The House That, Always Falling, Never Falls

Slowly the cryptic webbing of mortality and matter is easing its grip. I can feel it. The house is finally letting us go.

We are slowly packing up boxes of books, wrapping individual pieces of dinnerware in bubble wrap and cotton wool and foam rubber, and dismantling the shelving which was put up in the halls and rooms. The paintings are being wrapped in blankets, to protect the glass frames.

Nothing is going to be rubbing or scraping against anything else. The tug of war for utilization of available space is coming to an end.

The house is about 150 years old. A British construction, concoction, confection. A High Tea cake platter in stone and plaster.

It was an embassy a few decades ago. And rooms have been added to it, by us. Balconies festooned with stone scrolling have been walled off and given roofs, and made into more rooms, to house more and more shelves and columns and pillars and colonnades of books.

When we first saw this house, 25 years ago, it was open to the sun and the air. Windows were flung wide, balcony doors were stretched out to their fullest extent. Sheer, lightweight curtains fluttered in the breezes. There is a certain kind of translucent glass in all the windows, which filters the bright sun and diffuses it into a soft, radiant spray of light.

Dust from the endless roadworks, dengue, pollution, smog and mosquitoes have prompted the closing of the windows and doors. Curtains of a more substantial weight and density block out the stunning afternoon heat with its perishing blaze, that causes the plaster to splinter and fall from the walls and ceilings, like icing sugar.

A hubristic building company has forcibly erected a giant apartment block just behind the house. The garden, even behind its high walls, is no longer private. The plans for the towering apartment block were pushed through, and the digging of the earth for its foundations was so crude and rough it caused the houses around it to shake, and the ground to roll in swathes, like a ship in motion on the sea, like a tailor throwing taffeta onto a shop counter, and some walls of people’s residences were heard and seen to crack. Of course, there’s no compensation for this uncalled for damage available to be applied for, in a country with no safety nets.

The house looks solid, but is continually, invisibly threatened by generations and convoys of termites and white ants. There is so much wood panelling on the floors and on the grand staircase, with its proud, intricate, designs of acorns carved into the stair posts. Little lizards scurry along the walls, hiding behind paintings, and enjoying the chilly bursts of air conditioning which they unerringly locate to bask in, temporarily alleviating the unbearable heat, alert and on the lookout for slices of mango waiting to be taken to the table.

There are beautiful tiles on the floors, patterned like kaleidoscope images in dark, vibrant colours and diamond designs. There are carved apertures and inserts, above the doors, and high windows with clear, pale green and coral stained glass squares inbuilt, like crystalline Battenberg cake.

These bejewelled aspects glow in the lights of the lamps until their radiance dazzles the eyes. But now we are leaving, so as the light bulbs wear out, one by one, we do not replace them immediately, as we always used to do. It’s a message to the house, that we are slowly retracting the energy we used to invest. And the message registers. The house responds by slowly shutting down. Things gradually stop working, and the whirring and hum of life noticeably diminishes.

It’s exactly the way a human body’s major organs slowly, one by one, systematically, systemically, become unable to operate, afflicted and suffused with encroaching inflammation. What was for so long clear and fully operational gradually becomes congested and obstructed, and stiffens, and creaks, and staggers and slows down. Then comes the necessary purification: of letting go, of relinquishment, of release.

I was the last person in my family to come to live in this house, so everything had been moved into the rooms already. My boxes were decanted into the ballroom, and I cleared space for myself amidst the overflow of everyone else’s things, between establishing tentative connections with the contextual reality outside the home. It took me some time to stay still inside the room long enough to question how the various elements had been arranged. There were curtains which had not been opened for 5 years. A clothes rack had been moved in front of them. There was no reason for it to be there. I lifted it aside. Opened the curtains. Found old wooden doors, with glass panels and stiff, rusted locks. I bent and unlocked the lower locks, stretched and pulled down the upper locks. The doors opened out onto the balcony and the trees. What a moment, that was. I have sat for hours, on the step, since, listening and watching the rain.

The bedroom had been a ballroom, and stretches the whole width of the front part of the house, with a balcony which has doors which open out directly onto the top of flowering frangipani trees. The fragrance is both delicate and overwhelming. But the doors can only be opened for short periods of time, because of the baleful mosquitoes.

