Confessions of a reluctant centrist

I woke up at 6 a.m. the other day to record a video for an application. They recommended finding a place free of noise with a neutral backdrop. This task proved to be challenging. I was in Istanbul, a city I adore precisely because it lacks tranquillity and neutrality. At one point, my brother’s flatmate came into the kitchen while I was there and, as he prepared his breakfast, he began conversing with me about his robotics engineering career. We then engaged in one of those conversations that nourish me; the type that can only occur with someone who possesses a witty intellect. He expressed his prediction that soon, 80% of people will own a sex robot and will lose interest in genuine human interactions. His remarks caught me off guard—I hadn’t expected an engineer to have emotions, let alone be able to articulate them so well. He went on to discuss how he noticed, particularly in Western societies, that relationships tend to revolve around what he termed “animal consumption.”

My mind frequently makes associations that I find difficult to convey to others, which is why I write. In my writing, I clarify the rationale behind my thoughts with the greatest degree of accuracy I can achieve. Following that surprising exchange with an intelligent individual, I contemplated the statement “Everything is political.” This was a concept I once held in high regard. Still, as I age, I’ve begun to believe that certain areas of our lives should remain as insulated from politics as possible, especially given the current deplorable state of political affairs. Friendships and love, for example. This reflection prompted a “chicken or the egg” type of quandary. Do we have the politicians we deserve or the other way around? In an era that advances at such a rapid pace, I am left to wonder about the future of politics. Is politics prepared to handle the challenges of this era? I have a great deal of doubts.

This article feels like a coming-out, a moment akin to Bill Clinton apologizing for his liaison with intern Ms. Lewinsky, a time for botox admission. I appreciate polarities because I never see them as the final stop, as long as one keeps the will to reunite them. I view contrast as the only path to reconciliation. Those who refrain from dissent worry me; they seem like the Swiss of debate from the get-go. I’d rather be Iran or the USA first, and then, together, become Swiss. It feels as though those who abstain from stating a position are not more peaceful, just more cowardly. Dante placed the indifferent in the Inferno for a reason. Thus, it is very difficult for me to admit that I am a centrist.

When I was younger, I could have been likened to a union leader. My sense of justice was keen, and the self-preservation to ignore injustices was almost non-existent. As I grew older, I observed such hypocrisy among the “good-hearted” that I became radicalized in the opposite direction.

To me, centrists seemed spineless. I never even considered them; the thought felt like an insult. But I suppose that today, being a centrist is punk. Yet, where are the centrists? I have the impression that we are the majority, yet we are politically orphaned. Being a centrist, to me, means having common sense. I’ve come to realize I am an uncool centrist because every time someone comments on my newsletter, they get it wrong. My leftist friends say, “I just knew you were a closeted leftist.” Among the educated in metropolitan areas, they are the majority. A majority always wants to encompass the minority, I suppose. And my right-wing friends always assume I am entirely one of them: “I was sure you were one of us.” But I am not. I am open to holding completely opposing views on literally anything, and this does not discourage me. It affirms that I am thinking about each topic on my own. Often, I feel as if I’ve played everybody, and then the mischief of my essence is replaced by a sense of political orphanhood.

(Italy is in ruins…you are the evil, we are the cure!)

But is common sense appealing nowadays? Do we even like it? Don’t get me wrong; if there’s someone who loves memes, it’s me. I communicate through the edgiest memes out there. I hope we never reach the level of social control present in China because my friends and I would be in jail just based on the content of our common chats. But can a society be built on the foundations of meme politics? Politics has become ridiculous on both sides. It’s a race to the bottom. The question I ask myself is this: Do we want politicians to resemble us, or to present an ideal model for us to aspire to? This question is relevant across all spheres today. We live under the imperative of authenticity, but I am not sure that is a good idea. I do not want politicians to be like me; I want them to be better.

When I see Salvini grilling shirtless, as my neighbor might, it makes me want to puke. Similarly, when I see Elly Schlein awkwardly attempting to mimic us mortals who did not volunteer in Barack Obama’s two presidential campaigns in the United States, I can’t help but laugh. It is cringeworthy to the extent that it loses all comedic value. Ideally, they would embody a better version of ourselves, exemplifying dedication to a cause. Yet, I fear, we reside in a political world that is reactive rather than responsive.

“The authenticity of the feeling depends on the clarity of the thought,” said Dávila. And I have the perception that our leaders are lacking clarity of thought. Consequently, what we witness is far from authentic. Everyone is telling us what they are against, but no one is telling us what they stand for. In such a situation, all parties seem like different sides of the same coin. When I observed some of my friends applauding the mayor in Brussels for not providing any rationale for attempting to halt a conservative gathering last week, other than to “guarantee public safety,” it made me shiver. Prohibiting dissent, even of ideas we consider despicable, is a form of fascism. And fascism only begets more fascism. Mélenchon, who declares himself a communist, was also prohibited from speaking at the University of Lille last week. I find that equally objectionable. Are we to compete over who is better at silencing others? I believe that in such circumstances, the truth will only scream louder.

(“Let’s change Europe before she changes us")

(“Gender season”, I'll explain what it is, I feel more male in summer and female in winter)

I believe the quality of our democracy at the moment is worryingly low. We have degraded it by becoming intolerant, even in our private lives. It always irks me when I am treated like the eccentric uncle at the dinner table by my friends—when one tells me the church is full of pedophiles, that taxation is unilaterally for the greater good, that patriarchy is the absolute evil, and so on. But despite my disagreement with these pronouncements, when they invite me to organize another dinner, I am reassured that we have transcended mere ideas. We have forged a friendship that recognizes ideas can change and that we are able to perceive the humanity in one another. When a friend marries a belief that I consider complete nonsense, I ponder how that belief connects to their life story, and then empathy sets in alongside an analysis of why I also do not embrace that belief as my own.

I know operating in this manner is not simple. It demands time and is humbling for the ego. But with each passing day, I am more convinced that this is the only way to reclaim our collective power. Democracy is constructed in our private spheres. If all your friends share your views, then democracy remains merely theoretical to you. And practice is what sets you free from being an amateur.

Vilma Djala

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