WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD
It has become a truism that we
are living in an age of political extremes.
A lot of media attention has been lavished, particularly in the de facto two-party state that is England,
on the re-emergence of socialism as a political force and the decline of
neoliberal managerialism on the left, as exemplified by SYRIZA’s rise to power
in Greece (if not its style of government in practice) and the surprisingly
strong performance of Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party in last year’s UK general
election. On the other side we have an
increasingly prevalent nationalist, nativist and authoritarian strain within
right-wing politics; see, for example, Viktor Orban’s “illiberal democracy” in
Hungary, the Law and Justice party in Poland and, on the other side of the
Atlantic, Donald Trump. But there is
also a third political tendency positing itself against both, and enjoying
electoral success in some countries.
This “Third Way” is a “radical centrism”, but a radical centrism which,
concerningly for political leftists such as myself, has shifted to the right in
two notable cases wherein centrist movements were able to form national
governments; Italy and France.
A political movement can be
defined as centrist because its policies sit consistently in an ideological
space equidistant between mainstream left- and right-wing thought, because its
manifesto comprises a mixture of traditionally left- and right-wing policies, or
because its platform is vague or empty enough that no judgement can be made as
to its overall alignment. The largest
party in this year’s Italian general election, the Five Star Movement (M5S),
founded in 2009 by comedian and blogger Beppe Grillo, is an example of the second
kind. The M5S’s electoral manifesto was the
eclectic slate of promises and affirmations you would expect from a party which
operates in large part on the principle of direct democracy (a form of
decision-making it advocates for the nation as a whole). Traditionally left-wing policies such as support
for same-sex marriage and measures to tackle climate change sat alongside a
pro-Putin foreign policy, Euroscepticism and no small amount of
anti-immigration posturing. Underpinning
these policies, the M5S’s campaign was characterised by the avowed
anti-corruption and anti-establishment standpoint that originally propelled it
to prominence, the idea that “politics as usual” no longer works.
The momentum this generated among
a disillusioned Italian public has now taken the movement into government. However, in order to command a majority in
parliament, the M5S took the decision to form a coalition with the far-right
Lega party, and the early months of the administration have been characterised
principally by the hardline anti-immigrant rhetoric of the Lega and its leader
Matteo Salvini, with the M5S offering precious little leftist action to
countermand this.
Last year’s big centrist win in
European politics, meanwhile, was the election of Emmanuel Macron as president
of France. Macron, a former investment
banker who served in the cabinet of the Socialist president Francois Hollande
between 2012 and 2016, ran on a platform he variously described as “neither
right nor left” and “both right and left”.
Macron’s agenda included socially liberal ideas (he is in favour of
equal marriage), but also economically right-wing pro-business policies that
pledged to lower corporation tax and “unblock France” by loosening the
country’s famously tight labour laws and making it easier for companies to fire
workers. How far you deem his manifesto
to be truly centrist depends on your own politics, but there is no doubt he was
treated as such by both the French press – Le
Figaro described him as a “radical centrist” – and French voters. Macron drew support from moderate liberal and
moderate conservative elements of the electorate, beating the candidates of the
two formerly dominant centre-left and centre-right parties in the first round
before comfortably seeing off the far-right leader Marine Le Pen in the run-off
(though many leftists who voted for him in the second round held their noses
when doing so, seeing preventing a Front National government as the most
important thing, as when Jacques Chirac defeated Marine’s father Jean-Marie in
2002).
However, since taking power
Macron has been criticised for a drift to the right, particularly on national
security and immigration; the very issues over which the M5S seem to have ceded
control to the far-right Lega in Italy’s new coalition government. The issue, then, that leftist voters who
plump for centrist candidates must face is this, as demonstrated by both
examples I have covered; that there is always a risk that the governments they
form will be, to adapt Macron’s phraseology, “more right than left”, whether
because the rightist elements of their platform become more prominent over
time, or because they must form alliances with conservatives to remain in
power. Left-leaning voters who voted
Liberal Democrat in the UK in 2010, only to see them go into coalition with
David Cameron’s Conservative Party and help preside over a brutal austerity
regime, found this out to their cost (including myself, I am ashamed to admit).
