Sweet, crazy people

One woman explains at great length to my photographer that global warming is a scam made up by those wicked Democrats. 'You know Lake Erie used to be a glacier. Nobody minded when that melted.'

If John McCain somehow pulls it out the bag next Tuesday, it will be thanks to people like Jon Stainbrook.

A former punk rocker and unofficial spokesman for Joe the Plumber, Jon is chair of the Republican Party in Toledo, Ohio, and is giving his all to turn a deep blue county just a little more purple.

Toledo is just not natural McCain territory: a suburb of Detroit, with all the industrial decline that implies, the city is only 11 per cent Republican.

But Stainbrook is running an insurgency, throwing everything he's got at a campaign to win McCain 38 per cent of the county. If the Republicans do that, they could win Ohio; if they win Ohio, they could win the White House.

And it's hard not to admire the energy with which Stainbrook is fighting. When we visit his office he's preparing for an imminent visit from Sarah Palin. And although he's in the middle of a twenty minute phone call, he's frantically digging around his desk for t-shirts, stickers, and other campaign materials to wave at us.

At one point he pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker ('...but it's all these private equity guys, all these hedge funds...' - it's not clear whether this is about fundraising or the end of capitalism as we know it); Jon flashes me a 'see what I have to deal with?' look before going back to his call.

This energy is clearly infectious. A white board lists volunteers next to the number of calls they've made, under the headline 'call heroes' (Scott is in the lead, with 5170).

Every couple of minutes someone comes in, with money to buy a hat or a bumper sticker or a ticket to the rally. At one point an elderly woman enters, weeping copiously about the imminent Obama regime, and Jon greets her with a cry of, 'What you worrying about? In Ohio we're up by two per cent. Someone show her the polls!' (I'm not sure which poll he means; 24 hours later it hasn't shown up on realclearpolitics.com.)

Stainbrook's team are the sweetest, most welcoming and most batshit crazy crowd of people I've met in a long time. They tell us they love our accents, ask us what we think of Ohio and do everything they can to make us feel at home. It's just that they're living in the mirror universe.

One woman explains at great length to my photographer that global warming is a scam made up by those wicked Democrats. 'You know Lake Erie used to be a glacier. Nobody minded when that melted,' she says. And anyway, drilling in Alaska would be good for the animals: 'The pipeline gives them something warm to huddle up to.'

In the next room, meanwhile, a long time party worker is telling me about Barack Obama's tax plans. 'It's socialism, plain and simple,' he says. 'He said he wants to redistribute wealth - I don't know what else you call that but socialism.'

At this point the security guard, who's eating bean curd out of a tin, pipes up with, 'Did I ever tell you about the time I got hit by a train?' When we laugh, he snaps back, 'Hey - I don't lie!'

'Then what happened to that roll of quarters yesterday?' says Jon Stainbrook. He laughs in an oddly familiar way - 'Heheheh' - and points to a portrait photograph on the wall. 'That's my George W. Bush. Wanna see my John McCain?' He brings his arms up to chest level and wheezes, 'My friends... My friends... We can do this...'

The party worker looks like he's panicking about the impression this is leaving. 'What you worrying about?' replies Jon. 'He's laughing, look, he's laughing!'

When we announce we're leaving, everyone acts disappointed and asks us if we won't stay for the evening. But there's general agreement that Toledo is not a great town for motels ('There's one that's cheap, but the ladies go room to room, if you know what I mean,' someone says), and a TV crew is arriving to talk about Joe the Plumber, so we are quickly forgotten.

Everyone's been so warm and so kind that, even though I'm backing the other guy and disagree with almost every word they've said, I find myself hoping that their hard work pays off in Toledo. That said, I know what my photographer means when, on the road out of town, he asks, 'Why do I feel like I'm running for the border?'

At that point we join the Ohio turnpike, but we head east when we mean to head west. Half hour later we're back in Toledo and have paid 50c for the privilege.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Brexit. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Italy's populist Five Star Movement (M5S) party leader Luigi Di Maio. CREDIT: GETTY
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Five Star’s “just fix it!” politics and the new age of digital populism

 In the Italian election, Five Star made radical and exciting promises – like a monthly universal basic income of around €780.

One evening in 2004, after finishing a performance of his comedy show Black Out, Beppe Grillo was approached by a tall, austere-looking man called Gianroberto Casaleggio, an IT specialist who ran a web consulting firm. He told Grillo that he could create a blog for him that would transform Italian politics. The internet, Casaleggio explained, would change everything. Political parties and newspaper editors were no longer needed. They could be “disintermediated”.

