As ondas de indignação são extremamente eficazes na mobilização e aglutinação da atenção. Mas, devido ao seu carácter fluido e à sua volatilidade, não são adequadas para a configuração do discurso público, do espaço público. São, para esse efeito, demasiado incontroláveis, incalculáveis, instáveis, efémeras e amorfas. Crescem subitamente e desfazem-se com a mesma rapidez. O que as assemelha às smart mobs (“multidões inteligentes”). Carecem da estabilidade, da constância e da continuidade indispensáveis ao discurso público. Não é possível integrá-las num contexto discursivo estável. As ondas de indignação surgem, muitas vezes, perante acontecimentos cuja importância social é bastante reduzida.
A sociedade da indignação é uma sociedade do escândalo. É desprovida de firmeza, de contenção. A rebeldia, a histeria e a obstinação peculiares das ondas de indignação não permitem qualquer comunicação discreta e objectiva, qualquer diálogo, qualquer debate. Ora, a contenção é constitutiva da esfera pública. E a formação do público requer a distância. Além disso, as ondas de indignação só em escassa medida são identificáveis com a comunidade. Por isso, não constroem um nós estável que exprima uma estrutura do cuidado do social no seu conjunto. E, do mesmo modo, a preocupação dos indignados pouco afecta a sociedade no seu conjunto, porque exprime, em grande medida, um cuidado de si. Daí que, de novo, rapidamente se dissipe.
A primeira palavra da Ilíada é menin – ou seja, a cólera. “Canta, ó deusa, a cólera de Aquiles, o Pelida”, lemos no início da primeira narrativa da cultura ocidental. Aqui, a cólera pode cantar-se porque suporta, estrutura, anima e vitaliza. É o meio heróico por excelência da acção. A Ilíada é um canto da cólera. Trata-se de uma ira narrativa, épica, porque produz certas acções. Distingue-se por isso da fúria que surge como efeito das ondas de indignação. A indignação digital não pode cantar-se. Não é capaz nem de acção nem de narração. É, antes, um estado afectivo que não desenvolve qualquer força potente de acção. A distracção generalizada, característica da sociedade actual, não permite a emergência da energia épica da ira. A cólera, na plenitude do seu sentido, é mais do que um estado afectivo. É a capacidade de interromper um estado de coisas existente e de fazer começar um novo estado de coisas. A actual multidão indignada é extremamente fugaz e dispersa. Falta-lhe por completo a massa, a gravidade, necessária à acção. Não engendra qualquer futuro.
Asha Rangappa, “How Facebook Changed the Spy Game”:
The vast majority of counterintelligence cases I worked in the FBI involved a foreign intelligence service (FIS) conducting what we called “perception management campaigns.” Perception management, broadly defined, includes any activity that is designed to shape American opinion and policy in ways favorable to the FIS home country. Some perception management operations can involve aggressive tactics like infiltrating and spying on dissident groups (and even intimidating them), or trying to directly influence U.S. policy by targeting politicians under the guise of a legitimate lobbying group. But perception management operations also include more passive tactics like using media to spread government propaganda—and these are the most difficult for the FBI to investigate.
As the internet renders useless the FBI’s normal methods to counter foreign propaganda, the reach of these operations has increased a thousandfold. In the past, a failure to neutralize a perception management operation would at least be limited by the reach of “traditional,” i.e., paper, media which are practically constrained to a region or paying customers. But social media platforms can reach an almost limitless audience, often within days or hours, more or less for free: Russia’s Facebook ads alone reached between 23 million and 70 million viewers. Without any direct way to investigate and identify the source of the private accounts that generate this “fake news,” there’s literally nothing the FBI can do to stop a propaganda operation that can occur on such a massive scale.
This fact is not lost on the Russians. Like any country with sophisticated intelligence services, Russia has long been a careful student of U.S. freedoms, laws and the constraints of its main nemesis in the U.S., the FBI. They have always known how to exploit our “constitutional loopholes”: The difference now is that technology has transformed the legal crevice in which they used to operate into a canyon. The irony, of course, is that the rights that Americans most cherish—those of speech and press—and are now weaponized against us are the same ones Russia despises and clamps down on in its own country.
