I’ve been living in London since 2014 and even back in those faraway days, Brexit was this nebulous, vaguely sinister thing lingering in the background. The difference was, at the time, the odds of it actually going through seemed unthinkable. In fact, about a week before the EU referendum I clearly recall chatting with some Aussie friends on the subject and the group think was decidedly “There’s no way it’ll happen. That would be crazy. Not a hope. Nah.”
Hard cut to June 24th, 2016 and the morning radio carried news that felt too surreal to process. It was doubly surreal for me since I got married the very next day. Irish friends and family flew over that same day to meet and celebrate, a stark contrast to the downbeat mood of London itself. Having a wedding was the best possible antidote but naturally the conversation couldn’t help but drift back to it throughout the day. English and Irish guests were equally bemused by the outcome with Brexit suddenly morphing from “Haha, could you imagine?” to “What the hell happens next?”
Surreal is the word that sums up the whole Brexit experience, at least from an outsider perspective. Five years on from 2014 and it’s still feels like this intangible thing that never quite takes solid shape. The politics around it have become almost sitcom levels of bizarre and it’s the one topic of conversation guaranteed to cause eye rolls or grunts of derision when it comes up. It’s that low-level feeling of anxiety that never evolves into full on panic – not yet, anyway.
It doesn’t happen much but occasionally I’ll find myself as the token Irish bloke at the pub or party when it comes up, and have to answer any history questions about Northern Ireland or the Border. Most of the Londoners I’ve spoken with feel jaded by the whole thing; from the lingering uncertainty to the ugliness of the debates that rage around it. Some want to reset the clock; some are ignoring it as best they can until there’s a degree of certainty and others just want there to be some kind of progress so life can move on.
When it comes to Northern Ireland, many 20 or 30-somethings over here feel they just didn’t receive a proper education about it. I’m old enough to remember making trips from Dundalk to Newry and the car being stopped for customs. I didn’t understand the need for them at the time but also remember being glad when they were gone. That all felt like ancient history until 2016 and talk of a hard border reared its ugly little head. No one in their right mind would want to return to those days but it’s hard not to feel that not only have hard Brexiteers not really factored in the impact it would have, they don’t much care either.
Uri Geller's recent suggestion to telepathically stop Brexit is honestly starting to feel like a viable tactic; at least he has a plan
That context is missing from most conversations here since for Londoners of a certain age, this is probably the first time they’ve had to consider either Ireland or the Border. One of the most pervading feelings is one of helplessness, at least for those who voted to stay, who are now being swept towards an outcome they never wanted and offers little certainty for the future of their country. Brexit was promoted as something that would usher in a new era of prosperity, pride and optimism, but optimistic is one word that couldn’t be used to describe the mood here.
In 2016, few could see how Theresa May’s government could untangle the various knots surrounding the UK’s exit, and like the way any good thriller keeps viewers in anxious anticipation, there’s still little sign of how they’ll pull it off without a mess. It’s a complicated process, sure, but the lack of any real progress is doing little to quell fears. Uri Geller’s recent suggestion to telepathically stop Brexit is honestly starting to feel like a viable tactic; at least he has a plan.