Black Dogs and Englishmen

This year’s Prince’s Trust Youth Index on the emotional and mental wellbeing of my generation came out today, with the news that one in 10 young people (16-25) feel they cannot cope with day-to-day life, and 28% of all young people feel depressed “always” or “often”. The deeply corrosive effect of unemployment and the ongoing financial crisis is at the forefront, and will certainly be seized upon by commentators. Money, or the lack of it, remains the subject on which young people feel most unhappy. However the fall in the overall happiness index was not driven by financial concerns, but by worries over friendships and individual’s physical and emotional health. We’re now more worried about the weakness of our friendships, and our qualifications, than at any time since the survey began. This reflects the fact that the financial crisis isn’t just about money, but about exposing the loss of certainties and stability that the boom masked. What does it tell the 16 year old about education when she sees her 21 year old university-educated brother on the scrapheap? How do you keep a friendship going when the bus fair to their house becomes a luxury item?

 The rock in the lives of many young people is their family relationships. This was the area that all participants were most happy about. Yet the economic model of Britain means that for tens of thousands of young people outside the South East of England, they have to abandon this touchstone, leaving their communities to find work in the Big Smoke. For those from backgrounds where their extended family lives in close proximity, the culture shock from seeing people who love you every day to existing in a sea of strangers is profound. Yet this isn’t merely the problem of transition, but of permanent transition. Each year one third of London moves. With jobs often temporary and rents volatile, many never get the opportunity to put down roots of any kind. At home for Christmas I could only sit in wonder as my Nana rattled off the names, jobs and sexual histories of everyone on her road when she was young, as part of some longer narrative. How do I even get to know my neighbours’ names when they change each month? How do I form friendships with my work colleagues when we’re all on fixed term, 1-week notice contracts and spend our days propped in front of screens? How often can you run home when a return train ticket is three days’ pay?

It’s an atomised existence, and deeply damaging for social animals such as ourselves. Even if we have friends in the capital, they are often spread over such vast distances it’s as if they lived in another city. What do you do when it’s witching hour and it all starts getting a bit much? Well you reach for your own little place in cyberspace. More than one in five young people (23 per cent) claim the internet gives them a sense of community and friendship that they do not have elsewhere in life. This increases to a third among those who are unemployed. Far from being the cause of alienation as many older people presume, those little glowing rectangles are a lifeline for the 31% who say they “always” or “often” feel lonely, when they need a few kind words. That is not to say all online interaction is positive, nor that reading *hugz* matches getting one, simply that this is a lifeline for a great many young people physically distant from anyone they think cares.  Sometimes it’s words on a backlight or oblivion from a bottle.

We all fall down sometimes, especially when we’re first making our way in the world. The fall has grown harder as the communitarian institutions of our parents and grandparents; churches, pubs, trade unions, and others have slowly faded from the public realm. The dark joke is that the system forces you to leave home, but prevents you making one of your own. A never-ending adolescence. No wonder we’re depressed.  

In defence of dragon slayers

Today our Anglo-Saxon protestant nation celebrates the accomplishments of a Middle-Eastern Catholic in slaying a monster from Germanic folklore.

Personally I‘m all for it, especially the recent campaign to get us another bank holiday. We have the fewest in Europe and any excuse is a good one. This subject however gets tied up endlessly with a certain brand of nationalism.

While most of the country has a sort of absent-minded affinity (much like how we feel about Christianity in general) there is the annual verbal punch-up between those saying they’re being denied their cultural heritage and those who say the whole thing is a dodgy medieval relic.  Self-righteousness abounds on all sides. The really interesting questions about St George usually get missed. Why him, why here, why now?

Winners don’t need to tell people they’re winners. The quirks of the English class system mean that conspicuous displays of advantage or prowess are frowned upon. This is a subset of the ultimate sin of, ‘trying too hard’.

The best English heroes are the gallant losers; Robert Scott, Tim Henman, Frank Spencer. There is a reason our history starts with our defeat by William the Bastard of Normandy, why our national spirit is named after a full scale retreat from the beaches of Dunkirk, why ever since Charlie Brooker got his happy ending we’ve gone right off him.

The singular greatness of Englishness did not rely upon individual achievements, it just was. In many ways not celebrating St George’s Day was the perfect expression of English superiority. We know we’re better than you, why would we need a parade?

The real issue over Englishness is about this status. It’s over a century since Cecil Rhodes said: ‘To be born an Englishman is to win first prize in the lottery of life.’

Psychologically we still haven’t gotten past that, even as the triumph of the United States, the collapse of the Empire and the recent rise of the BRICs demonstrated that, at least financially, this might not be true.

Taking solace in our global language, place at the top table at the UN and key role in NATO, that easy assumption of superiority could continue. The fact that the French had fallen simultaneously made it even easier to keep up the pretence.

Eventually however, this imagined sense of superiority, this easy self-assurance, has started to fall away. As we travel further, meet more people and access ever more information, the doubts creep in.
The intellectual retreat from defining what it means to be English did not allow a new narrative to flourish, it just left us surrounded by the Victoriana that no longer made sense. Yet if we drop it, what else is there? Where do we find our national identity? The world offers two answers: revolution and victimhood.

Revolution is hard, messy, and requires a lot of effort. It’s also pot-luck. For every stumble to liberty and justice you have a hundred military juntas.

On the other hand anyone can be a victim. Victimhood is redemptive, it excuses your failings and protects you from future criticism. The American obsession with Irish identity, out of all scale with the actual genetic contribution to the nation’s make-up, is in part because it gives white Americans psychological access to the Famine. No one wants to be classed as the oppressor.

The historical and rhetorical gymnastics of the SNP are also part of this re-positioning. When MSP Sandra White called the Union flag a ‘butcher’s apron’ one felt tempted to point out the contribution of the Royal Highlanders to that apron.

I don’t think any living Briton is responsible for the terrible events of nineteenth century imperialism, but the idea that Scotland counts among its victims rather than its perpetrators is Braveheart-level mythology. The point however, is that myths have power.

So what do you do when reality doesn’t live up to Rhodes? What do you do when thirty years of stagnating wages, high unemployment and social exclusion mean that you, despite being a white Englishman, are not doing so well? And, crucially, when people in power tell you it’s all your own fault because we live in a meritocracy dontchya know?

People know when the game is rigged, even when they can’t say exactly how. The rise of aggressively nationalist groups always stems from the failure of social democrats to frame the intellectual debate properly.

Calling someone a bigot does not mean that you don’t have to deal with the problems that created that mindset, any more than saying, ‘they hate us for our freedom’ does. When there is no framework to express your identity as part of a positive social movement it is inevitable that other symbols of unity will come to the fore, whether they be faith or flag.

You can tell people their beliefs are stupid and antiquated, that their symbols are meaningless, or you can ask people to come with you. For those of us on the Left have a long road ahead, and a dragon-slayer or two may come in handy.