Read more: How will the Brexit result go down in Spain?
Glastonbury is over for another year. It was one of the muddiest I can remember thanks to torrential rain the previous weekend. It was also one of the strangest, because it started on the day of the referendum—and UK voters decided to trigger one of the most significant economic and geopolitical events since 1945. But how did this affect the spirit of one of the world's biggest festivals, with an audience the size of a small city? And when Glastonbury kicks off again this time next year, what will the state of our country be?
The short answer to the first question is not much. Glastonbury is a bit of a bubble. You can get the Guardian and Observer here and there but no other newspapers. There are many bars, but no TV. There's drink, junk and street food a-plenty but only from private stall holders, not from chains. The only advertising is by Oxfam, Greenpeace and Water Aid. After the headline acts finish at around 11-12pm, the majority of festival-goers flock to the parts of the site designed for partying.
This year, some comedians in the Cabaret Tent mentioned the major developments going on outside. Some bands made passing references in their “Hello Glastonbury” routines. Chris Martin of Coldplay paid tribute to a massive audience for putting up not only with mud and rain but also a collapsing country. In the Left Field tent, set up by Labour activists, the referendum and its consequences were the topic du jour. But in general, you could only keep up with the news where the mobile signal was strong enough.
According to the data, 75 per cent of those young people who voted on Thursday were for "Remain." But that doesn't mean this cohort was sufficiently engaged. Only 56 per cent of people aged 25-49, and a mere 36 per cent of people aged 18-25 actually cast a vote, compared with levels over 80 per cent for older citizens. It is for others to explain why younger people didn't feel engaged to vote in greater numbers, if indeed, they ever have. But Glastonbury was largely oblivious to the extraordinary developments taking place while it rocked.
Friday came and went, with the resignation of Prime Minister David Cameron under the most humiliating of circumstances. As the news started to sink in on Saturday, Glastonbury still seemed focused on the music—Adele performing on the Pyramid Stage at sunset. But by Sunday morning, it seemed like everything was going off. Jeremy Corbyn, who had sacked his defence spokesman Hilary Benn at 1am, would not be coming as planned to speak at Left Field. His deputy leader Tom Watson was photographed outside the Silent Disco, seeming unaware of events. Later he issued a statement that fell just shy of criticising his boss, and nine other Shadow Cabinet ministers resigned (since then, many more have followed suit.)
With the two biggest political parties in disarray, would the "Leave" camp act as ballast? Seemingly not. When interviewed, its leaders started to backtrack on promises they had made on spending on the NHS and immigration. They acknowledged that there wasn't a plan; one even told Sky News that David Cameron should have had one. Glastonbury, though, was otherwise occupied, even as the rain returned at lunchtime and set in for a few hours. Even before headliners Coldplay had finished their spectacular set, the main challenge was how to get out of the mud-soaked carparks, or the other homeward bound journeys—Glexit, you might call it.
What will come out of the UK's sudden descent into political, economic and possibly constitutional chaos? Analyse and pontificate as we may, no one knows. We are at the mercy of what Harold Macmillan once described as the biggest problem with his job: “events, dear boy, events.” The excruciatingly painful referendum campaign ended up in a vote shock that has unpredictable existential consequences for the major parties, policy-making, the economy, the UK’s regions, and the political integrity of the European Union. And the xenophobia that has been uncorked by the campaign diminishes us in the eyes of our allies and neighbours, as well as ourselves.
David Cameron has passed the burden of EU exit negotiations to his successor (whoever that is), but he or she might be unwilling or unable to do them sufficiently well. The leadership of the Labour Party, or its capacity to oppose effectively, looks shot. A major party realignment could occur. The last thing we seem to have is the will or capacity to conduct an orderly and coherent negotiation to leave the EU—let alone become a significant force again, as "Leavers" kept telling us would happen. Boris Johnson now sounds like he is saying that the EU arrangements are just fine save for some of the regulations. “What?” you may well ask.
By the time Glastonbury comes round again, we may have had or be looking forward to a general election, where parties will stake out different positions on being in or out of Europe. If parties supporting the former should prevail, the referendum result could be overturned. There are other democratic routes by which Parliament might choose to sustain ties to the EU, but there would be none more robust. In 72 hours we have collapsed into the biggest existential and moral crisis of recent history. And there may be many more twists yet.
