There's a scene in the phenomenal recent comedy-thriller movie Get Out in which the lead character becomes a horrified prisoner in his own body. Without wanting to offer too many spoilers, he finds himself a paralysed spectator to the terrible events going on around him after being placed in a hypnotic trance. He can't move; he can't cry out. All he can do is sink into his chair, his eyes wide and bloodshot with terror.
This week, Britain begins the process of its very own 'Get Out', as Article 50 is triggered, and the UK formally starts to withdraw from the European Union. And one of the 16 million voters who decidedly opposed the move, I can't help but feel a little bit like that character. A situation is unfolding right in front of my eyes – one I continue to believe is wrong and has been arrived at through a flawed process – and yet I can't do anything to stop it; it doesn't feel like any of us can.
I realise I'm in the – slight – minority, and that according to the basic rules of democracy, my side lost fair and square. I know that more people voted to leave than voted to remain. Arguably it's not my place to stop it, or even to try. Even still, there's an uncomfortable strangeness to proceedings which few people are acknowledging.
For a start, there's the way in which a Leave vote was procured from the British population. A regrettably weak effort from the Remain camp was part of the problem of course, but let's not have short memories about the emotive, factually inaccurate campaign to leave. A key promise – that an extra £350 million a week would be saved by leaving, and re-invested directly into the NHS was quickly revealed to be fantasy as soon as the decision was confirmed. Racist adverts featuring lines of immigrants snaking into Britain proved compelling. It's easier to campaign for change than for the status quo anyway, but it's even easier when you cheat.
Add to that the fact that most of the architects of Brexit are now nowhere to be seen. Michael Gove has disappeared to the back-benches; UKIP leader Nigel Farage seems to spend more time in Trump Tower these days than on his beloved Island. Former Prime Minister David Cameron, who made the case to Remain, but ultimately rolled the dice in the first place, has fallen on his sword. So it's left to Teresa May, once a firm opponent of Brexit, to carry out the will of the people with an unswerving commitment to democracy. She has the appearance of a woman carrying on with a procedure to have a healthy organ removed, because she's already paid in advance for the operation.
It's that possibly-misapplied word 'democracy' which has kept so much of the left-dominated Remain crowd in this strange state of paralysis since last June. Most voices on the left, both within and outside the House of Commons, have simply been silenced by their liberal angst; their desire to fight over-ridden by the idea that you shouldn't be a sore loser when it comes to a public vote. It's hard to imagine that the Leave campaign would have been troubled in quite the same way. We'd surely already be deep into calls for a second referendum if things had gone the other way.
So here we are. Article 50 is about to be triggered, and it still feels painful to half of the country. Half of us are still no further from that sense of slow dread that we're sleepwalking into something terrible. We're still enacting an idea that was firmly supported by the Daily Mail and the Express, which was backed by a rogue's gallery of people you wouldn't leave babysitting your kids, let alone trust with the future of your country, and which Donald Trump thinks is a great idea. Considering all of this, the lies told, and the size of the winning majority, it all still feels so uncomfortable. What is a left-leaning Christian Remain voter meant to do with that?
I'm still angry. I still feel like it's totally wrong. I feel like the left has lost its guts, and the person in the street has been duped: the very opposite of democracy. I want to grab the country by the shoulders and shake it out of this hypnotised state. Yet from day one, it has always felt like it was too late. And is too late. If it were ever possible, Brexit cannot, or at least will not, now be stopped. So the question we're left with – and which perhaps isn't being asked as we get bogged down in the minutiae of what we can get, and what we'll have to pay – is what kind of relationship Britain should have with Europe now, on a philosophical and moral level? And I think its vital that this is a question with which people of faith seriously grapple. In the context of a decision that has always been centred on selfish interest, someone has to be talking about the Greater Good.
Christians were as divided on this issue as the rest of the country. There was never a single 'Christian position' on leaving the EU, and I don't doubt that the many Christian Leave-voters had prayed through and thoughtfully considered their decision. What bothers me is that those of us on the side of Remain, who believed that we were stronger working in partnership with other countries, and who believed isolation would only increase racist and nationalistic activity, should have shouted louder. We should have been more vocal before the vote; we should have said more after it. Now then we must not stay silent as Europe and Britain begin the painful process of reshaping. We've got to stand up for collaboration, community, compassion and selfishness, when Brexit might otherwise lead us toward competition, isolation and a lack of care for those who have least.
The church is a declining body of power and influence in British life. We often see that as a bad thing, but I'm not sure that's always the case. Being increasingly on the outside of public life, we have an opportunity to be prophetic to the centre, to speak truth to power. I think that's a large part of our role in 2017.
The powerful have taken control of Britain's relationship with the EU – it was cleverly engineered and will be dutifully delivered by the Powers That Be. In the days that follow, it's up to us whether we allow their actions as Brexit is played out to pass unchallenged. We might feel like that character in Get Out, but in truth we can still make a difference; we can still influence the outcome. And if we feel anger (as I do), we can channel that as a motivator for good. We can lobby for and demand the most Kingdom-minded version of Brexit, we can still hold those who lied to account, and my Lord, we can pray. Not only that, we can step prophetically into the gaps that this decision will create, in every issue from refugee settlement to trading standards. Brexit is settled; the church's response isn't. We're getting out. Let's step up.
Martin Saunders is a Contributing Editor for Christian Today and the Deputy CEO of Youthscape. Follow him on Twitter @martinsaunders.
