Like B*Witched and the SDP, I am far greater than the sum of my parts

Playing Top Trumps inside your own head.

Susan Calman: she's much greater than the sum of her parts. Photograph: Getty Images

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I love Twitter. I really do. Little fills my heart with joy more than disseminating pictures of cats dressed in funny costumes. I think it’s what the inventor of the internet would’ve wanted. It’s also easy to get used to the concept of “less is more” with Twitter. A mere 140 characters to discuss important political issues? No problem. It’s simple to vacuum-pack your life philosophy into one tweet. What could possibly go wrong? The obsession with reducing complex issues to a bite-sized morsel hasn’t been all fun. Disappointingly, some seem to believe that social media have led to a reduction in the capacity of the public to understand more than one idea at a time. Suddenly simplicity is the key to explanation.

I have personal experience of this particular trend. I’m often asked in interviews what it’s like to be a Scottish, female, comedian, ex-lawyer lesbian. I always answer that I’d find it more difficult to be an English, male, comedian, ex-lawyer lesbian and then I wait for the laugh from the journalist asking the question. Sadly, like summer in Scotland, it never comes. Of course, I’m being flippant, after being asked what is, in essence, a stupid question.

What I’m really being asked to do is play a game of top trumps with my own head, to simplify myself into one banner headline. Sort of what you’d have to do at the world’s least exciting speed-dating evening. But how do you start defining what you are? Is my being Scottish more important than the fact that I’m a feminist? Is being gay more influential within my own psyche than being a comedian? Does the fact that I’m an ex-lawyer with a degree in constitutional law mean that I have more sympathy with politicians? Usually I give a long and involved answer to the journalist who’s dissecting my political make-up with the sharpness of a scalpel made from marshmallow, only to read the final article, where my analysis is summarised with the sentence: “Calman likes cats.”

Whenever it seems that I’m required to create a Venn diagram of my mind, I remember the greats. The Nolans, the Jackson Five, B*Witched, the SDP. All examples of people who, when they worked together, were greater than the sum of their parts. And that’s what I am. A girl band comprising one short woman who can neither dance nor sing. I should enter Eurovision.

But back to the problem. Can I really say I’m more Scottish than gay? Is that even possible? I can’t discuss my queer politics without remembering I grew up in Glasgow in the 1980s where being gay was as easy as being a vegan in an abattoir.

What about being a woman in comedy? I’m often described as a “female” comedian, as if that adjective is required in order to prepare the audience for what might occur. It’s not really required in other jobs. Oh look there’s a “lady teacher” or a “woman accountant”. It’s a subtle way of introducing to an audience the notion that I don’t deserve the full title. Like giving someone beans on toast and then, when presenting them, whispering, “Sorry, they’re own-brand.” My gender obviously influences what I say. I can’t, for example, bemoan how difficult it is to be a white, straight, middle-class man in today’s society. (Apparently it’s really tough – at least, that’s what I keep hearing.)

If I say I’m Scottish first and foremost then I’m accused of being parochial. If I’m gay first (or a premier gay, as I like to call it) then I’m angry and man-hating. If I say that my legal background is most important then I’m dull. And if I say that the comedy is the most important thing, then why would anyone listen to a foul-mouthed clown?

It’s not possible to dissect myself, like an attention-seeking Mr Potato Head, into the sum of my own parts. The obsession with the 140-character Twitter summary of one’s identity just leads to descriptions sounding like a personal ad. “Late 30s gay scots lady, interest in law, GSOH”. The complexity of the human mind can’t be reduced to a one-word description. If we allowed ourselves to breathe, then perhaps we wouldn’t be so disappointed about other people we meet or vote for. We don’t live in the world of Mr Men, where I can wear a badge that says “Little Ms Scottish” or “Little Ms Lady Gay Comic”. I wish I could. But it’d have to be a really big badge.

Susan Calman is a comedian, and more

This article first appeared in the 12 April 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Centenary Special Issue

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Is anyone prepared to solve the NHS funding crisis?

As long as the political taboo on raising taxes endures, the service will be in financial peril. 

It has long been clear that the NHS is in financial ill-health. But today's figures, conveniently delayed until after the Conservative conference, are still stunningly bad. The service ran a deficit of £930m between April and June (greater than the £820m recorded for the whole of the 2014/15 financial year) and is on course for a shortfall of at least £2bn this year - its worst position for a generation. 

Though often described as having been shielded from austerity, owing to its ring-fenced budget, the NHS is enduring the toughest spending settlement in its history. Since 1950, health spending has grown at an average annual rate of 4 per cent, but over the last parliament it rose by just 0.5 per cent. An ageing population, rising treatment costs and the social care crisis all mean that the NHS has to run merely to stand still. The Tories have pledged to provide £10bn more for the service but this still leaves £20bn of efficiency savings required. 

Speculation is now turning to whether George Osborne will provide an emergency injection of funds in the Autumn Statement on 25 November. But the long-term question is whether anyone is prepared to offer a sustainable solution to the crisis. Health experts argue that only a rise in general taxation (income tax, VAT, national insurance), patient charges or a hypothecated "health tax" will secure the future of a universal, high-quality service. But the political taboo against increasing taxes on all but the richest means no politician has ventured into this territory. Shadow health secretary Heidi Alexander has today called for the government to "find money urgently to get through the coming winter months". But the bigger question is whether, under Jeremy Corbyn, Labour is prepared to go beyond sticking-plaster solutions. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.