The back staircase had to be closed off and locked because unscrupulous staff members were found to be going through the rooms looking for stray cash which had not yet been folded carefully away in wallets and bags. There had been a verandah which overlooked a big tree in the back garden, where colored paper lanterns were hung for the Vesak festival. Over the years, the branches had to be cut back, or were felled by storms. A pink orchid suddenly irradiated into bloom last year, in an articulated pot hung from the lowest branch.

Verdigris grew on the brass locks and keyholes, and stained all the metal a sombre green which contrasted with the faded orange colour of rust. The salt breezes of a city located by the ocean fuses with the humidity of a country located seven degrees above the Equator to ruin books, which developed stains which looked as if they had been carelessly dipped in plain tea.

Small fat, irrepressible squirrels with striped tails habitually nest in the post box, and race up the tree trunks and across telephone wires, their tails upright like the swizzle sticks you put in your drink at hotels. They chirrup liquidly, thrillingly, like birds during their courtship season. If you leave the balcony doors open too long, they come and swing on the curtains and chew the tassels off to line their nests. Little opportunists.

One of the bathrooms is entirely tiled and painted in shades of green, and it feels like Venice. The water pressure in the taps is low, so it takes some time to have a shower, but it is more relaxing and soothing and far less aggressive than the power showers in resorts.

When it rains, the sound of the rain on the pottery roof tiles is rhythmic and cacophonic. The roof is really a big maintenance problem, as it covers many square feet, and when tiles are broken by heavy monsoon rains, the leaks damage the walls of the upper rooms. However, when the sun shines, the solar power is activated throughout the same broad roof coverage, and the electricity bills are surprisingly low. But you have to clear the gutters of broken branches, and you can’t allow the contents of ornamental ponds to stagnate and basins of water to collect, because they are breeding grounds for dengue mosquitoes.

Plants which have bright green, rounded leaves and butter yellow flowers which attract gold and white butterflies have been planted along the paths, so that there are lovely, gauzy dancing beings in the air, and in the evening there are fireflies, and night flowering scented plants exuding and diffusing their fragrance. It is all as diaphanous as organdy, all the veils of colors and textures and scents, multi-foliate.

One afternoon last year I looked up and saw a peacock on the balcony roof of the house next door. I hoped it would unfurl its tail, but it did not.

Like everything in this country, progress depends on not suffering too much detrimental impact during the storms. Absorbing the collateral damage. But the weather has become attuned to our states of mind - or vice versa - and we forget everything very fast. We understand that every experience is momentary. Have you noticed? You can’t hold onto anything in a climate like this: it very quickly becomes debris and rubble, whether it is a moveable asset or a feeling.

It’s really best to keep things light, and it’s important to regularly sponge off residue so it does not accumulate and become hardened into a layer which must then be cracked, with effort, and possible damage.

It helps that we have gathered together so many things over the years that it will take weeks and months to sort through the mountains of bags and boxes. We must not, whatever happens, succumb even momentarily to the overwhelming feeling of being besieged by things, and throwing swathes and slabs of possessions away without checking every box and crate thoroughly. The treasure and the trash must be separated, meticulously. Our whole existence has come to this: sorting, separating, winnowing, discerning, deciding. No machine can do it for us.

And things are found, in this sifting and sorting endeavor: many items with a fragment of memory grafted or embossed onto them. Some things were gifts, or souvenirs or mementos. Special events, sacred moments, held like insects in amber. Some cards for birthdays are found, still in their wrappings, written but never given, for some reason. Some letters sent by people who can no longer answer the telephone. A myriad things. Stepping back, away from the front line, we try to see the larger pattern which all these things are a part of. What goes with what.

Lateral thinking, applied to artefacts.

It is derailing and at times distressing to stop and read the letters, of course. Or the issues of the magazines which we had subscriptions to, or compulsively bought. Ephemera which our interest and attachment made into an entity taking up space in our home. Detachment is necessary, to see them as a resource, rather than anything more personal. They can be collated, and curated, and become a catalogue - an insight into the world as it was decades ago, a snapshot of the vie de temps.

There’s a sun catcher crystal in the shape of a star, suspended on a nylon string on the verdigris- stained lock of my balcony door. In the mid afternoons, the sun rays hit it and split into a dazzling swirl of colours, showing up the patina of dust and moisture which is distilled like a glaze onto everything in the room.

All the shiny, softly clanging brass bell wind chimes I hung outside on the balcony have rusted through. I find them fallen in the garden below.

