When reality meets fantasy, what next…
The UK runs the risk of failing to see the reality because it is too willing to invest in fantasy.
Politicians, councils, leading industrialists and tech-focused businesses are desperate to believe the tech revolution, the AI-embossed future, the billions it attracts in investment, and the trillions it will generate in profit, opportunities, transformational change and future readiness will save them.
They cannot focus on the reality of the failing infrastructure, the bleak future of traditional employment and the depression of the constituents in a world where, if you are not Google, Meta, Musk or the next would-be tech giant, you are not worthy of attention.
The world seems to be in a holding pattern of waiting to dump everything we have ever relied on for something we have to imply we understand. The smoke, mirrors and elaborate explanations are embraced, not because they are understood or delivering, but because those supporting the rhetoric, those who have lent their megaphone to the next big thing, are too stupid to challenge or even stress-test the validity of what they are being told and desperate for something that will maintain them in their untenable position.
We have analogue leaders in a digital world, blind desperation in the land of the one-eyed snake-oil sellers and the Emperor’s Clothes in a world of Ponzi schemes, pyramid selling and say-anything-because-they-know-nothing relationships between the clearly insane and the clearly incapable.
When we are told the old way won’t work and the new way will quickly be upon us, people seem desperate to get on board that ship, the ship without a rudder, a captain or even an ocean. There are meetings, investments, huge investments to accommodate the establishment and growth of this future we must all grab now, before it is too late and the ship has sailed.
Investments come in many forms, in time, energy, promotion, infrastructure, goodwill, hope and expectation. Raising voices to champion, propel and introduce. Opening doors to boardrooms, bankers and backers. Opening us, the population, the mugs, the deaf, blind and not-in-the-room backers of this insanity is not simply a case of false claims, wasted time, resources and energy; it is much more sinister.
Every moment, penny and word directed to these fantasists is at the expense of the reality of us all. The people seeking a better wage so they can feed their family or pay their mortgage, the education system where children are almost forgotten, the health care system; crumbling and in danger of death, the roads where the holes threaten to swallow the vehicles, the public transport system, the politicians and councillors, the empty shops, the unaffordable housing, the derelict, the hope, the unwelcome refugees, the crumbling heritage, the forgotten lives of the ordinary people.
This is what is being sacrificed on the altar of the fucking future, a future it is increasingly clear is not for us, it is built on us, it sucks the life from us for its parasitic existence, but we are not welcome, the table is full, the profits are divided, the future is theirs.
While it sounds apocalyptic, and it may well prove to be, what they have all failed to notice, both the leaders and the led in this parade of fantasy, is that there are no winners, there is no substance, it is all bullshit and ultimately the energy invested, the doors opened, the people duped, the billions, trillions, quadrillions, quintillions, the tech-future will drain the human and deliver nothing tangible.
But today, in the world we actually navigate, the one where we too are asked to set aside the critical voice and swallow whole the wisdom of the tech-heads, all the while allowing the things important to us to die on the vine, to depart so completely they can never return, to accept things will get worse, they have to, they are dying to make way for the better future we are all going to have.
The AI world where we are not hollow shells, poor beyond anything we have experienced, with no need of all those human capabilities, resources and wonderfulness we have hence thought were relevant, important, beautiful. Where we don’t need education, AI will deliver jobs or incomes simply without the need for labour, making, creativity in the physical world. We do not need to know the answer; our phone will tell us. We don’t need a voice, our phone will speak for us, we do not need to drive, the car will drive for us, we do not need to bend and fasten our shoes…We do not need, we are not needed, we are in the way of progress, we are demanding they share, our needs do not align with theirs… we are
We have arrived at our future, the road ahead for us is short, there are a few paths for a few people, those who know what is best, those directing the vehicle, those writing the next step, but for us, the many there is no future, our paths are being closed daily and we will just need to await further instruction as to what to do next.
We will not know if what we are told is right or wrong, good or bad, true or false, because we long ago stopped questioning the bullshit, not opposing the progress, so not noticing we had nothing but the promise of more, had no one listening to our concerns, working for us or caring for or about us.
So there is no money to save a small weaving shed that could be a community centre for the residents of Mossley, Greater Manchester. There is no place on anyone’s agenda to champion the cause of the volunteers working tirelessly to breathe new life into the humble building, no bandwidth for the story of its future or the stories of its past, no space at the table, no money in the budget for this small project that would deliver a safe, creative, thrivingly happy space for local people to enjoy. It needs a voice, space to breathe and a small sum of £300,000 to deliver something.
But it is a victim of the modern world where Chris Kenna is hosted, fêted, supported and championed without any question, where homelessness is now an accepted fact of life where once Andy Burnham said it was solvable, but what of homelessness, broken buildings and derelict lives where those with the voice, the seat at the table are fully invested in themselves and the fantasists with stories they can sail away on.
What next for us?
