One peruses the daily dispatches from the global news wires, as I am wont to do, and one might be tempted to conclude that the world is in a state of perpetual, kaleidoscopic transformation. Indeed, the superficial evidence certainly points to a relentless novelty: a Venezuelan Chavista expressing dismay at the embrace of Trump, a K-pop star ensnared by military service laws, the sudden demise of a Zimbabwean tycoon by rather dramatic means. Yet, upon closer inspection, beneath the glittering, often ghastly, surface, one finds not so much change as an insistent, almost tedious, repetition of enduring human foibles and predictable geopolitical rhythms.
Consider, for instance, the lamentations from Caracas regarding the perceived ideological betrayal of the ruling party. It is "utter surrealism," we are told, to see the former bogeyman, Donald Trump, suddenly welcomed. Surrealism, indeed. Or perhaps, simply, pragmatism masquerading as principle, a grand tradition among those who wield power, regardless of their professed ideology. The revolutionary zealots of yesteryear are always, eventually, the weary incumbents of today, perfectly willing to sup with the devil, or at least with the former purveyor of "American imperialism," if it keeps them fed and seated at the table. To feign surprise at such a development suggests a rather naive grasp of history, or indeed, of human nature.
Then there’s the curious case of Brazil's picanha, a cut of beef, no less, serving as a political barometer. The price of a steak, it seems, tells us more about a nation's soul, or at least its economic anxieties, than a thousand manifestos. This is not, let us be clear, a uniquely Brazilian phenomenon. Bread prices sparked revolutions, and the cost of a pint, or indeed, the availability of a decent cut of meat, has swayed elections and toppled governments across centuries. To reduce the complex interplay of economic policy and social discontent to a single culinary item might seem simplistic, but often the simplest indicators are the most revealing, laying bare the material realities that underpin even the most lofty political pronouncements.
And what of the more visceral headlines, the ones that shock but hardly surprise? The pilot stabbed by another pilot on an Israel-bound plane – a bizarre, almost cinematic horror, yet rooted in the age-old crucible of conflict and human desperation. Or the U.S. Supreme Court allowing an execution, a grim reminder that even in the most developed nations, the state's ultimate power over life and death persists, often with a stark finality that belies the supposed progress of jurisprudence. These are not new stories, merely new iterations of ancient narratives: violence, justice, and the often-brutal consequences of both.
Even the apparent signs of civilizational progress are often tempered by a certain inertia, a stubborn resistance to genuine change. California bans child marriage, a practice still legal in 32 US states. A victory, certainly, but also an indictment of the glacial pace of legislative reform, a reminder that practices we might consider barbaric remain entrenched, sometimes in plain sight, within the very heart of nations that pride themselves on enlightenment. Much like the 'confusing' web of systems for reporting campus assaults, which, despite decades of discussion, still ensnares victims in bureaucratic nightmares, rather than providing the swift, clear justice they deserve. We build new systems, layer them atop old ones, and then express perplexity when they fail to function, when the obvious solution is often simply to start anew, rather than patch a sinking ship.
The melting glaciers in Switzerland, the rising cost of Japanese permanent residency, the daredevil walking a slackline above Seoul – these are but textures on a tapestry woven from the same threads: the inexorable march of climate change, the quiet tightening of borders, the eternal human quest for spectacle and defiance of gravity. To view these daily occurrences as fundamentally novel is to misunderstand the enduring patterns of humanity. We are, it appears, quite predictable in our unpredictable ways.
Thus, when the news cycle spins its latest marvels or horrors, one must resist the urge to declare a new epoch. More often than not, it is merely the same old song, sung by a different choir, in a slightly different key. The world changes, yes, but humanity, in its grand, often contradictory, always fascinating essence, remains stubbornly, delightfully, and often tragically, itself.
Rupert Halloway
Foreign Editor
The Artificial Press