Society
Say what you like about elitism, the Brits still love a hierarchy
Published 12 June 2000
Elitism, various government ministers have been telling us, is the albatross around our collective neck. It is preventing bright young people at state schools from fulfilling their potential, and bright young working-class kids from starting their own businesses. It is placing patients at the mercy of a cadre of wealthy and arrogant consultants who are accountable to no one but their own kind; and it means our justice system is in the hands of a non-representative group of white, middle-class men.
For a government that pledged it would make ours an inclusive society, elitism is a red rag to a bull and the spur to a lot of bull**** - Margaret Jay's fib about her old school, Blackheath High, being "a pretty standard grammar school"; the introduction of personality tests and day-long sessions to observe interpersonal skills for all would-be judges; the announcement that museums could face cuts in funding if they don't attract more visitors from minority groups.
Yet in its rush to the barricades, new Labour seems to ignore the cherished place that the elite holds in the popular imagination. Here, the aristocrats of money and talent thrive, their every endeavour and taste an object of curiosity, their every scandal or character flaw recorded with breathless glee. You can win Brownie points by having a go at the exclusive few; but they stubbornly remain the most popular attraction for the very audience that is ready to boo them and pelt them with eggs.
The nation's fascination with the exclusive and exclusion informs every area of public life. In the same week that a furious row erupted over elitist Oxbridge, a lunch (at Highgrove, a rather exclusive estate) between the Queen and Camilla Parker Bowles made the front page of almost every tabloid. While the government's new GM advisory committee merits a few pars on page 6 of most qualities, a difference of opinion on GM foods between Prince Philip, Princess Anne and Prince Charles (that well-known triumvirate of Einstein-brained biochemists) hijacks every front page, turning the issue into a dynastic tug of war. Finally, according to reader surveys, the most popular column in the Sunday Times is Tara Palmer-Tomkinson's blow-by-blow account of her jet-setting lifestyle, replete with glamorous celebs, luxurious holidays and expensive hobbies.
Nor are we fascinated only by the elitism of birth. When, a few years ago, Jeremy Paxman was blackballed from the Garrick Club (just one of the catalogue of exclusive, expensive, men-only clubs in the land), it made headlines. And every newspaper supplement knows that the easiest route to a few extra sales is to compile a list of the 100 richest Britons.
You don't need to be a tabloid editor to see that nothing gets a Brit so excited as the thought of being "in" when others are "out"; lists, memberships, not to mention rankings and titles, are the nation's soul-food. Everyone seems to be engaged in an elaborate Mitfordian game of U and non-U, on the constant lookout for a tell-tale accent (the Grantham grocer's vowels beneath the veneer of elocution lessons) or a posh school (Margaret Jay, Harriet Harman et al) that will either disqualify you from, or ensure your place within, the elite. It is as if no one can be quite certain of their identity unless they know which rung of the ladder they are standing on - and whether you are above or below them.
The elite sounds like a necessary evil, then. And like the government, the people use the elite as a soft target. The toff, the prince or the It Girl are flashy, few in number (and in votes) and thus perfect scapegoats for the anger of the majority. They are also, dare I say it, exciting and exotic diversions from the humdrum, real problems before us. It's much more exciting to rail against the profligate pageantry of princes or the OTT exhibitionism of bright young things than to get down to the dour task of improving state education or reforming the tax system.
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