Kleenex all round

Cameron's reshuffle will calm and bait in equal measure

David Cameron has delivered to his party one large fizzing Alka-Seltzer to banish the troubles of the past month. He said he was going to be positive and his shadow cabinet changes are predominantly that. One of the few benefits of opposition is the chance to try people out. Cameron has wisely picked not just for the person, but who they will be up against.

On 2 July, an emotional Francis Maude went round staff one by one and said goodbye to each person. His farewell email read: "We have much to be proud of; I have hugely enjoyed my time as chairman. The best part has been working with some of the most committed people it has ever been my privilege to work with. You are the best." The next day, the staff association sent an email to employees, "He [Maude] has been a great hands-on chairman who has worked to improve CCHQ both internally and as a fighting force." It went on to ask for donations for a gift. An aide says tenderly: "It is quite rare for management to be loved by their staff, and Central Office loved him. He would write emails and letters of thanks to employees. He was accessible. People were close to tears." Kleenex all round.

Outside Westminster, Tory activists are rarely in two minds about Maude. He is either the sinister plotter who was disloyal to Hague, or he is the dashing, misunderstood moderniser who has brought the (emotionally sensitive) party together. A Midlands constituency chairman from the former camp was content: "The removal of Francis had to happen. The sole purpose of the chairman is to cheer up the troops on the ground and he was hopeless at that. He seemed to relish telling the hard-working faithful their views were somehow morally defective." No Kleenex there.

New chairman, the ethereal Caroline Spelman, might not bring on the tears but she does have a sense of calm about her. Even her office has a lavender-scented tranquillity and she has a diplomatic team behind her. Chief of staff, Simon Cawte, is particularly popular. That the other two members of Spelman's former local government team have been rewarded with shadow cabinet jobs (Eric Pickles and Michael Gove) shows what a success they were. You will not catch any of them cracking a rude joke at a Conservative Future event, being mean to the people of Liverpool, or flashing a nipple.

Having few enemies in the Tory party is an advantage and it is rare to hear a negative word spoken of Spelman. There has been talk of her not being aggressive enough for the new job, but a party strategist disagrees: "Many of the local government issues she has had to deal with are not particularly sexy - housing, protecting the green belt, council tax. But having a background in them will help her in her new role, particularly with the grass roots." One well-oiled MP took a different view of his new chairman: "Julie Andrews, she's just too perfect. She probably goes home and sacrifices chickens."

Bedtime stories

Michael Gove, the new shadow secretary for schools, who turns 40 next month, looks 25 and resembles the eldest, good-natured brother in an Enid Blyton novel. Like Spelman, he is well thought of. Gushed one party official: "Michael has a treacly, Aberdonian, bedtime story voice, he's charming, helpfully state educated and he's incredibly nice." Party workers are waiting for promising showdowns between Gove and Ed Balls. "For all his intelligence, Balls is not a confident speaker," notes one researcher. "Michael is going to rile him. They are both talented, but I can't wait to see Balls getting irritable. CCHQ enjoyed Gove's "Cooper baiting" when, as shadow housing minister, he would effortlessly provoke Yvette Cooper (Balls's wife). Gove's team enjoying playing back a tape of a Today programme interview she gave in March in which she lost her cool.

As for other appointments, Owen Paterson's new role as shadow Northern Ireland secretary is thought to be a move by Cameron to appease a certain faction. "They've thrown Owen a bone, because it buys out Cornerstone and shuts up the far right," said one insider.

Most interesting for some MPs will be the relationship between shadow secretary for security, Dame Pauline Neville-Jones, and shadow home secretary, David Davis. "Like David, Neville-Jones is abrasive and tough and not a natural team player. The sparks will fly. The two of them have a lot of regard for themselves," sniggers a shadow minister. At least her previous jobs were "Bond" enough for the SAS-trained Davis - aides point out that Davis will be "heartened by her passing resemblance to Judi Dench". Role-play heaven!

This article first appeared in the 09 July 2007 issue of the New Statesman, The new terror

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The age of loneliness

Profound changes in technology, work and community are transforming our ultrasocial species into a population of loners.

Our dominant ideology is based on a lie. A series of lies, in fact, but I’ll focus on just one. This is the claim that we are, above all else, self-interested – that we seek to enhance our own wealth and power with little regard for the impact on others.

