consensus - part 1

This is the first of three parts of a longer short story - about 6000 words - that I wrote some time ago and have revised.  It was originally meant to be the final part of a series of episodes that together told a speculative fiction narrative.  When I did the challenge, I wrote influenca, which is something like I imagined the first part of that narrative would be.  new consensus is also on a related theme

I like my interrogators. No, really, I do. Admire them actually. They’re pretty focused guys, you know. I always liked that in people. No messing about. Not that I’m supposed to call them interrogators, of course. The Consensors wouldn’t like that.

Sometimes it feels like the confessional, actually. More than like a criminal confession. l think, behind all the pseudo-psychological mumbo jumbo they are trying to make me admit they were crimes, but it’s not working: I still feel that l was acting in the best interests at the time. l try to get that over but they’re having none of it. Politely, firmly, but no. Well that’s the young for you. They lack perspective. They can’t see what it was like then. No-one really foresaw what would happen 30 years ago — or if they did they were voices in the wilderness. I wish I’d had a crystal ball — of course the fact is I didn’t and politics is — was — all about the art of the possible. They keep banging on about short termism — the bigger picture. I always played to my strengths when l was in power. I tell them I always talked about the bigger picture. Not big enough, they say. And maybe they’re right. But if I’d followed some of the whackier ideas out there then, I’d have been out of office in no time.

It would have meant putting the country on a war footing —strict control of production, commandeering property, rationing even, just like the Second World War. For what? An idea about climate change? A theory? And even the worst predictions then were nothing like the reality since. Even if I thought of taking it that far, no-one in the party would have gone along with it. Never mind the press. And the voters would have laughed me out of office. But my charming young questioners can’t see it. They just can’t.

They dig up some speech or some scribblings from some obscure guy at the time, someone I’ve never heard of, and say Why weren’t you listening? But the climate was just so much different then. Climate! Ha, that’s funny! I did bang on about climate change. I was the first to make a difference, I tell them. They say I just made noises. No, there were real changes, I say. Gestures, they say. They can’t see it.

They call me ‘Old Guard’. l have to laugh at that. That makes you the New Guards I say to them. We are not guarding you, they say, we are guiding you. Sometimes they can be quite humouriess. They’re not good with jokes. Guiding me to what? Enlightenment? A better understanding? To an understanding of history, they say; to an understanding of reality; the need for sacrifice. I get uneasy when they talk about sacrifice — and the intense look they give me when they say it. It’s like a re-education then, I say. Like the bloody cultural revolution.

Still, it could be worse. They're not the Red Guards; not the Taliban. Not even like our own interrogators in the old day, from what I hear. But you could be worn down by this more subtle approach They seem to have all the time in the world. But I'm not letting it get to me.

I wonder how Dave is bearing up.

It’s like a War, they say. And the thing is, they cast me as the Appeaser. Me. The Neville Chamberlain of the 21st century. The War of the World. I wonder who thought that one up?

They don’t let the mask drop much. It’s clear that they are angry though. They try to control it but I can tell. It’s got worse recently. I suppose they thought they would have broken me down by now. Every day, seven days a week, the ‘guides’ appear on the telescreens. (They hate that term, reminds them of 1984, so I keep winding them up with it.) I do give this to the Consensors: they really can tow the party line. Whoever is on the screen that day, they always manage to follow the same line. That’s what their philosophy is all about, I suppose. l wish I’d been able to control my Cabinet like that.

They are quite well educated in a wiki sort of way. Whenever I drop in a reference they can be relied on to understand it, within a short time anyway. I suppose there are many others researching behind my interrogators, feeding them information. Given that none of them is over say 28, all too young to remember my time in office, they know, or can access, a lot about it. But they must have been well briefed, or be history specialists. Funny to think of my life now as ancient history, but that is what it is.

The trouble with the young is that they can be condescending without realising it — and it makes me feel so old sometimes. Hell, I am old. And they start in about sacrifice again. Without saying it, they imply that my life is over, what’s to lose?

And when they finish for the day I sit here and think: yes, what else is there for me? I miss the family of course. At the end of the day they were more than anything to me. Despite appearances some times, and the hundred hour weeks, and the weeks I didn’t see them at all, I did it all for them. Or I thought I did. But now I think, why was I so driven? Why was I so certain I had to do that? And was it worth it? Why did I seek public service? Sometimes I think to myself, maybe I did it for me. To prove myself. Or to set my place in history? Well l fucked that one up, didn’t I? But then, I know I was never the do-the-minimum kind of guy. l would never have managed a nine to five and get back home to play with the kids sort of life. But it was a sacrifice.

So I say to them, I’ve already sacrificed a lot. And they say, life involves sacrifice — and we can always sacrifice more.

There's been a hurricane the last few days and even in here you’re aware of it. I think it’s been bad again but they don’t tell you much. A few of the regulars on the telescreens and in the centre were missing and the food has been a bit limited. I think their hydroponics station was damaged. When there’s a hurricane, though, it always gets me down and I start to feel guilty again. The ‘guides’ have been playing on this lately. They keep making me go over those horrible days when the first hurricane hit Britain.

