Approving of autocracy

If you write favourably about Qatar or Russia, are you speaking up for dictatorships – or acknowledg

Yesterday Mehdi Hasan wrote an excellent post about the extraordinary reaction to Qatar being chosen to host the 2022 World Cup.

Quite apart from the fact that the emirate will undoubtedly make a great success of the event – I went to the opening of the 2006 Asian Games in Doha and even though they had the misfortune to suffer a downpour, an exceedingly rare event in those climes, the ceremony, choreography, fireworks and lighting of the torch were the most spectacular display I've ever witnessed – Mehdi's was a very mild defence. He did not deny that the "country, like every other Gulf nation, has an autocratic and reactionary regime and is far from liberal or democratic". But speaking up for Qatar was still a step too far for the many who then attacked him in the comments section.

It appears that automatic disapproval is what is expected – demanded, even – whenever one writes about a country that fails to meet our standards when it comes to human rights, democracy and liberal values; no matter how recently we as a society may have come not only to protect in law but also embrace those values in practice. (Think of our attitude towards gay men and women in public life being a good instance of a halo we have bestowed on ourselves though we haven't quite earned it yet – or are we ready for a gay prime minister?)

Certainly, there are states that you would have to be particularly perverse to want to defend – Burma, for example, or North Korea. Yet what about countries that strike us as illiberal and whose practice of democracy is erratic or barely existent – but whose peoples seem content with or approving of such deviations from our ideal?

Take Russia, whose prime minister, Vladimir Putin, has been accused by the former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev of acting as though "democracy stands in his way". But has the electorate there chosen a semi-autocracy instead? The Stanford academic Michael McFaul put the reasons for Putin's success well in Foreign Affairs magazine two years ago.

In the 1990s, under post-Soviet Russia's first president, Boris Yeltsin, the state did not govern, the economy shrank and the population suffered. Since 2000, under Putin, order has returned, the economy has flourished and the average Russian is living better than ever before. As political freedom has decreased, economic growth has increased. Putin may have rolled back democratic gains, the story goes, but these were necessary sacrifices on the altar of stability and growth.

McFaul, a specialist in Russia and the former Eastern Bloc, thought this was wrong: the country, he said, would have done better "if democracy had survived". However, he also conceded that: "This narrative has a powerful simplicity, and most Russians seem to buy it. Putin's approval rating hovers near 80 per cent, and nearly a third of Russians would like to see him become president for life."

To take another example: semi- or fully autocratic regimes were the norm throughout south-east Asia in the 1980s and 1990s. In Singapore, Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew has argued this is because what he calls "Asian values" prevail in the region. That this is a distinctly unfashionable analysis is not likely to trouble MM Lee in the least. However, there are some western observers who agree that there may be something in it.

In Joe Studwell's 2007 book Asian Godfathers: Money and Power in Hong Kong and South-East Asia, he wrote that the countries he covered (he did not include Indochina or Burma) were experiencing a "developmental honeymoon", and so were not so bothered about their lack of western-style liberal democracy. In this state, he wrote:

Populations are unusually willing to trust authority and their leaders' promises to deliver continuous improvements in standards of living. When south-east Asians were told that free association of labour was antithetical to growth . . . and that constraints on individual freedom and the media are part of Asian culture, they acquiesced.

Like McFaul, Studwell believed they were wrong to do so. But he still thought the relevant populations gave their de facto assent to this bargain – and not without reason. "With the average GDP growth rates from 1986 to 1995 picking up to 8-10 per cent a year in Malaysia, Thailand and Indonesia, versus 6-8 per cent in the period after 1960, they trusted the politicians and waited for the bourgeois nirvana that would release them from the shackles of economic need."

If this is the kind of deal that operated there, would it not be even more attractive to the permanent populations of Gulf states such as Qatar, whose citizens can expect plentiful financial benisons – way beyond the pleasures suggested by a mere "bourgeois nirvana" – to be provided for them throughout their lives by their governments?

The points I am making are simple, but there is a particular reason for making them here, in the New Statesman. Many commenters regard it as axiomatic that left or left-leaning writers should not only speak up for the kinds of liberty and democracy we enjoy here, but also regard them as universal values that are therefore applicable – if necessary, by force – around the world.

But it seems to me just as left or left-leaning to ask what it is that people want and then to respect that choice, at least to the extent of admitting that it is their decision to make and not ours. If it turns out that they don't actually want our brands of liberty and democracy; if they are quite content without them, or even vote to give up some of the freedoms we would cherish, some seem to think it is the role of the left not just to tell them they are wrong, but to try to force them to change their minds by economic sanctions, trade wars and bellicose rhetoric.

This attitude, to me, smacks rather of what France in the 19th century referred to as its "mission civilisatrice". We in Britain were a little more honest about it. We called it "imperialism". It is a mystery to me why anyone should think there is anything left-wing about that.

Sholto Byrnes is a Contributing Editor to the New Statesman
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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times