Some economists use a term to describe this presumed state of being – Homo economicus, or self-maximising man. The concept was formulated, by J S Mill and others, as a thought experiment. Soon it became a modelling tool. Then it became an ideal. Then it evolved into a description of who we really are.

It could not be further from the truth. To study human behaviour is to become aware of how weird we are. Many species will go to great lengths to help and protect their close kin. One or two will show occasional altruism towards unrelated members of their kind. But no species possesses a capacity for general altruism that is anywhere close to our own.

With the possible exception of naked mole-rats, we have the most social minds of all mammals. These minds evolved as an essential means of survival. Slow, weak, armed with rounded teeth and flimsy nails in a world of fangs and claws and horns and tusks, we survived through co-operation, reciprocity and mutual defence, all of which developed to a remarkable degree.

A review paper in the journal Frontiers in Psychology observes that Homo economicus  might be a reasonable description of chimpanzees. “Outsiders . . . would not expect to receive offers of food or solicitude; rather, they would be fiercely attacked . . . food is shared only under harassment; even mothers will not voluntarily offer novel foods to their own infants unless the infants beg for them.” But it is an unreasonable description of human beings.

How many of your friends, colleagues and neighbours behave like chimpanzees? A few, perhaps. If so, are they respected or reviled? Some people do appear to act as if they have no interests but their own – Philip Green and Mike Ashley strike me as possible examples – but their behaviour ­attracts general revulsion. The news is filled with spectacular instances of human viciousness: although psychopaths are rare, their deeds fill the papers. Daily acts of kindness are seldom reported, because they are everywhere.

Every day, I see people helping others with luggage, offering to cede their place in a queue, giving money to the homeless, setting aside time for others, volunteering for causes that offer no material reward. Alongside these quotidian instances are extreme and stunning cases. I think of my Dutch mother-in-law, whose family took in a six-year-old Jewish boy – a stranger – and hid him in their house for two years during the German occupation of the Netherlands. Had he been discovered, they would all have been sent to a concentration camp.

Studies suggest that altruistic tendencies are innate: from the age of 14 months, children try to help each other, attempting to hand over objects another child can’t reach. At the age of two, they start to share valued possessions. By the time they are three, they begin to protest against other people’s violation of moral norms.

Perhaps because we are told by the media, think tanks and politicians that competition and self-interest are the defining norms of human life, we disastrously mischaracterise the way in which other people behave. A survey commissioned by the Common Cause Foundation reported that 78 per cent of respondents believe others to be more selfish than they really are.

I do not wish to suggest that this mythology of selfishness is the sole or even principal cause of the epidemic of loneliness now sweeping the world. But it is likely to contribute to the plague by breeding suspicion and a sense of threat. It also appears to provide a doctrine of justification for those afflicted by isolation, a doctrine that sees individualism as a higher state of existence than community. Perhaps it is hardly surprising that Britain, the European nation in which neoliberalism is most advanced, is, according to government figures, the loneliness capital of Europe.

There are several possible reasons for the atomisation now suffered by the supremely social mammal. Work, which used to bring us together, now disperses us: many people have neither fixed workplaces nor regular colleagues and regular hours. Our leisure time has undergone a similar transformation: cinema replaced by television, sport by computer games, time with friends by time on Facebook.

Social media seems to cut both ways: it brings us together and sets us apart. It helps us to stay in touch, but also cultivates a tendency that surely enhances other people’s sense of isolation: a determination to persuade your followers that you’re having a great time. FOMO – fear of missing out – seems, at least in my mind, to be closely ­associated with loneliness.

Children’s lives in particular have been transformed: since the 1970s, their unaccompanied home range (in other words, the area they roam without adult supervision) has declined in Britain by almost 90 per cent. Not only does this remove them from contact with the natural world, but it limits their contact with other children. When kids played out on the street or in the woods, they quickly formed their own tribes, learning the social skills that would see them through life.

An ageing population, family and community breakdown, the decline of institutions such as churches and trade unions, the switch from public transport to private, inequality, an alienating ethic of consumerism, the loss of common purpose: all these are likely to contribute to one of the most dangerous epidemics of our time.