Today I actually broke down for the first time. Thinking about my dear wife and the kids of course. If I’d taken them with me when I went to the Brussels conference... O, you know, all the questions I’ve asked a million times, all the scenarios we played out. What if they’d stayed in town, what if they‘d left an hour later and had to turn back. What if I‘d called them and told them to stay in the basement? But they wouldn’t have survived the radiation even then? What if we hadn’t rushed the building of new energy sources? What if I’d checked the designs were hurricane proof? But they were: the inquiry said so, it was just a flaw in the structure. And I couldn’t check everything. What did I know about designing nuclear power stations? What if, what if, what if...? My head knows I’m not to blame, but my heart ...?

There’s a particularly persistent ‘guide’ that keeps rubbing at this sore on my conscience. American accent. She seems more intense and harsh than the rest. She tries to use the death of my family that terrible day — that’s what I can't stand. Yes, I understand what it’s like to have tragedy. Yes, my family died because of mistakes made but I didn’t make it happen. I am not the guilty party. But deep down, yes, I do feel guilty — and she knows it. And that’s why I broke down. Reap the whirlwind. Didn’t you reap the whirlwind?

And then she widens it. Yes, millions of families have had tragedy in their lives and yes, much of it was to do with global warming — and l don’t blame myself for them — it‘s not something that I alone could have stopped. Yes, 50,000 maybe were affected by the Dungeness E disaster, half of Kent abandoned. But no, I'm not going to accept it’s down to me. Not even this. Not even the loss of my own family.

O and there’s been a lot of talk about redemption lately too. Almost more than about sacrifice. Where are they going with all this? What’s the point?

I sometimes get a glimpse of some of the others when I go to the centre. Finally, I caught sight of Dave. They brought us both in at the same time. Poor old chap’s gone a bit doolally. He always was a bit highly strung but he wouldn‘t be strong against this intense buffeting by the ‘guides'. I was able to sit with him in the centre at lunchtime but he hardly spoke — he wouldn’t even look me in the eye.

I still can’t get over this thing where we all sit down together, the guards/guides and the inmates/whatever we are called. (I asked them: if it’s not inmate, what do you call my ‘role’? And they said, You don’t have a role, you’re just one of us. One of us! Could l do the interrogations then?, I said. They are not interrogations, they said, for the umpteenth time — they are ‘exploratories’ and of course you can ask the questions too. That’s what it’s all about. Exploring your attitudes, and the more you question yourself the better. It’s like trying to argue with jelly.

The interrogation - I’m not supposed to call it that - the ‘guiding’, is it? Anyway, whatever it is, it seems to be turning a bit more aggressive. I must admit the last few days I have been getting a bit shrill. When I’m in the ‘guiding’ room I somehow feel all those eyes boring down on me. I wonder how many tune in to see Old Guard have his wizened old face rubbed in it? Perhaps they have been influencing the questioning. Well, they have of course; that’s how it works now. Sometimes I feel quite intimidated by knowing so many are out there watching this, layer after layer behind the faces of my ‘guides’ that I actually see.

Sometimes I am glad to be able to show them how l feel — maybe that‘s why I am getting a bit more argumentative, to show them, get my message over. I was always good at that, and somehow I think I can maybe influence the Consensors. Persuade. Just like I used to do in the old days. I guess Saddam felt a bit like that — or Pinochet — or Eichmann. Not that l — yesterday I stupidly said something about Saddam. Are you comparing yourself to him?, they said. How dare you? He was a monster, I said. They just gave me those stares again. They do: they really think l’m a monster, and they want me to admit it.

What do you think of consensus?, they asked me this morning. Well it’s how I always operated when l was in power, I said. They laughed at this. Which is rare. How can you be in power and operate a consensus? You are controlling things by definition when you are in power. Well, but consensus was different in those days. We didn't have this technology. I would take the consensus view, of the Cabinet, the party, of the whole electorate via general elections sometimes and… And then do whatever you wanted. It was the American woman again. l thought that was a bit out of line from their normal indirect approach and I notice she wasn't on screen this afternoon. Isn’t that the whole point of the old outmoded ideas of leadership and management and power?, she went on. We’ll have to agree to differ on that one, I said. There is no differing now — that’s the wonderful thing about consensus, she said, with the shining eyes of a fanatic. Then we’ll have to come to a consensus to differ, I said. One or two of her colleagues almost smiled.

Don’t they realise there will always be those that lead the way and those that follow? The original thinkers who have the ideas will always be around. That’s why we called them the Consensors when this whole system emerged. There are always leaders, sometimes despots, sometimes — I hope most times — benevolent. They hate that term Consensors by the way. It implies there are hidden individuals manipulating their nice new system. There is only The Consensus now, they say. A true consensus reached by voting, and that everyone then benevolently falls in line with. If only.