Roger Scruton, “Populism, VII: Representation & the people”:
The fact remains, however, that the accusation of “populism” is applied now largely to politicians on the right, with the implication that they are mobilizing passions that are both widespread and dangerous. On the whole liberals believe that politicians on the left win elections because they are popular, while politicians on the right win elections because they are populist. Populism is a kind of cheating, deploying weapons that civilized people agree not to use and which, once used, entirely change the nature of the game, so that those of gentle and considerate leanings are at an insuperable disadvantage. The division between the popular and the populist corresponds to the deep division in human nature, between the reasonable interests that are engaged by politics, and the dark passions that threaten to leave negotiation, conciliation, and compromise behind. Like “racism,” “xenophobia,” and “Islamophobia,” “populism” is a crime laid at the door of conservatives. For the desire of conservatives to protect the inherited identity of the nation, and to stand against what they see as the real existential threats posed by mass migration, is seen by their opponents as fear and hatred of the Other, which is seen in turn as the root cause of inter-communal violence.
The phenomenon of the instant plebiscite—what one might call the “webiscite”—is therefore far more important than has yet been recognized. Nor does it serve the interests only of the Right in politics. Almost every day there pops up on my screen a petition from Change.org or Avaaz.org urging me to experience the “one click” passport to moral virtue, bypassing all political processes and all representative institutions in order to add my vote to the cause of the day. Avaaz was and remains at the forefront of the groups opposing the “populism” of Donald Trump, warning against his apparent contempt for the procedures that would put brakes on his power. But in the instant politics of the webiscite such contradictions don’t matter. Consistency belongs with those checks and balances. Get over them, and get clicking instead.
It is not that the instant causes of the webiscites are wrong: without the kind of extensive debate that is the duty of a legislative assembly it is hard to decide on their merits. Nevertheless, we are constantly being encouraged to vote in the absence of any institution that will hold anyone to account for the decision. Nobody is asking us to think the matter through, or to raise the question of what other interests need to be considered, besides the one mentioned in the petition. Nobody in this process, neither the one who proposes the petition nor the many who sign it, has the responsibility of getting things right or runs the risk of being ejected from office if he fails to do so. The background conditions of representative government have simply been thought away, and all we have is the mass expression of opinion, without responsibility or risk. Not a single person who signs the petition, including those who compose it, will bear the full cost of it. For the cost is transferred to everyone, on behalf of whatever single-issue pressure group takes the benefit.
We are not creatures of the moment; we do not necessarily know what our own interests are, but depend upon advice and discussion. Hence we need processes that impede us from making impetuous choices; we need the filter that will bring us face to face with our real interests. It is precisely this that is being obscured by the emerging webiscite culture. Decisions are being made at the point of least responsibility, by the man or woman in the street with an iPhone, asked suddenly to click “yes” or “no” in response to an issue that they have never thought about before and may never think about again.
Reflect on these matters and you will come to see, I believe, that if “populism” threatens the political stability of democracies, it is because it is part of a wider failure to appreciate the virtue and the necessity of representation. For representative government to work, representatives must be free to ignore those who elected them, to consider each matter on its merits, and to address the interests of those who did not vote for them just as much as the interests of those who did. The point was made two centuries ago by Edmund Burke, that representation, unlike delegation, is an office, defined by its responsibilities. To refer every matter to the constituents and to act on majority opinion case by case is precisely to avoid those responsibilities, to retreat behind the consensus, and to cease to be genuinely accountable for what one does.
This brings me to the real question raised by the upheavals of 2016. In modern conditions, in which governments rarely enjoy a majority vote, most of us are living under a government of which we don’t approve. We accept to be ruled by laws and decisions made by politicians with whom we disagree, and whom we perhaps deeply dislike. How is that possible? Why don’t democracies constantly collapse, as people refuse to be governed by those they never voted for? Why do the protests of disenchanted voters crying “not my president!” peter out, and why has there been after all no mass exodus of liberals to Canada?
