I recently bought a copy of EM Forster’s The Machine Stops. A short story, barely 12,000 words, written in 1909, and yet it reads like a prophecy – not of some distant dystopia, but of the past fifteen years of British decline. I highly recommend it as a read – unsettlingly prescient and far more relevant than it has any right to be.
Forster describes a world where people live in isolated pods, sustained by an all-encompassing, omnipotent Machine. Everything – their needs, their communications, their very thoughts – is mediated through it. Nobody questions it, nobody challenges it, and when it starts to break down, they simply hope it will sort itself out. Sound familiar?
The UK, once a country that built things, invented things, and shaped the world, now resembles Forster’s Machine-dependent society. The government, the institutions, the public services – all slowly breaking down while people either pretend not to notice or mumble vaguely about how someone, somewhere, ought to do something. It started with austerity, the great hollowing-out. Schools, hospitals, councils – cut to the bone. “We must tighten our belts,” they said, as if running a country were akin to a household budget and not, say, an economic system requiring investment to function. We were assured it was necessary, prudent, the only way forward. Fast forward a decade and the NHS is gasping, councils are going bankrupt, and entire industries are now reliant on food banks to sustain their workers.
Then came Brexit – the great act of national self-harm, wrapped in the language of liberation. “Take back control,” they cried, as they set fire to trade deals, choked supply chains, and threw up border checks that made even the simplest transaction a bureaucratic nightmare. Like Forster’s citizens, the Brexiteers were certain they were free – even as the Machine tightened its grip. Everything that followed – the economic stagnation, the worker shortages, the crumbling international reputation – was brushed off as “teething problems” or, even more laughably, blamed on Remainers for not believing hard enough.
Forster’s Machine ultimately collapses because no one remembers how to fix it. The people, long stripped of autonomy, simply sit in their pods, waiting for someone else to solve the problem. And that, perhaps, is the biggest parallel of all. Britain is broken, but the response is inertia. A nation that once led the Industrial Revolution now accepts rolling infrastructure failures as a fact of life. Trains don’t run, ambulances don’t turn up, everything is falling apart – but we just shrug and carry on.
Of course, the difference is that Forster’s world was pure fiction. Ours isn’t. The Machine isn’t stopping – it’s grinding on, ever more dysfunctional, ever more detached from reality, while those in charge pretend nothing is wrong. And if we don’t snap out of it soon, we’ll end up just like Forster’s doomed society – bewildered, powerless, and crushed beneath the weight of our own negligence.