Grillo, a household name in Italy, was not particularly interested in technology but he was interested in politics. The following year the pair created the promised blog and Grillo began writing about cronyism, green issues and the power of the web to smash what he considered a corrupt, elitist and closed political system. Thousands, then millions, of frustrated Italians flocked to his site. They began using another website, meetup.com, to gather offline to discuss Grillo’s latest post, and co-ordinate campaigns and rallies. It was heady stuff.

In 2007, this fledgling movement held Vaffanculo Day (which roughly translates to “fuck off day”), an event directed at the suits in charge. Grillo crowd-surfed the thousands who’d turned out in Bologna’s main square in a red dingy. Eugenio Scalfari, founder of the respected centre-left newspaper La Repubblica, wrote an editorial titled “The barbaric invasion of Beppe Grillo”.

In the age of Russian trolls and algorithmic ads, it’s easy to forget how optimistic the mood around digital politics was in the late Noughties. Occupy, the Pirate Party and Barack Obama all seemed to presage the end of tired old hierarchies. They were getting a digital upgrade: open, inclusive and more democratic. Grillo led the charge: in 2009 he declared that his band of online followers would stand in elections as the Five Star Movement. The group refused state funding, capped its MPs’ salaries at the average national wage, and pledged to publish all proposed bills online three months before approval to allow for public comment. All major policy decisions would be taken by votes on the blog, including candidate selections.

Seasoned political analysts dismissed Five Star as a bunch of bloggers and kids, led by a clown. But the movement started achieving local successes, especially in Italy’s poorer south. By 2012 there were 500 local groups and in the following year’s general election, Five Star won 25 per cent of the vote. Analysts repeatedly predicted that normal service would be resumed – but it never was.

In the Italian general election earlier this month, Five Star won 32 per cent of the vote, and 227 seats, easily making it the largest single party. (Grillo, who is 69, distanced himself from Five Star before this triumph. He remains the “guarantor”, but the new leader is 31-year-old Luigi Di Maio.) In a hung parliament, Five Star is currently in a stalemate with Italy’s right-wing alliance (the Northern League, Silvio Berlusconi’s Forza Italia and the Brothers of Italy), which collectively secured more seats.

While Five Star has declared its commitment to direct democracy, many major decisions are taken by a small cadre, which has alienated some early supporters. Its occasional dalliances with power – the current mayor of Rome is Five Star’s Virginia Raggi – have been largely unsuccessful. Yet more than any other movement in Europe, Five Star demonstrates how digital upstarts can demolish years of cosy centrist consensus. Meet-ups are full of sparky, motivated activists – rather like the Corbynite Momentum – who combine online and offline techniques to deliver their message.

Five Star’s political ideas appear radical and exciting, especially to places blighted by economic stagnation. In the Italian election, Five Star promised a monthly universal basic income of around €780 for every adult.

Yet the movement’s rise also reveals the darker side of digital politics. Five Star is unashamedly populist and divisive, pitting the good, honest, ordinary citizen against the out-of-touch professional political class. Ever noticed how all populists, whether left or right, seem to love social media? Nigel Farage, Bernie Sanders, Marine Le Pen, Syriza and, of course, Donald Trump are all avid adopters. It’s partly because short, emotional messages, the populist stock-in-trade, spread so well online. Grillo frequently insults his opponents – he used to call the former Italian prime minister Mario Monti “Rigor Montis” – and new Five Star leader Di Maio recently called for the immediate halt of the “sea taxi service” that rescues migrants in the Mediterranean. There’s a receptive online audience for such content. And the blog is central to Five Star, just as Twitter is to Trump, because, it says, it allows it to circumnavigate the self-interested establishment, and deliver “the truth” straight to the people.

But the love affair runs deeper than clickable posts. The internet is inculcating all of us with new, unrealistic expectations. I call it “just fix it!” politics. Everything online is fast and personalised, answers are simple and immediate. The unhappy compromise and frustrating plod of politics looks increasingly inadequate by comparison, which fuels impatience and even rage.

Populists promise to cut through the tedium with swift and obvious answers, and in that sense they are tuned in to how we live as consumers. By contrast, centrist parties have struggled in the digital age because their watery, dull promises are weighed down by practical know-how and association with power. (“Boring! Traitors!”)

The rage of the jilted lover knows few bounds. This is the problem with all populist movements: what happens when things aren’t as easy as promised? A few days after Five Star’s stunning election result, dozens of young Italians turned up at job centres in Puglia, demanding their €780 monthly basic income. Should Five Star form a government, millions of Italians will turn up with them – and demand a lot more than a few hundred euros. 

Jamie Bartlett is the author of “Radicals: Outsiders Changing the World” (Windmill Books)

Jamie Bartlett is the head of the Violence and Extremism Programme and the Centre for the Analysis of Social Media at Demos.

This article first appeared in the 13 March 2018 issue of the New Statesman, Putin’s spy game