Brexit Diaries: no bang, no whimper, just a sigh

The final act of Brexit came to pass yesterday when a portly politician with scarecrow hair and a sly smirk signed a piece of paper. There will be no parties, no fireworks. For most of us, whatever we think about Brexit, the dominant expression will be a sigh of relief that we’re spared the unnecessary torment of no deal.

It’s hard to imagine that the most significant political development in Britain’s post-war history would end up as a minor key change in a symphony of agony, despair and fragile hope, as ambulances line up outside packed hospitals waiting to deliver their patients, news bulletins announce frightening statistics and worried people around the country mutter through gritted teeth “just give me the bloody vaccine”.

A couple of decades ago, I co-owned a business that employed people in seven of the countries that still belong to the European Union. I shudder to think of the impact Brexit would have had on our ability to run such a business. Fortunately, I shall never have to find out. Even then, it was hard enough to keep subsidiaries on the right side, not only of the laws in the countries where they were based, but of the overarching regulations coming from Brussels.

But the grief that could only be overcome by armies of lawyers and accountants was always made worthwhile by the joy of visits to Dublin, Helsinki, Grenoble, Budapest, Rome, Brussels, Den Haag, Stuttgart and other cities where our colleagues worked.

That was then. If then had been now, perhaps we would muddled through, at the expense of a few grey hairs and strong dose of financial engineering. I’m glad we didn’t have to go through what thousands of businesses are dealing with now.

I suspect that for the next few months, after we’ve endured the inevitable stream of reports from borders, interviews with business owners and platitudes from officials in the wake of January 1st, things will calm down somewhat.

At the very least, I hope that the self-important ultra-Brexit faction in Parliament, who ridiculously refer to themselves as Spartans but whom I think of as Pharisees, will now revert to silence as they tend to their hedge funds.

The news media will be anxious to find stories in which COVID is not the main actor. No doubt there will be a steady drip of businesses bankrupted, jobs lost and people pissed off at the inconveniences caused by the sudden disappearance of privileges we took for granted – all those harmonised processes that made, for example, coming, going and working within the EU relatively straightforward. But we’ll get used to hearing of other people’s misfortunes, just as we have become desensitised to the deaths of hundreds of people every day at the hands of a rampant virus.

I find it rather poignant that people, such as the historian Simon Schama, who are urging the start of campaigns to return to the EU (I suppose we have to call them Rejoiners now) are of an age that makes it unlikely that they will live to see their wishes fulfilled. I’m probably one of them, but I prefer to wait and see what the EU becomes in the next few years before I take my elderly knees to the streets.

We’ll get used to Brexit, even if some of us will never get over it. Besides, at the moment we have more pressing concerns. So I suspect that it will only be after we emerge, immunised and relieved, from the pandemic, that we survey the wreckage and ask ourselves how much of it we’ve inflicted on ourselves. Perhaps we’ll grieve for what we’ve lost. But we will adjust, and slowly pre-Brexit and pre-pandemic will become a matter of historic interest and nostalgia rather than vivid memory.

And hey, we’re not at war, the sea level hasn’t yet rendered our flood defences useless. Before too long, barring another monster variant, we’ll be able to venture out again without looking around to see who’s watching us, behave badly with impunity, gather together without distance between us, shake hands, hug, eat together, visit the countries we’ve missed. We, the lucky ones, that is.

As I write this, out on our patio our resident robin is back, checking out the dormant roses. A welcome sign of continuity.

Thanks to everyone who’s visited this blog in 2020, especially to those of you who have taken the trouble to comment on stuff you’ve read. I’m sorry that much of what I’ve posted has hardly been filled with relentless optimism. Also that so much of my attention has been focused on a political side-show in my country when so much of greater long-term significance is going on elsewhere.

If the pandemic brings any reason to cheer, it’s because it’s given us, whether we’re in Antarctica or Albania, a common experience that reminds us of what we share and value as human beings. And the efforts of scientists of many nationalities who work beyond borders are offering us a way out of the nightmare. They also offer us an antidote to small-minded nationalism everywhere.

Wherever we are, we’ve made it thus far, and even if this year ends with a sigh, it’s in our nature to hope for better things to come.

Happy New Year, stay safe and see you on the other side.