It does not seem to matter when any of these things occurred. It’s always happening, the flow of currents in the house and around it - politics shouted from megaphones and the music of bread vans and the prompts and soft call of the imagined past and the dreams of everyone who has lived here, tinged with all the human feelings and sensory accentuations that the walls have retained, in imprint and indentation.

I feel that, as the rooms are cleared, the house is exhaling - and expelling us, and all memory of us. It’s too courteous and refined to brazenly let us see its sense of relief. But I can feel that the house is gathering itself back, free of our clamouring requirement of its shelter, now. The karmic ties we made with it are being dissolved: some of them being untied slowly by hand, some rapidly burned by moments of grace, or quick fire, explosive sparks and thrusts of anger and regret and anguish.

The places where the paintings have hung will be plastered over freshly, the little lizards will have to migrate outdoors, and the flowers in the gardens will bloom or die, and be viewed or ignored by others.

It’s all part of the natural, unstoppable process by which light is transformed into energy. It’s metamorphosis. It’s photosynthesis.

The day we leave, I know the house will finally be as beautiful as it was the day we first walked through it. Free of our clutter, filled with light.

Teach The Children Well

The events in Sri Lanka at the end of March, the powerful expression of public frustration, are largely being fuelled by the energy of the younger generation. Intelligent, articulate, computer literate and with access to social media, they know they deserve a more rewarding future than the one which they now face. 

74 years of inadequate governance have increasingly short changed them, and the society in which they are growing up is in many ways a broken one: economically, socially, and also morally. Corruption is so endemic; and short-term thinking and self-serving, opportunistic behaviour on the part of political and corporate leaders both in the public and private sector, is so widespread, that it is no wonder that many young people are forcefully protesting. 

Many who can afford to do so have already left the country, at a time when the value of Sri Lankan currency is at an all time low, and the cost of living and studying overseas for most families is prohibitively expensive. The brain drain today is worse than it was 50 years ago. 

Sri Lanka had adopted, along with its ‘Sinhala Only’ policy, an inward looking perspective, which in many ways saw international activity, particularly in the Western world, as disruptive and damaging of traditional Sinhalese culture. Yet as the country’s economic situation has worsened in the past several years, this insular attitude has been shown to limit the opportunities of the younger generation, not only to study and work overseas, but to conduct their professional lives within Sri Lanka at international standards of capability and effectiveness.

The current local syllabus in English falls far short of international standards of competency, and myriad tutoring establishments are run for profit, with the emphasis being on passive rote learning, rather than critical thinking or individual development. The ad hoc ‘education’ resulting from this approach to learning leaves little room for teachers to be role models or facilitators of moral instruction. Standardized testing and cramming for exams further breaks down any joy or sense of personal adventure in the education process, as young people seek to establish a foundation for their lives and professional futures in an increasingly depersonalized and isolating environment. 

WWI, known in its time as ‘The Great War’, is described as causing the loss of ‘the flower of a generation’ in Europe, a hundred years ago. But the current economic crisis, and its political and social impact, is the equivalent of that war, for Sri Lankan youth, whose ability to gain qualifications and access fulfilling careers, and achieve expression of the potential they carry is constantly blocked and impeded by the chaotic governance of the country. The country’s ongoing loss of citizens of calibre and commitment is immeasurable. 

As in any war, as we count casualties, there comes a time when we realize that we have to start being grateful that more lives were not lost: that many who were injured, will recover, once peace is restored, and go on to live productive lives. Miracles have occurred, amidst the terrible times, in which people have been able to make it through the wilderness, and take others with them. 

The LMSV (Little Minds, Strong Values) campaign was begun, founded by the renowned singer and composer Rukshan Perera through the support of Rotary, with the hope that the moral values needed for the proper functioning of society - ethics, integrity, social responsibility, empathy, tolerance, moral awareness and consciousness, and all the qualities of leadership - can be instilled in children from a young age, through the medium of music and song. These were values which were taught both at home, and at school, but as the structures of society have deteriorated and not been uplifted, through war and tragedy and its aftermath, active intervention now must take place to ensure that children today understand how important their personal engagement is, in constructing the society in which they live and work. 

The need of the hour is ethical and effective leadership, and the development of an informed and educated citizenry, who fully know their rights as well as their responsibilities. 

In answer to this need, people have created leadership initiatives to equip the younger generation with the skills and knowledge required to govern the country in the future. The Centenary Movement, the most prominent of these initiatives, was begun two years ago, and its first cohort have now graduated. 