A good amount of attention has
been paid by critics to works of fiction featuring totalitarian regimes of the
extreme left (The Party in George Orwell’s Nineteen
Eighty-Four) or the far right (the Nazi-esque Norsefire movement in Alan
Moore’s V for Vendetta). But I’d like to argue that in our present
political moment, there’s interest to be had in examining a couple of fictional
politicians – one dictator and one would-be dictator – each of who espouse an
outwardly centrist platform. Harry Saxon
in Doctor Who and Masayoshi Shido in Persona 5 do not rise to power by
promising full communism, collectivism, a patriotic war, mass deportations,
brutal suppression of anti-nationalist elements, or any far-left or far-right
policy. Rather, they gain popularity
through an anti-corruption, anti-establishment “big tent” approach that draws
huge swathes of the public (socialist, liberal and conservative) to their side
while simultaneously masking the true nature of their political project. Both of these fictional works seem to
advocate suspicion of centrist political platforms on the grounds that
politicians that seek to appear as “all things to all people” may be doing so
simply because it makes it easier for them to seize power through electoral
success, and thus easier to execute a hidden agenda. It is this suspicion that left-leaning
voters, if they wish to guard their nations against the depredations of the
political right and far right, would do well to adopt.
In “The Sound of Drums”, the
penultimate episode of the 2007 series of Doctor
Who, the Doctor (David Tennant) and his companion Martha (Freema Agyeman)
discover that his nemesis, The Master (John Simm), has become Prime Minister of
the United Kingdom under the alias Harry Saxon.
Saxon is depicted as a wildly popular political outsider who has been
able to gain public shows of support from a wide range of political and public
figures, including celebrities like Sharon Osborne and the boyband McFly, and
the Conservative MP and latter-day Strictly
Come Dancing contestant Anne Widdecombe (someone whose endorsement, believe
it or not, would once have been a significant boon to an up-and-coming politico). Once established as PM, Saxon uses a summit
with the American president as an opportunity to seize absolute power by
killing the president, revealing himself as the Master, and calling forth a
race called the Toclafane (the degraded remnants of humanity from one hundred
trillion years in the future) to massacre one tenth of the Earth’s population;
a literal decimation. The series’ final
episode, “Last of the Time Lords”, set one year later, opens with the Master having
transformed the entire planet into a munitions factory from which to wage
unending war on the rest of the universe, with humanity as his slaves. The centrist democrat has taken his place as the most terrible of authoritarians.
Saxon’s appeal to voters is
framed not only in terms of his charisma – one character refers to him as a
“modern day Churchill” – and his status as a political outsider who excelled
outside of parliament as a top university athlete, novelist and businessman,
but in terms of his centrism. We learn
that he is a former Defence Secretary, but not whether he served on behalf of
Labour or the Conservatives. His
political movement is centred on himself rather than any political party or
ideology. In this, he is similar to
Macron, who ran for president first and formed an official movement later
(tellingly, his parliamentary bloc, En Marche!, shares his initials). We can characterise Saxon’s run for Prime
Minister as centrist in character because of a scene in which he meets with his
cabinet, for two reasons.
Firstly, a member of his front
bench outright tells him they have “very little” in the way of policy, implying
that Saxon’s manifesto was vague enough to appeal to voters across the
political spectrum. Secondly, Saxon,
just before he gasses his team to death, berates them as “wet, snivelling
traitors”: “As soon as you saw the vote swinging my way, you abandoned your
parties and you jumped on the Saxon bandwagon”.
The fact that he says “parties” rather than “party” is significant,
because it shows that his political movement was something that both Labour and
Conservative politicians could feel comfortable joining. Saxon’s platform must therefore be a form of
radical centrism hitherto unseen in Britain’s habitually polarised politics;
even at the height of New Labour’s “Third Way” years, defections from the
Conservative Party were very rare.
It could be argued that Saxon is
able to accomplish this rise to power not because of his centrist alignment but
through a rhythmic signal he transmits into the brains of Earth’s population; the
“sound of drums” from the episode title.
However, the Doctor explicitly states that the signal is not a form of
mind control: “No, no, no, no, no. It's
subtler than that. Any stronger and people would question it. But contained in that rhythm, in layers of
code, Vote Saxon. Believe in me. Whispering to the world.” The sound of drums, then, would not be enough
to propel Saxon to power, only to dull people’s inquisitive tendencies to the
point where they fail to question a biography the Doctor characterises as an
obvious forgery, and instead see him as a charismatic “saviour” figure. But why not use a stronger form of mind
control? Moreover, we might ask why the Master
feels the need to put on the Harry Saxon charade when he has an army of six
billion deadly Toclafane with which he could easily enslave the world without
having to go through the rigmarole of impersonating a human and getting himself
elected Prime Minister of the UK.
