Democratic forces in Berlusconi’s Italy are increasingly beleaguered. More than ever they need our support, not our silence and consent
Until the rise of Silvio Berlusconi in 1994, few would have thought that a major western European country could once again fall under something resembling the spell of fascism. Fifteen years later, Italy is unrecognisable, home to a process of political change that should be watched – and feared – by everyone in Europe. It is a warning of how the fabric of democracy can be progressively undermined from within, and that, far from being external and alien, the seeds of authoritarianism lie within the body politic.
The term fascism is so defined by powerful historical imagery that the phenomenon itself seems to be of historical relevance only; yet Berlusconi is an extremely modern figure, reflecting the worst and most insidious features of contemporary western and, in particular, Italian culture. Nor should our concerns be lessened or diluted by what might be described as the more superficial and comical aspects of Italian culture: non-Italians generally see both Mussolini and Berlusconi, to some degree, as figures of fun and ridicule. Every nation has its specificities.
The UN conference on racism confronted western countries with difficult truths – but that’s no reason for anyone to walk out
I can think of only one international body that can lay claim to a semblance of democracy: the United Nations. All the other organisations that regard themselves as global – the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank and the World Trade Organisation – are creations of the west and their power structures reflect that fact. This is the reason why the United States has always had a troubled relationship with the UN; it is the one organisation where it is not assured of getting its own way. On the contrary, it often finds itself hugely outnumbered, resolutions on the Middle East and Israel being a classic trigger. That, rather than being strapped for cash, is why the US has always been so reluctant to pay its dues. So, it was no surprise to find the US boycotting this year’s UN World Conference against Racism in Geneva, or that it walked out of the first such meeting in Durban in 2001. America is invariably on the defensive on such occasions.
As an emboldened China sees, the American dollar is gravely wounded. And the days of US political supremacy are numbered
We have entered one of those rare historical periods that is characterised by a shift in global hegemony from one great power to another. The last such was between 1931 and 1945, and marked the end of Britain’s financial ascendancy and its replacement by that of the United States. It might be argued that the cold war represented a similar period, but that is a fallacy: the cold war was an ideological struggle between two powers that were always hopelessly ill-matched. This new period is marked by the rise of China and the decline of the US. Arguably the process started around a decade ago, but at that stage it was barely noticed, such was the west’s preoccupation with 9/11 and its after-effects. Indeed, the Bush administration was thinking in exactly the opposite terms: that the world was entering a golden age of American global power.
The Labour Party that capitulated so completely to neoliberalism is exhausted. If it is to be reinvigorated, it will have to embrace bold ideas
The end of the neoliberal era is surely cause for some celebration. It marked a decisive shift in the centre of gravity of power in society: from the state to the market, from society to the individual, from relatively egalitarian values to the embrace of inequality. In the past 30 years, there has been a formidable redistribution of power and wealth in favour of the rich.
It can be argued that it is premature to announce the end of neoliberalism, and of course, in a sense, this is true. An ideology that has acquired such dominance at all levels of society, from the person in the street to the man at No 10 – to the point where it has acquired the force of common sense – does not and cannot disappear overnight.
US economic power is crumbling, but China is not yet ready to take over the reins
The G20 meeting on 2 April will deliver little but, like the first G20 meeting in Washington last November, its symbolism will be enormous. The very fact that it is taking place at all is an admission of the momentous shift in the global balance of economic power from the rich countries to the developing world.
If the western countries plus Japan could have sorted out this crisis through the G8, that would certainly have been their preferred route. The cosiness of eight nations (or preferably seven, excluding Russia) with rather similar interests would have made agreement rather easier and, more importantly, would not have implied that in future power would have to be shared with countries possessed of very different interests and histories.
The longer the Prime Minister remains silent about the mistakes of the past, the less convincing he is as a leader for the present, let alone the future
Mr Brown is not going to apologise. He has made that perfectly clear by his silence, if nothing else. Alas, he is wrong. There was a moment last October when we glimpsed a different Gordon Brown as, seemingly energised by the financial calamity, he showed a boldness of action that suggested he might not be a prisoner of his past. But since then he has been the dour and defensive Prime Minister that we have grown accustomed to. There are three reasons why he should say mea culpa.
First, we need to try to understand the causes of the financial crash. We have proximate explanations but it will take a long time for us to arrive at any deeper conclusions. If the Prime Minister admitted to his own responsibility in the financial meltdown, that would set the tone for British society to enter into a more meaningful debate about the debacle. If the Prime Minister shows contrition, it encourages everyone else to do likewise. That is what leadership is about. And after a decade of gross excess, contrition is surely an attitude that should be encouraged.
In the face of Thatcher’s iron will, Scargill’s decision to lead the strike without a ballot was an error that sealed the miners’ fate
The miners’ strike, which began 25 years ago this month, marked a decisive moment in the period of the Thatcher government. More than that, it was also a watershed in postwar history. The labour movement emerged from the second world war far stronger than previously. The long postwar boom which lasted until the early 1970s further bolstered the unions; this new-found strength was tested during the Heath government when the unions successfully resisted its various attempts to weaken them.
At the heart of this militancy were the miners. When Margaret Thatcher took office in 1979, she was determined not to be thwarted in the way that the Heath government had been and her government prepared its ground for a future confrontation with the unions with a carefully-conceived political strategy and meticulous preparation.
The “new” in New Labour was skin deep: it marked the party’s capitulation to Thatcher
The 30th anniversary of Lady Thatcher’s election in 1979 – and the beginning of the era of Thatcherism – now looks very different from how it would have been viewed just a year ago. Indeed, one is reminded that Gordon Brown regarded an invitation to the Iron Lady for tea at No 10 as a means by which to lend authority and credibility to his premiership in its earliest days. Would he do so now? Perhaps. But that is mainly because the present Prime Minister is unable to shed his own Thatcherite clothes even though reality is dragging him kicking and screaming remorselessly in that direction. The 30th anniversary of the Thatcherite revolution is taking place at a time when the whole edifice of its assumptions, panaceas and policy prescriptions is crumbling in spectacular fashion. If Thatcherism has defined the zeitgeist of British politics for three decades, suddenly it now seems out of time. That is what historical turning points are about.