Back in 2019, as the arguments about exactly how to implement the Brexit vote were polarising the UK, I signed up to a scheme that brought together Leavers and Remainers to try to foster mutual understanding.
I voted Remain and was paired with Leaver Alan, a retired engineer in his early 80s, and we met, three times, in our local library.
I decided at the outset that I didn't want a debate – the vote was done and dusted and the dramas in Parliament were evidence enough of the complexities packed into that simple Leave-Remain question.
But I did truly want to understand, if I could, why someone would vote for a course of action that I strongly judged would bring the country, not just no benefit but actual harm.
Meet Alan
Alan was open and friendly, with an energy that belied his 80+ years. But his age was significant, I realised as our conversation developed, because his view of the world – and especially the UK – was shaped by his direct experience.
He was a child during the Second World War, an adolescent and young man during the period of postwar rebuilding. And then he went to live and work for many years in southern Africa.
On his return he found a different – and, to his eyes, much diminished – country. The energy, the optimism, the ability to build and get things done – all had gone, he thought, thanks to rule by the faceless bureaucrats of Brussels.
As we talked and I challenged him on specifics – every gripe he had about the EU he agreed, after some discussion, was actually a decision taken by successive UK governments – it became clear that, fundamentally, for him none of the detail mattered.
The triumph of faith
At root, for Alan his vote was an expression of faith in his country. In the story of his country.
We'd stood alone against the Nazis (and he was there), just as the Elizabethans had seen off the Spanish Armada.
We'd then rebuilt the country, with the same enterprise and ingenuity that had built the Empire.
We certainly didn't need the EU telling us what to do. In fact, it was holding us back.
And even if there were bumps in the road ahead, we'd come through as a nation stronger and better than before – just as we've always done.
It took us three conversations to bring us to this point of clarity and we parted on good terms, agreeing to disagree. And for me, at least, it was mission accomplished. I understood more at the end of the process than the beginning.
Understand first
Which was what, exactly? Well, I understood that
simplicity trumps complexity
'story' trumps facts
lived experience trumps everything
and there's no arguing with faith.
All of which is a massive generalisation, of course, and if I were being more accurate I'd say something like
for some/many of us simplicity is often more persuasive than complexity
for some/many of us a coherent 'story', with strong emotional resonance, is often more persuasive than facts
for nearly all of us perception/memory of our lived experience is our basic and pretty constant reference point
and it's very difficult – but not impossible – to shake an opinion based on faith, especially when it's about an uncertain future.
Each of which statements merits its own blog post.
The value of the process
But perhaps the most important thing I understood was the value of the process itself – dialogue, creative conversation, call it what you will.
I doubt that I'll ever see Alan again; sadly, he might even no longer be with us. And much as I disagreed with him, he's helped me understand – at a personal level – a key aspect of a seismic national event whose aftershocks continue to be felt.
People want to feel positive about their country. And that desire can shape how they view the world.
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