The answer to both questions
seems to be that the Master wants to prove a point to the Doctor; that the
humans he loves so much will willingly put a dangerous megalomaniac into high office
if said megalomaniac outwardly appears to them as a handsome, charismatic
figure, even if their manifesto contains little to nothing in the way of
substantive policy. In this way Doctor Who provides a critique of those
who vote for centrist candidates based primarily on their personality and assume
that when in government their vague manifestos will coalesce into an
administration amendable to them; the risk when voting for a centrist
politician is that their seeming moderate nature is just a tool to get them
elected, and their true agenda may be gravely oppressive.
This dynamic can also be seen in Persona 5 (2016), the latest RPG in the
popular Shin Megami Tensei video game
series. Put simply, the plot of Persona 5 is as follows: a group of
teenagers (and the obligatory anthropomorphic anime cat) known as the Phantom
Thieves find that they have the ability to enter spaces called “Palaces”, which
may be defined as the “distorted desires” of evildoers given physical form in a
dimension adjacent to but distinct from reality (the “cognitive world”). By battling and defeating malevolent “Shadow”
versions of these people within their Palaces, the team is able to “change
their hearts”, which leads them to confess and atone for their crimes in a
public show of abjection.
At its core, Persona 5 is a story about abuse of
power, and has some quite profound things to say about the way in which the
habitually rigid social, economic and political hierarchies within present-day
Japan create the conditions in which these abuses can happen. Our high school heroes are either social
rejects (two young men written off as delinquents, a brilliant hacker confined
to her bedroom by depression and trauma) or high-achieving pupils struggling to
cope with the dues exacted by their low position within the particular
hierarchy in which they find themselves (a promising painter, an aspiring
model, the heiress to a huge corporation, an honour student run ragged by her
responsibilities as class president).
The first few villains with which they do battle are figures who prey on
such vulnerable youngsters by exploiting the imbalance of power between them: a
volleyball coach who physically abuses his team and demands sexual favours from
its female members; an artist who passes off the work of his students as his
own; a petty gangster who extorts money from teenagers. In all of these cases, a distorted desire –
lust, the lure of fame, love of money – gives rise to a “Shadow self”. By changing the hearts of these characters,
the Phantom Thieves hope to redress the balance in favour of justice.
Eager to make a difference not
just on a local but a national level, and also to solve the riddle of a
mysterious figure who has been causing havoc in Tokyo by entering people’s
consciousnesses within the cognitive world and turning them into rampaging
maniacs, the Phantom Thieves turn their attention to bigger fish: a CEO who
exploits his workers, a detective who is less concerned with truth than with
securing a conviction. Eventually their
investigations lead them to the man responsible; an ambitious politician called
Masayoshi Shido (voiced by Shuichi Ikeda in the Japanese original, Keith
Silverstein in the English dub). Through
bringing the incidents to an end by bumping off the lackey who was destroying
people’s minds on his behalf, while at the same time pinning the blame on the
Phantom Thieves and having them locked up, Shido hopes to gain enough
popularity to become Prime Minister of Japan, and to maintain his grip on power
in perpetuity by using his mastery of the cognitive world to manipulate the
minds of his political opponents and turn them psychotic.
Like Harry Saxon, Shido’s professed
political platform can be described as centrist. Before resigning in order to launch his
candidacy for Prime Minister, he served in the cabinet of the Liberal
Co-Prosperity Party; a clear fictional analogue for the Liberal Democratic
Party, the right-wing party that has ruled Japan virtually uninterrupted since
its formation in 1955. However, his new
political movement, the United Future Party (a name which simultaneously evokes
an outward desire for compromise and its founder’s innate tendency to
totalitarianism), espouses a Saxonesque centrist platform centred around its
leader’s charisma and carefully constructed image as a political outsider. National security features heavily in Shido’s
election campaign in the form of his promise to bring the Phantom Thieves to
justice, which may suggest that Shido is running as a specifically conservative
“law and order” candidate (issues of national security generally figuring more
prominently in right-wing than left-wing manifestos). Yet the main tenor of his candidacy is
based on much the same appeal as that of the M5S, one which chimes with the
concerns of both leftist and rightist voters; politicians have become corrupt
and bureaucratic, “politics as usual” has failed, but a saviour has
arrived. His pledge to halt the mental
shutdowns functions less as a signifier of right-wing ideals than an example of
the sort of efficacy a Shido government can provide in enacting reforms that
will please and benefit voters of all stripes.
For the most part, Shido sticks to slogans such as “social reform”, “a
new future of dreams and hope”, “abundant wealth and luxury”; vague promises
divorced from any outward leftist or rightist ideology or even (as with Harry
Saxon) any policy details regarding how these would be achieved.