The answer is that democracies are held together by something stronger than politics. There is a “first person plural,” a pre-political loyalty, which causes neighbors who voted in opposing ways to treat each other as fellow citizens, for whom the government is not “mine” or “yours” but “ours,” whether or not we approve of it. Many are the flaws in this system of government, but one feature gives it an insuperable advantage over all others so far devised, which is that it makes those who exercise power accountable to those who did not vote for them. This kind of accountability is possible only if the electorate is bound together as a “we.” Only if this “we” is in place can the people trust the politicians to look after their interests. Trust enables people to cooperate in ensuring that the legislative process is reversible when it makes a mistake; it enables them to accept decisions that run counter to their individual desires and which express views of the nation and its future that they do not share. And it enables them to do this because they can look forward to an election in which they have a chance to rectify the damage.
That simple observation reminds us that representative democracy injects hesitation, circumspection, and accountability into the heart of government—qualities that play no part in the emotions of the crowd. Representative government is for this reason infinitely to be preferred to direct appeals to the people, whether by referendum, plebiscite, or webiscite. But the observation also reminds us that accountable politics depends on mutual trust. We must trust our political opponents to acknowledge that they have the duty to represent the people as a whole, and not merely to advance the agenda of their own political supporters.
But what happens when that trust disintegrates? In particular, what happens when the issues closest to people’s hearts are neither discussed nor mentioned by their representatives, and when these issues are precisely issues of identity—of “who we are” and “what unites us”? This, it seems to me, is where we have got to in Western democracies—in the United States just as much as in Europe. And recent events on both continents would be less surprising if the media and the politicians had woken up earlier to the fact that Western democracies—all of them without exception—are suffering from a crisis of identity. The “we” that is the foundation of trust and the sine qua non of representative government, has been jeopardized not only by the global economy and the rapid decline of indigenous ways of life, but also by the mass immigration of people with other languages, other customs, other religions, other ways of life, and other and competing loyalties. Worse than this is the fact that ordinary people have been forbidden to mention this, forbidden to complain about it publicly, forbidden even to begin the process of coming to terms with it by discussing what the costs and benefits might be.
Of course they have not been forbidden to discuss immigration in the way that Muslims are forbidden to discuss the origins of the Koran. Nor have they been forbidden by some express government decree. If they say the wrong things, they are not arrested and imprisoned—not yet, at least. They are silenced by labels—“racism,” “xenophobia,” “hate speech”—designed to associate them with the worst of recent crimes. In my experience, ordinary people wish to discuss mass immigration in order to prevent those crimes. But this idea is one that cannot be put in circulation, for the reason that the attempt to express it puts you beyond the pale of civilized discourse. Hillary Clinton made the point in her election campaign, with her notorious reference to the “deplorables”—in other words, the people who bear the costs of liberal policies and respond to them with predictable resentments.
ll this has left the conservative movement at an impasse. The leading virtue of conservative politics as I see it is the preference for procedure over ideological programs. Liberals tend to believe that government exists in order to lead the people into a better future, in which liberty, equality, social justice, the socialist millennium, or something of that kind will be realized. The same goal-directed politics has been attempted by the EU, which sees all governance as moving towards an “ever closer union,” in which borders, nations, and the antagonisms that allegedly grow from them will finally disappear. Conservatives believe that the role of government is not to lead society towards a goal but to ensure that, wherever society goes, it goes there peacefully. Government exists in order to conciliate opposing views, to manage conflicts, and to ensure peaceful transactions between the citizens, as they compete in the market, and associate in what Burke called their “little platoons.”
That conception of government is, to me, so obviously superior to all others that have entered the imperfect brains of political thinkers that I find myself irresistibly drawn to it. But it depends on a pre-political unity defined within recognized borders, and a sovereign territory that is recognizably “ours,” the place where “we” are, the home that we share with the strangers who are our “fellow countrymen.” All other ways of defining the “we” of human communities—whether through dynasty, tribe, religion, or the ruling Party—threaten the political process, since they make no room for opposition, and depend on conscripting the people to purposes that are not their own. But procedural politics of the conservative kind is possible only within the confines of a nation state—which is to say, a state defined over sovereign territory, whose citizens regard that territory as their legitimate home.