Yes, I do mean dangerous. The stress response triggered by loneliness raises blood pressure and impairs the immune system. Loneliness enhances the risk of depression, paranoia, addiction, cognitive decline, dem­entia, heart disease, stroke, viral infection, accidents and suicide. It is as potent a cause of early death as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, and can be twice as deadly as obesity.

Perhaps because we are in thrall to the ideology that helps to cause the problem, we turn to the market to try to solve it. Over the past few weeks, the discovery of a new American profession, the people-walker (taking human beings for walks), has caused a small sensation in the media. In Japan there is a fully fledged market for friendship: you can hire friends by the hour with whom to chat and eat and watch TV; or, more disturbingly, to pose for pictures that you can post on social media. They are rented as mourners at funerals and guests at weddings. A recent article describes how a fake friend was used to replace a sister with whom the bride had fallen out. What would the bride’s mother make of it? No problem: she had been rented, too. In September we learned that similar customs have been followed in Britain for some time: an early foray into business for the Home Secretary, Amber Rudd, involved offering to lease her posh friends to underpopulated weddings.



My own experience fits the current pattern: the high incidence of loneliness suffered by people between the ages of 18 and 34. I have sometimes been lonely before and after that period, but it was during those years that I was most afflicted. The worst episode struck when I returned to Britain after six years working in West Papua, Brazil and East Africa. In those parts I sometimes felt like a ghost, drifting through societies to which I did not belong. I was often socially isolated, but I seldom felt lonely, perhaps because the issues I was investigating were so absorbing and the work so frightening that I was swept along by adrenalin and a sense of purpose.

When I came home, however, I fell into a mineshaft. My university friends, with their proper jobs, expensive mortgages and settled, prematurely aged lives, had become incomprehensible to me, and the life I had been leading seemed incomprehensible to everyone. Though feeling like a ghost abroad was in some ways liberating – a psychic decluttering that permitted an intense process of discovery – feeling like a ghost at home was terrifying. I existed, people acknowledged me, greeted me cordially, but I just could not connect. Wherever I went, I heard my own voice bouncing back at me.

Eventually I made new friends. But I still feel scarred by that time, and fearful that such desolation may recur, particularly in old age. These days, my loneliest moments come immediately after I’ve given a talk, when I’m surrounded by people congratulating me or asking questions. I often experience a falling sensation: their voices seem to recede above my head. I think it arises from the nature of the contact: because I can’t speak to anyone for more than a few seconds, it feels like social media brought to life.

The word “sullen” evolved from the Old French solain, which means “lonely”. Loneliness is associated with an enhanced perception of social threat, so one of its paradoxical consequences is a tendency to shut yourself off from strangers. When I was lonely, I felt like lashing out at the society from which I perceived myself excluded, as if the problem lay with other people. To read any comment thread is, I feel, to witness this tendency: you find people who are plainly making efforts to connect, but who do so by insulting and abusing, alienating the rest of the thread with their evident misanthropy. Perhaps some people really are rugged individualists. But others – especially online – appear to use that persona as a rationale for involuntary isolation.

Whatever the reasons might be, it is as if a spell had been cast on us, transforming this ultrasocial species into a population of loners. Like a parasite enhancing the conditions for its own survival, loneliness impedes its own cure by breeding shame and shyness. The work of groups such as Age UK, Mind, Positive Ageing and the Campaign to End Loneliness is life-saving.

When I first wrote about this subject, and the article went viral, several publishers urged me to write a book on the theme. Three years sitting at my desk, studying isolation: what’s the second prize? But I found another way of working on the issue, a way that engages me with others, rather than removing me. With the brilliant musician Ewan McLennan, I have written a concept album (I wrote the first draft of the lyrics; he refined them and wrote the music). Our aim is to use it to help break the spell, with performances of both music and the spoken word designed to bring people together –which, we hope, will end with a party at the nearest pub.

By itself, our work can make only a tiny contribution to addressing the epidemic. But I hope that, both by helping people to acknowledge it and by using the power of music to create common sentiment, we can at least begin to identify the barriers that separate us from others, and to remember that we are not the selfish, ruthless beings we are told we are.

“Breaking the Spell of Loneliness” by Ewan McLennan and George Monbiot is out now. For a full list of forthcoming gigs visit: monbiot.com/music/

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood