vertigo

My reading matter at the moment is W. G. Sebald’s “Vertigo,” a strange and intricately woven book typical of the author’s compulsive interest in memory and his own origins. One short sentence struck me particularly forcefully, written of the year 1913:

It is curious to observe, added Salvatore, how in that year everything was moving towards a single point, at which something would have to happen, whatever the cost.

Of course, those words were laid down with the benefit of hindsight, but whereas ordinary peoples of the world learn by experience, politicians and the very powerful are too self-absorbed to heed such lessons because they seek only self-gratification. As a common person of the world, I recognise that the essence of Sebald’s few words can equally be applied to 2018, for I have a sense that today events are moving towards each other, like parallel lines converging at an impending vanishing point. Britain, Europe, Russia, Korea, the Middle-East, USA, China… meeting at a single point in time and space when and where something must happen. Something cataclysmic, because the energy of power must find an outlet.

For now, there is plucked tension in the air, a gravid deliberate suspense as though the plot of a film is ravelling and building towards an explosive conclusion. Those caring to look are witnessing the denouement of an incomprehensible political and demographic storyline – all we lack is the dramatic accompanying music to guide us. Although I can’t foresee the conclusion, I have the feeling that when the climax is finally resolved, as it eventually must, everyone involved will emerge into a stained landscape as if waking from a dream, and they will look around and say “what have we done?” and “what were we thinking to allow it to get to this?”

Before that, people of the world will likely be drawn into performing the most horrendous acts, some in enthusiastic driving seats, others as passengers allowing themselves to be herded towards internal abattoirs – but mostly (perhaps the worst of all) looking away and pretending nothing is happening because of apathy, complaisance and a fearful self-preservation. When it’s over, we will blame somebody else, of course, for how otherwise can we cope with the guilt? And we’ll all feel the guilt for a generation or two – then it will all start again.

Man's inhumanity to man is exceeded not only by the capacity to mourn (hands behind our backs, fingers crossed) but by our inclination to forget. I hope I'm not being prophetic, but I'm scared for my grandchildren's future. In the meantime, party on.