I was planning for the first proper entry on this blog being
a well referenced and critical post about poverty and inequality, it’s
something that I worked on for a while- but life got in the way (it’s been a
busy year) and the blog was low down my priority list. But yesterday
was...heartbreaking. I’m still reeling frankly; I’m hurt and without my friends
and family at this point, and really feel there’s some things I need to
express. Somehow this feels appropriate.
When I awoke this morning from my largely underwhelming 3
hours sleep, I was really hoping yesterday had been a nightmare. Of course it
wasn’t, and that dreaded sinking feeling took hold. Despite being half way
across the world, where I should be revelling in my opportunity to do some
critical and valuable work, I really struggled to get out of bed this morning. Understandable I guess, given my national
identity just died. Sure this sounds melodramatic, but however you fall on the Brexit
issue, I think there has to be a recognition that the United Kingdom I left 3
weeks ago no longer exists. Its physical make up may be largely the same, but
it’s political and cultural make up has been irrevocably changed, and it’s
financial and legislative structure is soon to follow. Our ‘kingdom’ is the furthest thing from
united.
Then again this whole thing has got me thinking, maybe the
Britain I believed in never existed. A comforting collective delusion of tolerance,
acceptance and multicultural vibrancy, that resulted from surrounding myself
with like minded people. Certainly with each passing moment it becomes harder to
marry this image with the opinions being expressed on social media and the
seemingly demonstrable democratic will of the British people. For so long I’ve comforted
myself with the idea the mainstream
media has always propagated the more extreme threads within our national
discourse to promote controversy; that it wasn’t representative of the
majority, it was about selling papers and pushing agendas. Except this referendum
has exposed the optimistic naiveté of this claim to the cold hard light.
Britain has spoken.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not acquitting the Murdoch-machine
of its role in promoting division and fear, or of demonising migrants, Muslims,
the disabled, the LGBTQ community, the needy, the marginalised, the
disenfranchised. This still has the ability to make me angry, if it didn’t I’d
likely be dead. Nor am I overlooking Project Fear’s irresponsible and
deplorable actions, pushing misinformation and false promises, masking the
agenda of political elites in the language of sovereignty, empowerment and
control. I understand that the working classes feel frustrated, unappreciated
and unrewarded, with their political agency being curtailed, opportunities
being closed to them and the need to blame someone or something for everything
getting worse. I even get the somewhat misguided concern older individuals hold
about preserving “British Culture”. But none of this changes our present, who
cares which is the chicken and which is the egg, the fact remains that the UK
remains a nation utterly divided, tending towards a nationalism I can’t fathom,
and I can’t see a way out.
In no way am I suggesting everyone who voted Leave is a xenophobe,
bigot or racist, but this result has added a supposed populist legitimacy to
views which I felt had no place in our modern world. I’ve been fearful of the
rise of the far right in the UK for a while, and was always wary of festering
resentment under the surface, but was cautiously optimistic in the decency of
British society, of our public culture of acceptance. Never did I think we’d
come so far as we seemingly have, openly slinging bile at each other, and
denying the humanity of those who aren’t “British” enough. Maybe there are
legitimate reasons to vote Leave which I simply don’t understand fully or appreciate
the gravitas of, but this campaign was won off the back of fear of immigration
and lies about the NHS, and its soul crushing to see my compatriots brandish
this as a mandate to be proud of. We’ve reached the point where our resentment
has escalated to the extent that we are happy to give racists like Farage a wider
platform to spew his hate, to blame everyone but ourselves for our ills.
What I simply can’t fathom is how eager the British public seemingly
is to eat the lies fed to them. Given our natural mistrust of politicians and
long history of cynicism, it’s surprising how quick we are to scapegoat those
who look different, sound different, have funny names, rather than question the
voices that be. This is possibly is what, beyond anything, has caused me to
lose hope. Honestly, I have no interest in laying blame for our current predicament
on the “ignorant masses”, I appreciate the informed feel betrayed, angry and
hurt they were not listened to- that they were rendered impotent to stop the
coming hardships ahead; I feel the same. But demonising those who make up the
apparent majority does nothing to help. It’s just that I was so confident in
the inherent rationality and considerateness of people- that it was a lack of
understanding over a lack of concern. Yet here we are, with opinions of experts
and academics being met with contempt. Easier to believe in the proverbial
bogeyman than try and unpack the complex systematic inequalities and the inherent
injustices in our national institutions.
And yes, I get it’s
seemingly easy for me to sit on this high horse and preach. I understand I
enjoy privileges many don’t, a university education, a lack of economic
dependants, financial safety blankets, and while I may have had to live
frugally at points I’ll likely never experience the crushing reality of a
single mother trying to raise two children on nothing but benefits. But these privileges don’t exclude me from
having a voice, or from experiencing empathy. I’ve never presupposed my
experience to be more valuable than that of others, to disregard the validity
of other ways of knowing, to belittle the reality of others, or to be so sanctimonious
as to feel the need to inform others on the fundamental nature of life- as much
as I enjoy holding an opinion. But still any attempt to present truths as I
know them, to expose facts, challenge the ideas and attitudes of others is met
with hostility and aggression. There’s no desire to foster an understanding, no
tendency to reach out. The assumption is that somehow I’m attacking their way
of life, trying to patronise, that I’m the enemy. I’m puzzled if it’s my
education they object to, my accent, my skin colour, the strangeness of my Arabic
name or the fact I’m challenging their mindset. Regardless in recent days it’s
left me feeling like the ultimate other.