Glastonbury is over for another year. It was one of the muddiest I can remember thanks to torrential rain the previous weekend. It was also one of the strangest, because it started on the day of the referendum—and UK voters decided to trigger one of the most significant economic and geopolitical events since 1945. But how did this affect the spirit of one of the world's biggest festivals, with an audience the size of a small city? And when Glastonbury kicks off again this time next year, what will the state of our country be?
The short answer to the first question is not much. Glastonbury is a bit of a bubble. You can get the Guardian and Observer here and there but no other newspapers. There are many bars, but no TV. There's drink, junk and street food a-plenty but only from private stall holders, not from chains. The only advertising is by Oxfam, Greenpeace and Water Aid. After the headline acts finish at around 11-12pm, the majority of festival-goers flock to the parts of the site designed for partying.
This year, some comedians in the Cabaret Tent mentioned the major developments going on outside. Some bands made passing references in their “Hello Glastonbury” routines. Chris Martin of Coldplay paid tribute to a massive audience for putting up not only with mud and rain but also a collapsing country. In the Left Field tent, set up by Labour activists, the referendum and its consequences were the topic du jour. But in general, you could only keep up with the news where the mobile signal was strong enough.
According to the data, 75 per cent of those young people who voted on Thursday were for "Remain." But that doesn't mean this cohort was sufficiently engaged. Only 56 per cent of people aged 25-49, and a mere 36 per cent of people aged 18-25 actually cast a vote, compared with levels over 80 per cent for older citizens. It is for others to explain why younger people didn't feel engaged to vote in greater numbers, if indeed, they ever have. But Glastonbury was largely oblivious to the extraordinary developments taking place while it rocked.
Friday came and went, with the resignation of Prime Minister David Cameron under the most humiliating of circumstances. As the news started to sink in on Saturday, Glastonbury still seemed focused on the music—Adele performing on the Pyramid Stage at sunset. But by Sunday morning, it seemed like everything was going off. Jeremy Corbyn, who had sacked his defence spokesman Hilary Benn at 1am, would not be coming as planned to speak at Left Field. His deputy leader Tom Watson was photographed outside the Silent Disco, seeming unaware of events. Later he issued a statement that fell just shy of criticising his boss, and nine other Shadow Cabinet ministers resigned (since then, many more have followed suit.)
With the two biggest political parties in disarray, would the "Leave" camp act as ballast? Seemingly not. When interviewed, its leaders started to backtrack on promises they had made on spending on the NHS and immigration. They acknowledged that there wasn't a plan; one even told Sky News that David Cameron should have had one. Glastonbury, though, was otherwise occupied, even as the rain returned at lunchtime and set in for a few hours. Even before headliners Coldplay had finished their spectacular set, the main challenge was how to get out of the mud-soaked carparks, or the other homeward bound journeys—Glexit, you might call it.
What will come out of the UK's sudden descent into political, economic and possibly constitutional chaos? Analyse and pontificate as we may, no one knows. We are at the mercy of what Harold Macmillan once described as the biggest problem with his job: “events, dear boy, events.” The excruciatingly painful referendum campaign ended up in a vote shock that has unpredictable existential consequences for the major parties, policy-making, the economy, the UK’s regions, and the political integrity of the European Union. And the xenophobia that has been uncorked by the campaign diminishes us in the eyes of our allies and neighbours, as well as ourselves.
David Cameron has passed the burden of EU exit negotiations to his successor (whoever that is), but he or she might be unwilling or unable to do them sufficiently well. The leadership of the Labour Party, or its capacity to oppose effectively, looks shot. A major party realignment could occur. The last thing we seem to have is the will or capacity to conduct an orderly and coherent negotiation to leave the EU—let alone become a significant force again, as "Leavers" kept telling us would happen. Boris Johnson now sounds like he is saying that the EU arrangements are just fine save for some of the regulations. “What?” you may well ask.
By the time Glastonbury comes round again, we may have had or be looking forward to a general election, where parties will stake out different positions on being in or out of Europe. If parties supporting the former should prevail, the referendum result could be overturned. There are other democratic routes by which Parliament might choose to sustain ties to the EU, but there would be none more robust. In 72 hours we have collapsed into the biggest existential and moral crisis of recent history. And there may be many more twists yet.
