I'm thinking aloud here, conscious that this isn't as considered or carefully thought through as it should be — but at the present time I'm finding that I'm changing, rapidly and surprisingly, so my thoughts are evolving, are in a state of flux. But a comment about socialism and capitalism on a post from a few days ago has set me thinking, asking myself what do I really think and believe about political organisation.
I'm not really a broad-brush thinker; I live small and I work with detail. The bigger picture is not always apparent to me. My preoccupation is usually with the individual.
All my life my vote has been socialist — and I intend it remain so, for the sake of lifting up and protecting those who have fallen on hard times, or are inherently fragile, who will always need our help. I like tribes that travel together, and to achieve that you have to go at the pace of the slowest and carry in your arms the ones who get tired.
I do not admire hard-drinking idiots, or shiftless sneering shirkers, or sly opportunists who work the system to take advantage of others, or freeloaders of any kind. Of course I don't. It irritates me no end to see the people who go straight from the benefits office to the pub. I hate to see beggars whining for handouts from passersby to finance their drug habits. And I have had first-hand, up close and personal interaction with enough of such people to be very aware of what they are.
But still I vote for the kind of society that will pick them up and carry them, because otherwise what will they do? I cannot say hand on heart that I love them, but I firmly believe God does — so I vote in service of his love and his mercy that never fails.
This obligation, to vote for whichever system aligns most closely with the mercy and grace and kindness of God, is a non-negotiable and foundational principle of my life.
Now comes the "but". Yes.
But I am also aware that the one-size-fits all tendency of socialism is inadequate.
I was married a long time to a teacher who was the son of teachers, and all of them worked in the state education sector, in which I also was educated. All my children went to state schools, except for the brief year when I was chaplain in a Methodist school — a private school, therefore. Now that brought me some interesting and unexpected insights.
When we moved to a different Methodist Circuit, and had to find new schools for the children, I realised something I'd never noticed before. In the Methodist school, the private school, the front-and-centre priority was the interest of the child. The teachers, the school, the whole thing, was for the children.
This was not true in the state sector. There — this was spelled out for me very clearly — the priority was the interest of the school. This was also true in higher education. The children were for the school, not the school for the children. In the state sector I encountered a lot of intimidating and semi-threatening communications about the responsibility of the child to the school — attendance, homework, uniforms, all that sort of thing — and never (not once) any expression of the responsibility of the school to the child. Diametric opposite of my private sector experience.
So though, politically, free education for all is a socialist aim, nonetheless the expression of quickly becomes distorted in the social machinery as it plays out.
The same with health care. Because of the National Health Service, which offers free health care for all, I have had access to doctors all my life, and maternity services and free screening, all that sort of thing. But some of the advice I received was very poor, some simply inaccurate, and I have received more help from the alternative therapies I paid for than from the mainstream options that came free. I am tempted to digress into examples here, but that will take us a long circuitous route so maybe not. Suffice it to say it was not always clear to me if the doctors were there for the patients or the patients for the doctors.
And then, in politically organised social provision, to get any kind of help you need to jump through all the hoops. You need to be able to tick the boxes. Especially if you are neurologically atypical, this can leave you out in the cold, excluded from provision you need but cannot access because your doctor thinks s/he knows all about wellness and disability but in fact does not.
Plus, there are those people who simply don't fit the available categories. There are the poets who will become ill if you make them work in a factory, the people who just need to dance to their own music, live their own way. I am acutely aware of this because I am one of them. Non-standard people can suffer terribly within a standardised system, and standardisation is what socialism is all about.
I am in favour of freedom, and of responsibility — and looking back in time, I think those values were what the much reviled Margaret Thatcher prized as well. When asked by John Humphrys in a radio interview what she, as a practising Christian, saw as the essence of her faith, she responded, "Choice." Apart from anything else, to come back with so ready an answer tells me she must have done some heart-searching on the topic.
So, my values are conflicted. On the one hand I want education freely available for every child, on the other hand I think you get a better result teaching your own at home. I want health care available for all, but I think iatrogenic illness is a serious problem; and in my my own case, for the most part I've preferred the unorthodox solutions I've discovered for myself, over the options offered me by doctors. I believe in paying my way and choosing freely and walking my own path and finding my own solutions; but my vote is cast for those who can't or won't, because God cares about them.
One more thing and then I'm done.
Margery (she died in 2004), who was my prayer partner and halfway between my mother's age and my grandmother's (she was born in 1914) lived very frugally and gave with lavish generosity. Back in the days of South African apartheid she wired as much money as she could to black pastors and their congregations. She gave to the church, she gave to charities — but she also advocated keeping an eye out for people whose need fits no categories. Perhaps a young couple moving into an apartment of their own, stretched to the max to make their mortgage payments, but eligible for no relief; perhaps a woman recently divorced, who had been a wife at home, unqualified and unused to the workplace; perhaps a loner who finds society difficult and chooses to live in the wilds in a van — people for whom the normal provisions simply don't fit. She had a budget for them, the ones who slot into no recognised category of need. She would pray for guidance, and remark that the Lord had told her to send them £250, or maybe a thousand — Margery served a very generous and understanding God.
And I can't help but notice that those are the very people that both socialism and capitalism let down. They fall through the gaps. But as the Tao Te Ching says (Chapter 73), "The net of heaven is very wide. Though its mesh is coarse, nothing slips through." The way of Christ works with our reality. It starts with the child, not the school, with the person not the system. It meets our human need.
And the arena in which all this plays out is, of course, the Earth. In the end our wellbeing arises from a delicate interweaving of God's love from heaven and the health of the living Earth.
Why I vote Green, these days.
Margery was a very refined and educated lady, an artist and the daughter of a senior London tax inspector. At first glance people would assume her to be a natural Conservative. Indeed, during the run-up to a general election one time, the Conservatives out canvassing came knocking at her door, asking, "And can we count upon your vote?"
(This conversation took place in the very best cut-glass Downton Abbey English accents.)
"No," said Margery, "you can't."
Somewhat taken aback, they asked her why not.
"Because," she said, "I think you have encouraged us all to be very selfish."
* * * *
So leaving my life today — a reel of fishing twine and a carefully hoarded battery. I have nothing to say to or about them except "Goodbye."
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