Na era da informação, em que temos à distância de alguns cliques todo o tipo de conteúdos sobre toda e qualquer temática, em que qualquer um pode comentar tudo e mais alguma coisa sempre que o deseje através dos mais diversos aparelhos tecnológicos e utilizando as mais variadas plataformas de comunicação, como as redes sociais e os blogs, não deixa de ser particularmente penoso constatar que a ignorância, o dogmatismo e o fanatismo parecem também ser potenciados pelos meios que temos ao nosso alcance.
Com efeito, não é novidade para ninguém que as redes sociais vivem, em larga medida, das indignações fugazes. Há dois meses era a indignação de certa esquerda com Ricardo Araújo Pereira, há umas semanas era a indignação com um dos sócios da Padaria Portuguesa e, por ora, não me ocorrem outras indignações recentes, pelo simples facto de que são tão fugazes e, muitas vezes, tão patetas, que mal ficam na memória. Pelo meio, na forma, as indignações são sempre iguais: surgem rapidamente como reacção às declarações de alguém, têm um efeito viral nas redes sociais e geram barricadas que se digladiam furiosamente até, de repente, deixarem de o fazer – ou porque o assunto se esgotou, ou porque surgiu outra indignação ou qualquer outro evento mediático que capta a atenção da esmagadora maioria dos indignados.
O dogmatismo marca quase sempre presença nestas indignações, mas não é exclusivo dos constantemente indignados. Parece haver, entre muitos dos mais diversos intervenientes nos espaços públicos e políticos das sociedades demo-liberais, desde os mais aos menos esclarecidos, um dogmatismo que seria de esperar que os desenvolvimentos tecnológicos atenuassem, mas que acabam também por potenciar, talvez porque grande parte dos indivíduos viva em câmaras de eco, espaços em que determinadas ideias circulam, são reforçadas e não são questionadas e em que ideias divergentes são suprimidas, o que acaba por contribuir para a criação e/ou reforço de trincheiras político-ideológicas.
Não deixa de ser irónico que, sendo a filosofia moderna (e o ambiente intelectual contemporâneo) permeada pela dúvida cartesiana e pela impossibilidade de ter certezas, e quando tanto se fala em “pós-verdade” e “factos alternativos”, tantos pareçam ter tantas certezas absolutas sobre tudo e mais alguma coisa. De onde estas certezas vêm, pouco parece importar. Alguns socorrem-se da religião, outros da ideologia e outros ainda da realidade – como se pudessem ter contactos imediatos com “a realidade” e a pudessem avaliar objectivamente e sem referência ao enquadramento cultural que lhes fornece as ferramentas para a interpretar.
Naturalmente, isto faz com que o ambiente social e político se torne exasperante, sendo essencialmente uma arena em que os mais diversos grupos se confrontam sem que haja grande esperança de poderem ter uma discussão racional, sendo o debate político e moral reduzido a um confronto de vontades.
Provavelmente, pouco ou nada haverá a fazer quanto a este ambiente. Mas permitam-me terminar com uma nota de esperança, relembrando uma célebre passagem do ensaio “Philosophy and Politics” de Bertrand Russell:
The genuine Liberal does not say ‘this is true’, he says ‘I am inclined to think that under present circumstances this opinion is probably the best’. And it is only in this limited and undogmatic sense that he will advocate democracy.
What has theoretical philosophy to say that is relevant to the validity or otherwise of the Liberal outlook?
The essence of the Liberal outlook lies not in what opinions are held, but in how they are held: instead of being held dogmatically, they are held tentatively, and with a consciousness that new evidence may at any moment lead to their abandonment. This is the way in which opinions are held in science, as opposed to the way in which they are held in theology.