However, the mind control Shido
exerts exceeds that of Saxon. Whereas the
Master drops the “Harry Saxon” pretence as soon as he gains power, Shido’s hold
over his nation’s voters survives even his disgracing. Following the Phantom Thieves’ defeat of the
Shadow Shido in his Palace, the real-life Shido begins to confess his crimes to
camera, before his aides cut the broadcast and he collapses into a coma. Yet the public seem not to care, or not to
have noticed; their main concern is whether Japan can survive without Shido as
Prime Minister. Their faith in their
totem remains undimmed. Eventually the
Phantom Thieves discover the reason; that Shido is merely a puppet of an
ancient deity called Yaldabaoth, a self-proclaimed “God of Control” who hopes
to remove any agency from the lives of human beings, and sees a Shido
dictatorship as a way of bringing Japan under its heel. More alarmingly, we learn that Yaldabaoth is
being helped in this by a Palace called Mementos, a gigantic cognitive
structure formed by the distorted desire not of one man but the entire human
race; the desire to submit, to give up responsibility for their own choices,
their own lives.
It is for this reason we can say
that Persona 5 represents a less
stinging critique of the Macronesque “centrist outsider” politician than does Doctor Who. In the latter the electorate’s sin is
credulity. They vote in their droves for
one of the universe’s most dangerous evildoers because they can neither see
through his disguise as a smooth, charismatic young politician, nor his
content-free centrist platform. Doctor Who explicitly diagnoses centrism
as a tool by which a tyrant may attain power.
In Persona 5, meanwhile, it is
more complex than that. Its villain’s
nefarious plan shares elements with the Master’s in “The Sound of Drums”/”Last
of the Time Lords” – mind control, centrist politics as a mask for evil – but
what is different is the role of the voters and the origins of their love for
their would-be dictator. The game’s
story makes clear that humanity’s desire to give up control to Yaldabaoth
(through voting for his agent Shido) does not arise ex nihilo; it is a distorted
desire, an amplified version of what is depicted as an inherent tendency
towards conformity and disengagement.
The people of Britain in Doctor
Who risk their freedom (and lose it for a time) because of their susceptibility
to centrist politics, but the people of Japan in Persona 5 risk their freedom because of their susceptibility to
authoritarianism. In Persona 5 centrism is a symptom rather
than the disease.
However, we may say that while Persona 5 provides a less damning
indictment of slavish support for centrist politicians than Doctor Who, it offers a more pessimistic
view of humanity’s political atavisms, one which we should consider in the
light of Macron and the M5S. In Doctor Who the Doctor not only defeats
the Master through a standard contrivance of the show’s writers (the human race
restores his sapped power by believing really, really hard in him), he erases any
trace of his genocidal regime from history.
By destroying the “paradox machine” through which the Master made it
possible for the Toclafane to travel back in time and murder their own distant
ancestors, the Doctor rights the chronology and sends the universe back to a
point in time just before the Toclafane made their appearance, foiling the
Master’s plan. By contrast, when the
Phantom Thieves defeat Yaldabaoth through that classic method of destroying
evildoers (an epic forty-minute RPG boss battle), they are under no illusions
that they have sired a new age of freedom and political consciousness. The desire to submit has become un-distorted,
the Palace it created is gone, but it is still there. We are forced to ask; how much of Shido’s
meteoric rise to the brink of the Prime Ministership was down to Yaldabaoth’s
machinations, and how much could he have effected without the supernatural
powers of a god?
Therefore, let us once again
consider Macron and the M5S. This essay
has focused mostly on the “bland” kind of centrist platform, the “all things to
all people” manifesto so devoid of actual proposals that voters can imagine
that the candidate’s government will be to their liking. But what of the “melange” type, the platform
featuring myriad proposals drawn from different political traditions? Or, to put it another way, what of the
rightist tendencies within centrism?
What are we to make of the left-leaning Macron voters who voted for him
even knowing his right-wing pro-business, anti-labour policies? Or the leftists who plumped for the M5S
knowing that, as per Italy’s proportional representation system, the prospect
of them going into government with a far-right party was a very real
possibility? How do we understand these
voting decisions when leftist candidates and movements were available? Is the desire for submission to right-wing
authoritarianism more widespread among centrist and even liberal and socialist
voters than they themselves would like to admit? Was the sound of drums necessary for the
likes of Matteo Salvini to ride his anti-immigrant ethos into the corridors of
power upon a tidal wave of “radical centrist” votes? Did Emmanuel Macron need a Yaldabaoth?
And, most importantly, who the
hell are the left’s Phantom Thieves?
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