Good grief: how to get over the post-election dashing of hope

After a febrile year, the general election aftermath initially came as a shock as cold as an ice sculpture and as adrenaline-inducing as a skinny dip in Loch Ness in the winter of our discontent, with strong competition for who plays the monster.

There was shock for self-proclaimed would-be Prime Minister Jo Swinson at the electorate’s inability to forget her record of voting with Tories several hundred times while in coalition government – numbers which, in working hours, were roughly equal to the length of time for which her cadre of ex-Tory MPs were Liberal Democrats.

The shock of eleventh-hour rebellions and mass expulsions had been replaced by the shock of once rare defections, all of whom went on to lose their seats. Quelle surprise for the rest of us, for whom the real shock was the mutiny in Milngavie gifting a different shade of yellow victory in the form of the tenacious Amy Callaghan.

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The immediacy of shock wears off quickly, though, giving way to waves of other emotions. In the next stage, denial, symptoms may include the immediate onset of the belief that if you don’t watch the news, it’s not real, or that watching Would I Lie to You? counts as a cathartic substitute.

People throughout the country may also feel an overwhelming urge for escapism, some finding succour in booze or under ­duvets, while others evade reality in fridges.

Symptoms may also include making “Not my PM” protest signs for George Square or Holyrood Park when, in fact, he is your Prime Minister and that’s why you’re there.

You may wish to banish the “B words” from conversations post-election, though side effects of such brinkmanship run feart in hearts and minds awake in bed and wreak havoc in budgets.

Harbouring lingering feelings of denial about Labour’s capacity to become the party of government is another symptom of denial. Scottish Labour’s churn of leaders and spin doctors has been many and UK ­Labour’s perhaps too few. It is a party whose good ideas were poorly executed, or, in ­Scotland, perhaps already implemented.

Embarking on a slow process of leaving, Jeremy Corbyn shows classic signs of denial in his claim of having won the argument. Exit left for a party leader whose only palpable commitment to remain was to remain neutral in arguments on the very crux of the election. And let it not be said that Momentum suffers from nominative determinism.

READ MORE: Labour MSP calls for party to have more control over independence

You would be forgiven for exhibiting full-blown denial as Boris Johnson promises a “new golden age” for the UK. This is the man whose appearances north of the Border have the Midas touch for the SNP. Meanwhile the SNP try to come to terms with the radical increase in strategy and bravery needed for what is to come, made harder by the likely onset of domestic risk aversion in the year before Holyrood elections.

The third stage of grief, anger, is principally fuelled by the contempt shown towards Scottish politicians at Westminster – a speech in a Scottish accent is one of the quickest ways to clear UK Government benches in the chamber.

There is anger at the unblinking willingness to push nuclear buttons and for bombs to stay on our lochs, while children on coats on NHS floors and two-child benefits cap families go wilfully ignored.

Anger too at the injustice and indignity of austerity, poverty, stalling life expectancy, and the prospect of these getting even worse. Anger at the DWP toll of thousands who have died after being declared fit for work, amid the re-election of a leader handed all benefits and no sanctions if he doesn’t turn up to interviews, lies to his superior or prorogues off work.

Gratitude might temper this fury, for the righteous fire and refreshing ­honesty of Mhairi Black, Jess Phillips, David ­Lammy, Caroline Lucas and other MPs with a moral compass and sense of commonweal, who have been re-elected to help get the rest of us through the next five years.

After the anger has subsided, we progress to bargaining. We should grieve the use of the Irish border, Northern Irish peace, immigration and the rights of EU citizens as bargaining chips by an isolationist UK Government that exercises all the bargaining skills and diplomacy of a steamroller stuck in a ditch.

READ MORE: This is why Boris Johnson sent three separate letters to the EU

We might be embarrassed that the party of extension rebellion sends delegations to Brussels to bargain in our name, bringing no deal back to the table, while looking to Trump to bargain with our futures.

There’s a painful irony as 2019 marked the 20th anniversary of Donald Dewar’s visionary words about democracy and “a very Scottish conviction that honesty and simple dignity are priceless virtues, not imparted by rank or birth or privilege”. These are virtues which feel distant as we cross the threshold to 2020, led by the privileged at Westminster, who pull rank on how Scotland voted, facing the prospect of an altogether different Donald as an ally for a dystopian, costly future.

We are also bargaining when we believe reasoned ideas and evidence-led policies could prevail, when our best bet may now be collective bargaining efforts towards harm minimisation by the other parties at Westminster and Holyrood. These things will matter, but calm voices and nuanced information will struggle to find influence amid the spin and boorish bellowing.

Another example of bargaining lies in our finding comfort in the British ­honours system recognising the service of Professor Sir John Curtice, a prophet in our wilderness years predicting the electoral outcomes we’re now grappling with. The man is a mensch in an era desperately in need of more prominent people of truth and integrity.

And so to depression, chiefly in reaction to the fact that, only weeks ago, joy could be found in laughing during leaders debates. Fast forward from empty chairs to a government majority of seats and we’re bereft of reasons to laugh or forums for meaningful debate. Classic Dom, Comic Sans and the insouciance of reclining classicists aren’t funny any more, not when it feels like the joke is on us.

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It’s depressing too that the things you like about the UK aren’t going to be the things it is mostly remembered for, and that stockpiling is an acceptable form of contingency planning in one of the world’s wealthiest countries outside times of war.

The penultimate stage of grief is testing. We might feel the impulse to act and test alternative options, for example crowdfunding court challenges as a circuit breaker to test questionable decisions of a government that doesn’t much like the courts, while maintaining a long-term resolve that access to justice and protecting rights and democracy shouldn’t have to rely on crowdfunding.

Another instance of testing might be googling the grounds for impeachment this side of the Atlantic, while realising that, on the rare chance it were to happen, it wouldn’t cure our deep-rooted social divisions and broken politics.

Finally, we arrive at acceptance, particularly – for those who voted Remain or supported a second people’s vote – acceptance that Brexit will happen, whatever reckless form that may take.

You might feel a healthy acceptance that swapping one divorce (leaving the EU) for another (leaving the UK) will be hard, even if in pursuit of a better future. Constitutional crisis and change involves pain and hope; pretending otherwise lacks empathy for those among us who’ll grieve the Union, whether European or United Kingdom.

And we should accept that listening skills and critical thinking are survival skills for reviving democracy in an age of grievance and misinformation. If Scotland is to live up to its progressive reputation, the onus is on us to build consensus for change.