The shallow consumerist culture of the past 15 years is giving way to a more serious mindset. Many young people in their twenties and thirties who have created a social media platform and a strong following, are now realizing that the best power derived from their influence lies in its intentional use for social transformation, at a time of urgent need in the country. 

Ayesha Ratnayake, who has just graduated from the first intake of The Centenary leadership programme, says:

‘The Centenary Movement is investing in the best hope for Sri Lanka's future - an educated citizenry. Capable youth from 25 districts are being provided with education in the areas of politics and governance, economic reform, diversity and inclusion, education, health and wellbeing, and the environment. This education is being provided at zero cost to the students and in all three languages. As a member of the first cohort, I am deeply impressed by the calibre of expert facilitators who have conducted sessions, and I am vastly inspired by the movement's noble vision.’

Members of The Centenary Movement made a statement last week, as part of a press briefing, listing the requirements and recommendations they see as mandatory if a positive outcome is to be reached, for young people in Sri Lanka. 

These requirements include:

• Daily bulletins and updates on government actions. 

• Rejection of all future social media bans, which suppress people’s right to be informed and aware. 

• Clear communication of the specific actions taken by the government to achieve the goals they have undertaken to meet, and a realistic timeline for this to be realized. 

Underlying these requests is the strong belief of this generation in the real value of participatory democracy: that for the public to be engaged, and to make the best political choices for themselves and their country, they must be educated, informed and aware. 

People who have self worth and self respect demand proper representation. So key to the requests presented are that political representatives of the future must be appropriately educated and skilled, and capable of performing their specific duties in their portfolios. And all representatives of the people must be accountable for their actions and inactions, and cleared of all charges or suspicions of unethical behaviour, as a prerequisite for service. A higher bar of ethical integrity must be applied to those who are entrusted with the sovereignty of the people, to uphold the rights of those they serve. 

In past years, Sri Lanka’s people were known throughout the world for their talent, dedication and professional capabilities. With proper infrastructure and processes of governance in place, this time with a conscious focus on ethnic and gender inclusion, the dynamic context in which this productivity can flourish will certainly be created.

Emergence v Emergency

Image credit: Kris Thomas

Many people in the international community are now waking up to the realization that Sri Lanka is experiencing an unprecedented phenomenon. And unfortunately, due to the media’s predilection for sensational news, the peaceful protests which began in the country two weeks ago are often being misrepresented in terms of violence, both in words and images. Incendiary phrases such as ‘police clash with protestors’ and images of individuals brandishing flaming torches evoke political uprisings of a physically violent kind, such as The French Revolution, or more recently - and to the shame of the U.S. - the failed attempt to ‘take over’ The White House on the part of the maudlin supporters of the outgoing 45th President. 

Perhaps the world at large can only understand protests in these violent and oppositional terms. Perhaps the consumers of television news are so jaded that they cannot believe that people can protest on just grounds for a better future without mayhem and property damage inevitably being involved. Most particularly, it is difficult for certain stereotypical mindsets to appreciate that the modern generation in their twenties and thirties can protest without self indulgence in the form of gratuitous violence, abuse of alcohol and drugs and promiscuity being their main focus. 

In Sri Lanka, the politically fuelled protests of the early 1970s and early and late 1980s are still alive in the memories of the older generation. Ethnic strife, cynically fomented by politicians with opportunistic agendas, has long been a successful ploy to keep the people disunited, and relatively easy to manipulate and coerce in predictable ways. 

This protest is altogether different in kind: it is apolitical, and although many political parties, companies and interested individuals are trying to ‘hijack the moment’ as observed by Roel Raymond, EIC of Roar Media, the protests have been clean and inclusive of diverse and pluralistic viewpoints, characterized by orderly conduct, community spirit and respect for the environment as well as respect for fellow participants. 

Sri Lanka has unfortunately often presented on the international stage in recent years in relation to natural and manmade tragedies and disasters: the decades long civil war, the tsunami of late 2004, the terrible Easter Attacks of three years ago. This regrettably  associates the country with negativity in global terms. In the present economic crisis, we are presenting as debtors on the international stage. 

But Sri Lanka has also long been associated with individuals of exceptional skill, dedication and talent, in many spheres of life, and it is the desire to create new context for the fulfillment of this positive potential that unifies all the protestors. The protestors are not exclusively young people: the mismanagement of the country has been ongoing on many levels for decades, and many citizens of all communities and generations have valid grievances, as clearly outlined in their statements on the hand made placards they carry. The protestors have created a space in which all voices can be heard. 

