Jonathan Franzen and the rage of the Twitter machine

We’re swamped by a tide of reaction and instant opinion churned out by the second on Twitter, writes Jason Cowley. But as Franzen, Obama and Miliband show, instant gratification won’t secure our grasp of events.

In a recent newspaper interview Paul Mason, the former BBC Newsnight reporter who has joined Channel 4 News as its digital editor, made the absurd claim that those who use social media are “more interesting” than those who don’t because “they have more to talk about”. I once had breakfast with Mason and he certainly had a lot to say – mostly about himself (I’m only joking, Paul!). Perhaps he should read the novelist Jonathan Franzen’s new book, The Kraus Project, in which he writes about what he perceives to be the idiocy of “our own media-saturated, technology-crazed, apocalypse-haunted historical moment”.

The book reads as an extended meditation on the enduring influence of the fin de siècle Viennese satirist Karl Kraus, who was known as the Great Hater, and as a counterblast against our veneration of technology. One could call it the cult of digital cool. Franzen – who is quite a hater himself – despises the look-at-me Facebook generation’s obsession with ostentatious display as well as the extreme self-promotion that social media encourages and indulges. He also hates Twitter not as an end in itself but because it has become the means to create a kind of mindless babble of instant opinion.

Deafening birdsong

I paradoxically agree both with Mason the techno-zealot and with Franzen the technoreactionary. I like the liberating potential of social media, as Mason does, and the way it allows a small publication such as the New Statesman to transcend old channels of production and distribution and have instant global reach and impact (more than a third of our ever-growing web traffic, on which we are making a healthy financial return, comes through social media). And yet, I’m thoroughly bored by much of what is said and linked to on Twitter, if indeed one has time to follow what is said and linked to, and I seldom do. For me, there are few phrases more dispiriting than “Twitter storm”.

The larger problem of Twitter is that it encourages a kind of crude, unthinking public evaluation – and evisceration – of the kind experienced the other week by the Labour minister Rachel Reeves. More generally, it allows the voice – to use a Krausian term – of mass man to be heard: scabrous, enraged, atomised. When people express outrage about the vulgarity and aggression of so much of what is posted on Twitter, my reaction is: what did they expect, a reasoned and nuanced conversation? Wise up.

Coulda been a contender?

Because it indulges brash opinion and rewards brevity and haste, Twitter has contributed to the even greater banalisation of the political and cultural discourse.

We see this all the time in the way politics is routinely discussed and reported. One need only consider the fortunes of Ed Miliband, the Labour leader, who arrives for his party’s annual conference in Brighton at the weekend with, if you believe the way the polls are reported, his “personal approval ratings” in free fall and his party restively wishing it was led by someone else – anyone else! Well, if so, who is this person, and why don’t they make themselves known?

Smart as a vampire tortoise

“Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared?” asked Milan Kundera. Miliband is in many ways the slow man of politics – a man out of time. He likes to think hard before he speaks; like a politician of the 1980s, he likes the long-drawn-out process of policy reviews and strategic deliberation. As a former Treasury wonk and Harvard lecturer, and the son of a Marxist academic for whom a family dinner could morph into a seminar, he is interested in ideas and philosophical concepts – “predistribution”, “the squeezed middle”, “responsible capitalism”.

David Maraniss, the author of a biography of Barack Obama, has written that the US president has “a writer’s sensibility, where he is both participating and observing himself participating, and views much of the political process as ridiculous or surreal, even as he is deep into it”. This would fit also as a description of Ed Miliband. Unlike Obama, the author of two fine books of memoir, the Labour leader is not a writer, but he is cerebral and introspective. He refuses to be rushed. He is watchful and self-watching. He knows what he knows and has the strange confidence of a man who believes that all will come right on the night. It might not, of course.

The deliberative approach has taken him a long way – to the summit of his party and to a consistent, if shallow, lead in the polls. But the clamour of the mob grows ever louder. Miliband is a “vulture”, it is said, an opportunist who feeds off the carcasses of his weakened opponents – his elder brother; David Cam eron during the debate on whether to intervene militarily in Syria. We know he lacks courage, critics say, because he hesitated when others wanted him to fall in behind the hawks and demand the immediate bombing of Syria. According to the Telegraph, “Red Ed” has “turned into Dead Ed”: “Even those closest to Ed Miliband are beginning to ask whether they dare go into the general election with this guy as their leader.”

