Society

 

What are we to do?

 

Walter Humes

 

John le Carre's latest novel, 'Our Kind of Traitor', provides a fascinating, but deeply disturbing, insight into the state of the world. It is a world in which crude self-interest, fuelled by a desire to obtain indecent sums of money, creates a flourishing international network bringing together corrupt politicians, greedy bankers, unprincipled lawyers, slimy 'fixers' and psychopathic 'enforcers'. In other words, it is not exactly an everyday story of country folk.
     Institutions which are supposed to ensure that certain standards of public morality are maintained – such as parliament, the civil service and the press – are shown to be fatally compromised. This is no old-fashioned story of good and evil. Avarice, fear, blackmail and torture are not confined to the Russian mafia but extend their tentacles globally, reaching into the heart of establishment London, the distant shores of the Caribbean and the cool mountains of Switzerland.
     It is, of course, only a story, a work of fiction. But the tone and style of the narrative convey the real anger and passion that fuel the writer's imagination. As with most of le Carre's other novels, the role of the intelligence services is central to the plot. An opportunity to expose a colossal money laundering operation arises. What should the official line be – seize it, or worry about the diplomatic fall-out? One of the central characters, Hector, a maverick MI5 officer of the old school, is in no doubt about the urgency of the situation. He says: 'Government's a f*** up, half the Civil Service is out to lunch. The Foreign Office is as much use as a wet dream, the country's stony broke and the bankers are taking our money and giving us the finger. What are we supposed to do about it – complain to Mummy or fix it?'.
     Working with a young couple newly recruited to the intelligence service, Hector attempts to 'fix it'. Inevitably, given le Carre's bleak outlook, they fail, thwarted by bureaucracy and the internal machinations of other intelligence personnel, as well as by the brutal techniques of the career criminals and their ruthless associates.

 

     It becomes impossible to draw moral distinctions between the front line operatives, the bankers and lawyers who ensure that the proceeds of their activities are protected (for a not-so-small consideration), and the shadowy figures in government who take a share of the action and turn a blind eye, or are simply too scared to do anything. If this work of imagination is to be taken as even a partial representation of what is happening at the top of cool Britannia, it might tempt us to a sense of hopelessness – and a conviction that we are not much better than Berlusconi's Italy.
     So what, if anything, can ordinary people do when confronted with the latest example of official gutlessness or venality? Grab a sick bag and hope that the nausea will pass quickly, shrugging in the Italian manner? Or, following Hector's example, reach for a metaphorical Kalashnikov, hoping to do some damage to the perpetrators, even if the chances of bringing down the whole House of Cards are remote? However, the Kalashnikov image, while it may express the depth of public outrage, is seriously compromising. Real Kalashnikovs are Russian manufactured, mafia distributed, imported with fake licences, and made available locally through dodgy contacts in the underworld.
     Metaphorical ones would be subject to the same processes of contamination: lone crusaders, or small groups of protestors, in order to gain a hearing with any prospect of being listened to, would have to strike deals, make concessions, trim here, dodge and weave there. In other words, they would have to get their hands a bit dirty. And, as we know from the experience of whistleblowers inside and outside government, the gun is as likely to be turned on the messenger as on the bad guys.
     Perhaps it is despair at the seeming impossibility of changing a system that appears incapable of reforming itself that explains the alarming attraction which some people find in various forms of fundamentalism. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to content ourselves with the cathartic release provided by good writers such as le Carre, who see what is happening and vividly represent it in their clever, but unsettling, novels.

 

Prior to his retirement Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland. He is now a visiting professor of education at the University of Stirling