PERSONAL COLUMN

Backward into the 'seventies

CHRISTOPHER BOOKER

Two almost infallible rules for the observer of human affairs are, first, that people always think that the situation prevailing at present will continue indefinitely; and, second, that it never does.

There are few more appropriate moments for considering these truths than the turn of a new decade. In this century at least, we have become accustomed to the belief that each decade has its own distinct character; and not without reason. We all know what is meant when we talk of the Edwardian age, or the 'twenties or the 'fifties. And it is curious how consistently, not only have the closing years of decades proved to be landmarks, such as 1929, 1939, the turn from the 'torpid' fifties into the frantic 'sixties, but how very often that change of mood and character was generally unforeseen.

Some time ago I had occasion to look up the various prognostications made at the turn of the two most recent decades. At the end of the 'forties, the mood was one of almost universal gloom. Five years after the end of the war, Britain was still in the thick of austerity and financial crisis, the pound had just been devalued, the cold war seemed to be getting worse with every year, Stalin's Russia had just exploded its first atomic bomb, the Middle East had just been through one war between Israel and Egypt. and seemed surely destined for another. Ten years later, that pessimism had been suc- ceeded by the most radiant mood of op- timism accompanying any decade-ending of the century. In December 1959, the forecasters were basking in the euphoria engendered by the coming of affluence, the thaw in international relations symbolised by Khrushchev's visit to America and the com- ing of the space age.

Ten dizzying, unnerving years later, we might well be forgiven for studying the en- trails provided by all those present assessments of what life will be like in the 'seventies almost in the hope that they should be as gloomy as possible—on the grounds that the next ten years will then at least, on past form, be less catastrophic than general expectation allows.

So what is the general expectation for the 'seventies? At first sight, the degree of pessimism one may discern in many direc- tions seems quite hopeful. Everyone seems to be by and large agreed that the 'sixties were a party which got rather out of hand, and that in the past year or so, as we look around at the wasteland left by ten years of battered hopes, tired novelties and exploded illusions, there have been plenty of signs of a kind of shocked and exhausted hangover setting in. There seems to be a healthy amount of gloom in the way that, as the decade ends, the nightmare of 'pollution' has replaced 'participation', 'dynamism', 'growth' and all the other vogue words which expressed the dream-like optimisms of earlier years.

And yet, however widespread these predic- tions of the 'solemn', 'square', 'sane', poll- ution-conscious 'seventies mays be (so different from our dear, dead, foolish 'six- ties), the human race has an almost total inability to conceive that things will really be an iota different in the future from what they are at present. Thus we read with eager an- ticipation a 'seventies-predicting cover story

in Time which begins with the promising revelation by some astrologer that since 'the planet Neptune which has been under the influence of Scorpio since the mid 50's' will this very week be 'moving into the sphere of Sagittarius, the sign of idealism and spiritual values', we may look forward to 'a profound change in the way people think and act'. All of which sounds impressively revolutionary and novel, until we read on to some of the ways in which Time foresees that our newfound 'idealism and spiritual values' may be acted out.

We may look forward, for instance, in this utterly different new decade, to seeing more people seeking to 'share the hippies' quest for new freedom'. Young people, it appears, will demonstrate their awareness of the fun- damental change in things, by continuing to rebel—possibly joined (although Time is suitably ambivalent on this, as on many of its predictions) by homosexuals, women and old age pensioners. The gross national pro- duct, technology and the world's population will all continue to enjoy a boom. Sex will be 'freer' than ever, the stage and films will be dominated by (guess what) pornography, and 'the changed atmosphere will affect the arts as well, which may become ephemeral, in- stant, faddish, and instantly disposable'.

Altogether it sounds quite a break- through—but this touching inability to conceive of the future as any different from the present, also reminds us of those two other almost infallible rules for the observa- tion of human affairs—the first that people always hope the future will turn out better than the past, and the second that it does—more neatly expressed by the phrase plus fa change.

It is one of the great fascinations of the twentieth century that, despite its apparently extraordinary fluctuations and the ap- pearance of continual bewildering change between one decade and another, its basic underlying trends remain so remarkably con- stant. However great we may have thought the shocks and novelties of the past ten years, one has only to look back to the very earliest years of the century to find almost every 'new thing' exactly prefigured.

One thinks of Presidential assassinations and social violence: they had all that between 1900 and 1914—and more. One thinks of sit-downs and demonstrations: but have the protesters of the 'sixties ever equalled the cunning of those suffragettes

in Parliament Square, so that on the ap- pointed day the fuzz from the entire Home Counties were there waiting for them outside the Palace of Westminster—while the suffragettes themselves were marching un- molested down Knightsbridge, throwing bricks through every shop window? One thinks of technological breakthroughs—but were landing on the moon and transatlantic television really so amazing as the first men to fly and Marconi's first transatlantic taps of morse? One thinks of incomprehensible breakthroughs in the arts—Stravinsky, Schoenberg, Picasso. In Germany they believed that nudity was the only way to moral health, in Russia free love was argued with a conviction never since equalled, in Italy the Futurists glorified violence in their art, and conducted 'mixed-media' ex- periments, with flashing lights and trick cinematography, with a verve that makes the Arts Labs of today (or yesterday) seem po- sitively Victorian in their child-like earnestness.

The fact is that (as I have argued elsewhere) the twentieth century has con- sistently been dominated since its beginning by two halves of a gigantic dream. On the one hand, there has been the technological dream, whereby a scientific utopia is to be achieved through machines, ever-rising speeds, instant communications, and com- plete mastery over nature. On the other there has been the libertarian dream, whereby utopia was to be achieved by the progressive dismantling of all barriers, disciplines, taboos, authorities and conventions.

Admittedly the 'sixties have seen a great advance in the pursuit of both these utopias. But so has every other decade of the twen- tieth century in its own way. Admittedly, too, the 'sixties have seen a good deal more of the dream eaten away by its realisation; with the result that we are today going through another little trough in the general optimism (as we did on rather a larger scale between 1914-18, 1929-33 and 1939-45). But is there anyone who can seriously say today that he is wholly disillusioned with both halves of the dream, who does not believe that at least one or other of them have been broadly steps in the right direction, and that one day or another they will all work out for the best?

The only certain prediction for the 'seven- ties, whether it turns out to be a dull decade of exhaustion after the 'sixties, or to herald a slump, or a new world war, or any of the other possibilities, is that both halves of the twentieth century utopia will continue to be generally pursued, and that the disillusionment and nightmare brought about by their unforeseen consequences will continue to follow in their wake. To take but one small, fashionable example, it is in- conceivable that there can be any serious lessening of the dangers and horrors of pollution unless we show that we are actually prepared to make some genuine sacrifice of our technological desires. One cannot in- dulge in dreams without eventually paying the price in any field of human experience. When I read that some technological ad- vance has actually been given up—supersonic aircraft, heart transplants. the use of chemicals in agriculture—then I will conceive that a turning point from the path towards nemesis on a very grand scale is possible. But is it likely?

On which note, trusting that all predic- tions are wrong, and that I shall still be here to write the same article in ten years time, I wish all my readers a happy new decade.