Tics of conference season

Politics has become rather like football, addicted to crisis narratives. Those who commentate on it are becoming obsessed with the superficialities of instant evaluation. And the cry is ever the same: sack the manager! I can’t see any way that Miliband will be sacked by his party before the next election in 2015, and I understand why Tim Farron, the Liberal Democrat president, used the forum of his NS interview last week to woo him.

The message of the conference season is clear: parliament remains hung; the public distrusts and mostly dislikes our politicians; Britain is not one nation but several, and votes accordingly; and there is no one dominant political idea that will help one leader or party effect a grand transformation of the kind achieved by the Thatcherites, or by the economic planners during and after the Second World War.

Meanwhile, to paraphrase Kraus, the Twitter machine goes on humming.

Does using social media make you more interesting? Image: Getty

Jason Cowley is editor of the New Statesman. He has been the editor of Granta, a senior editor at the Observer and a staff writer at the Times.

This article first appeared in the 23 September 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Can Miliband speak for England?

Photo: Getty
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Why there's never been a worse year to leave the EU than 2017

A series of elections will mean Britain's Brexit deal will be on the backburner until at least January 2018. 

So that's it. Theresa May has invoked Article 50, and begun Britain’s formal exit from the European Union.

Britain and the EU27 have two years to make a deal or Britain will crash out without a deal. There are two ways out of that – firstly, it's possible that Britain could withdraw its invocation of Article 50, though the European Court of Justice has yet to rule on whether Article 50 is reversible or not. 

But if the government reaches the end of the two-year window, the timetable can only be extended with the unanimous agreement of not only the heads of the 27 other member states of the European Union, but the United Kingdom as well. Although both sides would suffer economic damage from an unplanned exit, no-one has done particularly well betting on economic self-interest as far as either Britain or the European Union in general is concerned, let alone when the two’s relationship with another is the subject.

For May in particular, the politics of extending the timetable are fraught. Downing Street wants Brexit done and dusted by 2019 to prevent it becoming a destabilising issue in the 2020 election, and in any case, any extension would provoke ructions in the Conservative Party and the pro-Brexit press.

But the chances that the EU27 and the UK will not come to an agreement at all, particularly by March 2019, are high. Why? In a stroke of misfortune for Britain, 2017 is very probably the worst year in decades to try to leave the European Union. Not just because of the various threats outside the bloc – the election of Donald Trump and the growing assertiveness of Russia – but because of the electoral turmoil inside of it.

May will trigger Article 50 at exactly the time that the French political class turns inward completely in the race to pick François Hollande’s successor as President enters its final stretch. Although a new president will be elected by 7 May, politics in that country will then turn to legislative elections in June. That will be particularly acute if, as now looks likely, Emmanuel Macron wins the presidency, as the French Left will be in an advanced state of if not collapse, at least profound transformation. (If, as is possible but not likely, Marine Le Pen is elected President, then that will also throw Britain's Brexit renegotiations off course but that won't matter as much as the European Union will probably collapse.) 

That the Dutch elections saw a better showing for Mark Rutte's Liberals means that he will go into Brexit talks knowing that he will be Prime Minister for the foreseeable future, but Rutte and the Netherlands, close allies of the United Kingdom, will be preoccupied by coalition negotiations, potentially for much of the year.

By the time the new President and the new legislative assembly are in place in France, Germany will enter election mode as Angela Merkel seeks re-election. Although the candidacy of Martin Schulz has transformed the centre-left SPD's poll rating, it has failed to dent Merkel's centre-right CDU/CSU bloc significantly and she is still in the box seat to finish first, albeit by a narrow margin. Neither Merkel's Christian Democrats or Schulz's Social Democrats, are keen to continue their increasingly acrimonious coalition, but it still looks likely that there will be no other viable coalition. That means there will be a prolonged and acrimonious period of negotiations before a new governing coalition emerges.

All of which makes it likely that Article 50 discussions will not begin in earnest before January 2018 at the earliest, almost halfway through the time allotted for Britain’s exit talks. And that could be further delayed if either the Italian elections or the Italian banking sector causes a political crisis in the Eurozone.

All of which means that May's chances of a good Brexit deal are significantly smaller than they would be had she waited until after the German elections to trigger Article 50. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.