The ‘agitation site’ set out for public protest is growing in size. One of the most positive aspects of it is the focus on education: there is a dedicated library of resources available on site to inform all who wish to know about relevant political and economic issues pertaining to this crisis; and law students and economics students are conducting ‘Teach Outs’ which are public information sessions conducted via a public address system, to the crowds outside The Presidential Secretariat. 

It is important that the energy and vibrancy of the people power that is prompting this call for change is not distorted or wasted. Of all the sources of fuel currently available to us, the energy of the protestors is the most renewable. But it needs to be strongly supported and supplemented by the guidance of more experienced people who can amend the Constitution, and set in place the economic teams with the credibility and capacity to negotiate with the IMF and other international bodies, who require evidence of a stable political situation in the country in which they are asked to invest. 

A panel of 4 experienced public figures spoke about these issues yesterday, in a discussion facilitated by Hashtag Generation, discussing the economic, political and social challenges which the country must navigate in the immediate future. 

One of the questions asked of the panellists was about the need to select and appoint capable and qualified people for both public and private governance. The question was about education, and the panellists understood the phrase to refer only to formal educational qualifications. Dr. Radhika Coomaraswamy and Dr. Asanga Welikala both said that imposing formal educational requirements on ministers would be seen as ‘elitist’, and cited examples of past successful and effective leaders of the country who had not attended university, and did not have formal degree qualifications. 

‘Why should the country be deprived of capable leaders because of an insistence that serving ministers have a PhD from Oxford?’ was a rhetorical question that was raised by the panellists. 

In fact, the question was more about the need for education of a less academic but more practical kind: training in basic economics, finance, history, civics and law and governance: knowledge which recent serving ministers in the grossly oversized governing body have clearly lacked. This kind of education would be a bridging course that could be mandatory for all serving ministers, to ensure that they are capable of fulfilling their roles in governance in an effective and responsible way. And the people would have greater faith in those who represented them. 

The past effective but academically unqualified leaders referred to had only basic schooling, but - crucially - they experienced this education in the public school system in a former era of the country, before the standards of the education system had fallen into the brokenness and stagnancy which presently characterizes it. 

The protestors in Colombo are now being criticized as ‘the elite’, being English educated and thus seen, inevitably in Sri Lanka, as ‘privileged’. But if they had not had the opportunity to study English via Cambridge or London courses at O level and A level they would not be able to communicate their views internationally or gain professional qualifications and skills at an internationally recognized level of competency. 

On a material level, they would not have been able to earn salaries in Euros or USD, which would benefit the country at this juncture. Many have chosen to live in the country, and to accuse them of elitism and of only developing empathy for the ‘hot struggles of the poor’ because they have been directly affected by power cuts for the first time, is an easy way to denigrate and ridicule their participation. 

But the very ease with which this privilege of education can be used to diminish the current protestors itself speaks to the vital need for better quality education being made widely accessible in the country. To focus on STEM subjects only is to devalue the critical thinking skills and capacity for structured logical thought that studying the humanities offers. The brilliant Sri Lankans of past renown had the benefit not only of free education but excellent and broad based education. 

Via English, an international link language, and through advanced computer literacy as a result of their age, the protestors emerging today so articulately have been able to see beyond the borders of the country to see how other countries organize their lives, and cater for the well-being of their citizens. They have been able to see beyond the external differences of race, religion and socio-economic class which have always been invoked to divide and disempower them in the past. And they have been able to act differently based on this more expansive and less defensive vision, to begin to create a different outcome. 

Emergency was resorted to by past generations. What we are seeing today is a different response to crisis: from a more educated and aware generation. We are seeing Emergence. The emergence of a citizenry who have a sense not of spurious entitlement based on past glories, but of worth and dignity based on present capacity, and the desire to create structures of governance in which their potential can be fulfilled, not only to adorn their resumes but to benefit the country as a whole.

Indulgences

Hundreds of years ago, the Catholic Church had a system called buying ‘Indulgences’ - by which people who were planning on breaking a moral code or committing a sin could pay a member of the clergy to forgive them. This system was convenient for those with more money than others. It was also corrupt, on many levels. I suspect, for example, that the most highly organized could pay to be forgiven in advance, much as we today pre-pay the data plans on our mobile phones.