For so long I feel like I’ve fought to promote public
awareness and participation, to get more people involved in the political
process, to really assess and evaluate why things are the way they are. It
seemed like if a minimum level of collective consciousness could be fostered,
if there was an active political will based on a wider understanding, that
progressive and meaningful change could happen. I guess I still believe that to
an extent, but I’m not sure what role I have in achieving that anymore, or if I
have the motivation to continue to push, at least within England. Not only does
it feel like so many simply don’t care enough to want to understand, but that
as an individual I represent so much of what a good proportion of the British
public consider foreign and threatening.
I’m a second generation migrant. My parents came to England in
the 1970s from India. I, gratefully, have so little idea of how hard this must
have been. I’ve heard stories though, and I know they faced prejudice both institutional
and personal. They underwent hardships, persevered, formed relationships, integrated
themselves into the wider community, challenged preconceptions and worked
incredibly hard so I and their other children could be afforded the
opportunities that native Brits take for granted. They were part of the change
which moved Britain forward into the next century, forging inclusive bonds and
promoting diversity. I am both thankful
and proud of that heritage. But it feels like a lot of that has been unravelled
in the last few years, that hard fought for recognition has been disregarded
for short term (notably entirely false) arguments of scarcity, centred on self
interest and comfort. Even if we pretend it has nothing to do with skin colour,
language or culture- how can I relate to a Britain who would turn away my
parents had they arrived on these shores today? A Britain less open to both
others and to change, than it was in 1970s. Is the fact I’m already here, that
I’m already largely tolerated within my country’s borders enough to foster a
sense of Britishness? To feel solidarity? Am I meant to disregard my cultural
history in a blind patriotic loyalty to defending our borders from “external
influences”?
Seemingly we are not human enough to recognise others in
need, to expand the cultural horizons of Britain, contextualise it within a
modern global community, to accept our neighbours with open arms. What about
the countless Europeans who already live amongst us, who have friends,
relationships, families, jobs. Who are active members of our community, who
enrich our daily lives, who for all intents and purposes are British- there was
literally no consideration given to these individuals, who were denied the
opportunity to have a say in their future. Even if the terms of Brexit
guarantee these peoples’ right to remain, then exactly how wanted do you think they
feel? Their very identity has been attacked; they’ve been publicly incised
from the core of our communities, labelled as different and unwanted. Despite
my passport, I also can’t help but feel this pressure also. Does the seemingly arbitrary
place of my birth make me “British” enough? In many ways my upbringing and
cultural background is far more unknowable than the average European. Arguments
of preserving “Britishness” honestly in this context seem so shallow and deeply
rooted in the fear of ignorance; we’re not the same as pre-war Britain, or Victorian
Britain- culture has always been fluid and tied to immigration and reciprocal
sharing. Has the “Great British Curry” eroded the British Conscience? How about McDonalds? Our love of Opera? Christmas
Trees? Maybe we should ban St. Patrick’s day? There’s no recognition cultural
conservation is not the same as preservation, you can bring forward values and
traditions in a way that interact with and inform wider cultural contexts without
insisting everything stays the same, without rejecting everything that doesn’t
fit a narrow conception of what it means to be British.
Yet the public proclaims- “we’ve made our decision, if you
don’t like it you can leave!”. Putting aside the irony of believing we have
the right to move where we wish as former imperial colonisers of the world
despite restricting the movements of others, I may have a tendency to agree
with them. If what it now means to be British is to be closed off to cultural
growth, to deny the value of human kindness, to refuse to challenge our own
perceptions or the injustices we see around us, to eat the nonsense served up
by our mass media, to demonise those we don’t understand and blame others for
our failure to engage- then I want no part.
When in so many ways I’m reflective of the Guy Fawkes our “Great”
nation has built, where my very existence is tolerated with contempt, then
where can I find the motivation to want to change things? When the people I
care about and relate to, feel fundamentally disenfranchised, unrecognised and
out of touch with the majority, what incentive do I have not to leave? Why live
somewhere where I’m consistently punished for my loyalty? What reason does
anyone who doesn’t wholeheartedly believe in the inherent “Greatness” of
Britain, our apparent God-given right to rule and be respected regardless of
our attitudes to others, have to fight this growing wave of nationalism? Where
the gulf is this big, the nation is this divided, and any attempt to bridge the
gap is met with hostility, abuse and a lack of respect, exactly how do I
reconcile my desire to promote fairness through common humanity? Please, tell
me, because I really do want to know.
I’m disappointed in our failure to be critical, I’m
disappointed in our ability to let fear rule us, I’m disappointed that we don’t
have the strength to challenge the vile narratives which pollute our public
discourse, I’m disappointed that I failed to recognise the reality that we live
in earlier, I’m disappointed that I’ve lost the optimism that allowed me to
deny that reality for so long. I’m done Britain, I want out of this abusive
relationship. I feel you’d be happier without me anyway. Perhaps when Scotland
gains their independence, I’ll move there, they seem to get it at least. I’m
not ashamed to be British, because for the first time in my life I don’t feel
British. We just have nothing in common anymore Britain, I can only hope you
prove me wrong.
