn any cupboard into a “studio flat”.

Ignorance: Higher education is now the privilege of those able to take on huge student loans to have the possibility to get  a job that will enable you to pay it off.

Want: Pensions and unemployment benefits have had the goal-post moved so far that private pensions and zero-hour contracts are now the base line.

Idleness: With unemployment and under-employment across the western world at historic highs, especially amongst the young and old, entire generations are dispossessed and not contributing to the community.     

Disease: National health services are crumbling under the pressure. Britain’s NHS is being propped up by the private medical insurance despite the fact that the recession has ensured that less people can afford it. Greece’s system has changed names and protocols so many times recently that even those working in it are unsure of what advice to give patients. France’s system is hanging in but costs are spiralling.

You can still vote, you can still pay taxes but make no mistake, you are on your own.  

The state is adopting the freemium business model. You can have basic services from the state, but in order to get anything more, private industry is on hand to provide supplementary services. The private sector is expected to provide the same, if not better services than a non-profit institution like the state while still keeping an eye on the profit margins.

Social entrepreurism is the new way with individuals encouraged to take up the slack. Set up an NGO and plug the gaps in the state. While the state props up the private sector, with your money.

For what was, in reality, a short period of history, governments made an admirable effort to care for the people who put them there in the first place. Then came the civil war of public versus private and private won. Now you are on your own again, governments and industry are washing their hands of any public responsibility with taxes, once again, collected to fund the wars on the global markets.  

Part 3: After the fall of the banks, we are now expected to finance progress