Strictly or the Vatican?

Ann Widdecombe must choose between the reality show and becoming Britain’s ambassador to the Vatican

Ann Widdecombe, who has been strongly tipped to be named the next British ambassador to the Vatican, has signed up to star in the new series of the BBC's Strictly Come Dancing, according to the Daily Mail.

Francis Campbell, the current ambassador, announced last year that he would step down after the Pope's visit to Britain in mid-September.

Although there has been no official announcment of Widdecombe's appointment, she has been seen as the likely front-runner, because her candidacy was endorsed by William Hague last month.

It has been suggested that this strong support from the Tories is prompted by political expediency, as a move to the Vatican would remove an outspoken critic of David Cameron from the Westminster scene. She is, however, a long-time ally of Hague, who appointed her shadow home secretary during his tenure as Tory leader.

If appointed, she would be the first Roman Catholic woman to hold the post, following her conversion in 1993 after the Church of England began the ordination of women priests. She had a private audience with the previous pope after her conversion.

However, the schedule of the BBC reality show, which will run for 12 weeks starting in September, could interfere with any potential appointment, especially if Widdecombe were to progress to the latter stages of the competition, suggesting that she plans to drop out closer to the time if appointed. As ambassador, she would likely have some role during the Pope's visit, as the incumbent, Francis Campbell, has announced that the Pope's visit will be his final duty.

So far, the BBC has announced only four of the 12 celebrity contestants for the show. Widdecombe's signing at this early stage sends a confused message about any potential association with the Vatican post. Is she seeking to raise her profile so as to garner greater publicity for her eventual appointment, or does she know she has been dropped from consideration and could thus commit to the whole run of the show? Either way, joining the programme so early on is a baffling move.

In this week's special secularism issue of the New Statesman, she speaks to Alyssa McDonald about rumours that she will be Britain's new envoy to the Vatican, saying:

That is pure speculation from the press. Your profession loves speculation.

Later on in the interview, when asked about her future plans, she remains stubbornly noncommittal, telling Alyssa: "Good try, but I'm not being drawn."

Given her refusal to comment on her candidacy, the decision to join Strictly Come Dancing is decidedly odd, as it seems to be her first real positive statement on the subject. What exactly it shows, though, is a matter for speculation.

Subscription offer: Get 12 issues for just £12 PLUS a free copy of "The Idea of Justice" by Amartya Sen.

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

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Aussies and Kiwis can be “us” to Brexiteers - so why are EU citizens “them”?

Nostalgia for the empire means Brexiteers still see Australians and New Zealanders as "Brits abroad". 

There are many terrible things about Brexit, most of which I counted, mournfully, on the night of the referendum while hiding in a stairwell because I was too depressed to talk to anyone at the party I’d just run away from. But one of the biggest didn’t hit me until the next day, when I met a friend and (I’m aware how ridiculous this may sound) suddenly remembered she was Dutch. She has been here 20 years, her entire adult life, and it’s not that I thought she was British exactly; I’d just stopped noticing she was foreign.

Except now, post-referendum, she very definitely was and her right to remain in Britain was suddenly up for grabs. Eleven months on, the government has yet to clarify the matter for any of Britain’s three million European residents. For some reason, ministers seem to think this is OK.

If you attended a British university in the past 20 years, work in the NHS or the City – or have done almost anything, in large parts of the country – you’ll know people like this: Europeans who have made their lives here, launching careers, settling down with partners, all on the assumption that Britain was part of the EU and so they were as secure here as those with British passports. The referendum has changed all that. Our friends and neighbours are now bargaining chips, and while we may not think of them as foreigners, our leaders are determined to treat them as such. People we thought of as “us” have somehow been recast as “them”.

There’s a problem with bringing notions of “us” and “them” into politics (actually, there are many, which seems like a very good reason not to do it, but let’s focus on one): not everyone puts the boundary between them in the same place. Take the Tory MEP Daniel Hannan. The sort of man one can imagine spent boyhood afternoons copying out Magna Carta for fun, Hannan spent decades campaigning for Brexit. Yet he’s not averse to all forms of international co-operation, and in his spare time he’s an enthusiastic advocate of CANZUK, a sort of Commonwealth-on-steroids in which there would be free movement ­between Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the UK.

When pushed on the reasons this entirely theoretical union is OK, when the real, existing one we’re already in isn’t, he has generally pointed to things such as shared language, culture and war memorials. But the subtext, occasionally made text by less subtle commentators, is that, unlike those Continentals, natives of the other Anglo countries aren’t really foreign. An Australian who’s never set foot in Britain can be “us”; the German doctor who’s been here two decades is still “them”.

There’s a funny thing about Hannan, which I wouldn’t make a big thing of, except it seems to apply to a number of other prominent Leave and CANZUK advocates: for one so fixated on British culture and identity, he grew up a very long way from Britain. He spent his early years in Peru, on his family’s farm near Lima, or occasionally on another one in Bolivia. (You know how it is.) That’s not to say he never set foot in Britain, of course: he was sent here for school.

His bosom pal Douglas Carswell, who is currently unemployed but has in the past found work as both a Conservative and a Ukip MP, had a similarly exotic upbringing. He spent his childhood in Uganda, where his parents were doctors, before boarding at Charterhouse. Then there’s Boris Johnson who, despite being the most ostentatiously British character since John Bull, was born in New York and spent the early years of his life in New England. Until recently, indeed, he held US citizenship; he gave it up last year, ostensibly to show his loyalty to Britain, though this is one of those times where the details of an answer feel less revealing than the fact that he needed to provide one. Oh and Boris went to boarding school, too, of course.

None of these childhoods would look out of place if you read in a biography that it had happened in the 1890s, so perhaps it’s not surprising that they instilled in all of their victims a form of imperial nostalgia. I don’t mean that the Brexiteers were raised to believe they had a moral duty to go around the world nicking other people’s countries (though who knows what the masters really teach them at Eton). Rather, by viewing their homeland from a distance, they grew up thinking of it as a land of hope and glory, rather than the depressing, beige place of white dog poo and industrial strife that 1970s Britain was.

Seen through this lens, much of the more delusional Brexiteer thinking suddenly makes sense. Of course they need us more than we need them; of course they’ll queue up to do trade deals. Even Johnson’s habit of quoting bits of Latin like an Oxford don who’s had a stroke feels like harking back to empire: not to the Roman empire itself (he’s more of a late republican) but to the British one, where such references marked you out as ruling class.

There’s another side effect of this attitude. It enables a belief in a sort of British diaspora: people who are British by virtue of ancestry and ideology no matter how far from these shores they happen to live. In the 19th century, Australians and Canadians were just Brits who happened to be living abroad. What Britain absolutely wasn’t, however, was just another European country. So, in the Leavers’ minds, Aussies and Kiwis still get to be us. The millions of Europeans who have made Britain their home are still, unfortunately, them.

I’m sure these men bear Britain’s European citizens no ill-will; they have, however, fought for a policy that has left them in limbo for 11 months with no end in sight. But that’s the thing about Brexiteers, isn’t it? They may live among us – but they don’t share our values.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

This article first appeared in the 18 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Age of Lies

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