Essays

How much evidence can we resist before we finally accept that our liberal democracy, in its British and American forms, is now exhausted? If the misery caused to millions by the Great Recession and our failure to punish its culprits were not enough, then what are we waiting for?

It happened in the middle of a frozen night in February 1991 as I lay alone on a bed in Duisburg, deep beneath the glow of Germany’s steel mills and chemical plants, slipping further into a nocturnal region that I could name only years later.

Where is the beauty in human suffering?

Until now, I’d always believed that 1989 would remain the towering landmark of my lifetime – a year that saw an old world crumple to its knees while a new one, younger and better, sprang to its feet.

We are at war. But the enemy is not who we think it is.

In the community of U2 fanatics I rank somewhere near the bottom of the pile. In my 47 years I’ve seen the band only 14 times, none of their lyrics has been tattooed onto my skin, and I’ve only met the singer once if you call a handshake and brief exchange of words a meeting. That I remember the exact place on my right arm where he placed his left hand is neither here nor there.

People who want the UK to stay in the EU usually belong to one of two camps.