In recent weeks, as powercuts across the country increase, and food and fuel prices sharply rise, I have been thinking of other kinds of indulgences. How long can we continue to access the things we like, which are not at all necessary to life, but which add so much pleasure to it?

Online luxury delicatessens abound in Colombo - you can order manna from Heaven, in the form of French cheeses, Norwegian smoked salmon, Australian breakfast cereals, Italian cooked ham, and Swiss and Belgian chocolate, direct delivered to your home. If you can afford them, now the local currency has depreciated so much.

But items such as these are called ‘perishables’ for a reason. And many of them need to be refrigerated after they are opened and consumed within a certain period after opening. With the powercuts in areas of Colombo now being extended to 10 hours a day, stocking up on these items could mean a great deal of unfortunate wastage.

If your residence is fortunately located in an area which has enjoyed generally uninterrupted electrical supply, you are truly blessed. If not, you could consider investing in ‘3 in 1’ cooking equipment which enables you to cook multiple items simultaneously, so you can prepare your household’s meals rapidly in the increasingly short period of time between power cuts. And of course, food cooked fresh every day needs to be consumed the same day, to prevent it getting spoiled in the fridge or freezer. Also do consider using vacuum flasks to store boiled water so you can make tea and coffee between power cut periods.

We are learning spiritual lessons from this situation. We are learning that inequity is being encouraged, justified and - possibly - utilized and weaponised. People are being taught to be grateful for their most basic needs being met, and gradually in the months ahead we will forget about the life we previously enjoyed. Our expectations are being modified.

A full gas cylinder is a cause for celebration. Diesel fuel or enough petrol to run a generator is a matter for rejoicing. This is survival mode, and the idea of thriving is increasingly becoming a diminishing dream, and a fading memory.

While some people are standing for hours in queues for fuel and kerosene and litro gas, fainting from heat exhaustion, others are paying 15,000 LKR per head to attend splashy launches and glittering social events, in air conditioned venues bedazzled with fairy lights, telling themselves (and each other) that they are promoting local industry, stimulating enterprise and encouraging investment.

It’s high time we rename the resplendent land: it no longer even resembles a socialist democratic republic. It is a feudal society, and people are becoming normalized to that, and the hierarchies implicit in such a construct. Common ground is being eroded. We have returned to the time of indulgences.

Colombo is becoming a city like The Capitol in The Hunger Games. This has been a lengthy dimming of human capacity. For a long time, it seems that the country has been going in a direction of discouraging education, particularly critical thinking, so that a few members of the ruling elite can manipulate the citizenry the way they want. No accountability. No capacity to question. No respect. This benefits a visible few, but it is a terrible short selling of overall human potential.

What kind of brazen insouciance - what F. Scott Fitzgerald called ‘vast carelessness’ - enables people to ride past the fuel queues to their glittering venues of choice, order Creme de Brie with Italian crackers, and stack their walls with iconic paintings from the ‘43 Group while the country as a whole suffers?

Obviously all that is needed is a lack of empathy, and no sense of common humanity. Vanity, self aggrandizement and entitlement vie with each other for prominence in the character of such people. Even virtue signalling is not bothered with, anymore, or performative philanthropy. The optics don’t matter, because supremely entitled people really don’t care who is looking. Incurring public criticism on social media is the only tax they pay for the level of privilege they enjoy on the daily.

Is it a vicious game, like that played in domestic residences where narcissists drain their victimized spouses, daring them to stand up one day to the prolonged abuse to which they are daily subjected? How can people stand up for themselves, and their rights, when their spines are broken?

Divide and conquer is a basic and successful strategy, which has been implemented by generations of leaders in countries all over the world. Divide and estrange the people from each other, and they will be easy to stir up into predictable factions. Conquer them by exhausting them: depleting their resources, restricting their access to daily necessities, devaluing their economic resources - and eventually their will to fight for their eroding rights will also weaken.

We are being trained to live from day to day. Forgetting the past, and not being able to envision the future. Short term thinking is characteristic of cave men and criminals. Strangely, the Californian gurus who encourage us to ‘live in the moment’ may be our true guiding light in these darkened days.

The plus side is of course that if we adjust to a simpler existence, sans Brie, sans pannacotta, sans Parma ham, we will become healthier. We will start to appreciate the simpler things in life, purely because all the complex and sophisticated things have been removed from our ability to access them. Like the most primitive ancestors of the human race, we will just be glad to be alive.