Reviewed: The British Dream - Successes and Failures of Post-War Immigration by David Goodhart

Comings and goings.

The British Dream: Successes and Failures of Post-War Immigration
David Goodhart
Atlantic Books, 416pp, £20

For a brief period from late 2008 and all through 2009, some on the left believed that the economic crisis and near collapse of the financial system would rally people to its banner. They were quickly disillusioned and had to ask why no political benefit had accrued to the left from bank recapitalisation and the crisis of capitalism.

A simple suggestion might be that our economic problems pre-date these events. For example, after 1997, immigration policy was a major driver of government macroeconomic strategy and the search for labour-market flexibility. Whatever its economic virtues, this was a policy that, in the eyes of many, helped to turn the Labour Party toxic. Geoffrey Evans and Kat Chzhen of Nuffield College, Oxford calculate that Labour may have lost the 2010 election not because of its handling of the economy but because of perceived failures on immigration.

Yet how do we confront this when the politics of immigration trigger defensive reactions on much of the left? Questioning high inflows of people or raising economic and cultural concerns are too often dismissed as xenophobia and bigotry. David Goodhart was one of the first to raise just such questions and he paid for it. Following the publication in 2004 of Goodhart’s 6,000-word essay for Prospect magazine entitled “Too Diverse?”, the then chair of the Commission for Racial Equality, Trevor Phillips, said that “the xenophobes should come clean” and declared Goodhart’s essay to be the stuff of “liberal Powellites”.

Goodhart kept going, however. His 2006 pamphlet, Progressive Nationalism: Citizenship and the Left, pushed further. How do we reconcile our sense of solidarity with our diversity, he asked. How do we overcome tensions between insiders and outsiders that drain support for a shared welfare pool? Goodhart called this our “progressive dilemma”.

Many thought he played too fast and loose, and found him publicity-hungry, overeager to play the iconoclast. Surely any balanced discussion of the welfare state had to acknowledge that its existence and resilience is itself the product of mass immigration? Further, in Goodhart’s framing, the migrant often appeared as the taker, the problem. Yet there is strong evidence that migrants are net contributors to our country. He also lacked an adequate political economy of empire and its labourpower requirements. So he rightly took some heavy criticism. Yet, in the name of tolerance, parts of the left practised intolerance. By closing down the argument they allowed the right to shape the tone and language of the immigration debate, particularly in England. Meanwhile, having earlier in the decade sidelined the Parekh commission on the future of multi-ethnic Britain, New Labour tacked towards popular concerns about immigration and played people’s concerns right back at them.

After a fairly generous lag, a new debate has begun in the Labour Party. The publication of Goodhart’s book The British Dream follows two major speeches late last year by Ed Miliband and a more recent one by the shadow home secretary, Yvette Cooper. Both acknowledged the part immigration has played in generating economic insecurity and in shoring up the preference of business for short-termism and cheap labour over innovation and skills training. And they both acknowledged the cultural change and sense of loss that have left many people feeling alienated and resentful. So, to the extent that he raises these issues, Goodhart finds himself occupying the centre ground. We now speak more openly and with less anxiety about race, class, demographics and nation.

The British Dream develops familiar themes. “In the space of less than 60 years,” Goodhart writes, “a rather homogenous country at the heart of a multiracial empire became a multiracial country, now without an empire.” How did this happen and what are the consequences? Three sections follow. The first attacks the remote cosmopolitanism of much of the left and emphasises the importance of physical place and national boundary in an era of globalisation. The second is an empirical analysis of inflows and a tour of debates around multiculturalism, while the third section focuses on the tensions and dilemmas of national identity.

Historians will look back on the past few decades and identify immigration as perhaps the major change to our country. There have been two big phases of immigration. The post-colonial phase lasted from 1948 until the early 1990s. It brought to Britain around two million people from the Caribbean, India, Pakistan and Africa. By the end of this period the number of ethnic-minority Britons stood at four million. The second phase, which coincided with a huge shift in the global movement of people, started in the late 1990s. Net immigration of non-British citizens has added another four million to the population in just 15 years.

The 2011 census for England and Wales put the proportion of the population who are not white-British at just under 20 per cent. This includes eight million of those whom Goodhart terms “visible minorities”, by which he means non-whites, and three million who are white and include those from eastern Europe, Australia, Ireland and Germany. According to Goodhart, future trends suggest that by the time of the next census in 2021 the “visible minority population” (including people of mixed ethnic backgrounds) of England and Wales will have risen from 14 per cent to roughly 20 per cent.

Predictions of population trends, birth and death rates and the growth of our various ethnic populations are contested. But whatever one’s response to such statistics – and some maintain that the mere mention of numbers and projections is tainted with racism – they point to an unprecedented change in our country. It is, Goodhart writes, “a demographic revolution” and one that he argues has happened by accident. It is transforming the cultures and common life of Britain.

Immigration raises questions about the character of England and the English, in particular. Who are we in this post-devolution, post-industrial era? Is the shrill politics of loss and resentment inevitable? These are questions that will continue to energise a politics of culture and belonging and shape the political settlement that is emerging in the wake of the economic crisis, just as they shaped the political settlement that emerged from the crisis of the mid-1970s. That led to the success of the New Right, the victory of Margaret Thatcher and the dominance of the neoliberal model of capitalism.

Though little acknowledged, Enoch Powell’s anti-immigration politics of culture and belonging laid the groundwork for the economic revolution of Thatcherism. His 1968 “rivers of blood” speech attacked government policy on immigration and broke ranks with the political elite. Powell “put a match to a tinderbox” and the result was an “explosion of bigotry, prejudice, alarm and fear”. His racialised politics found ready support among a settled population fearful that their way of life was under threat. Powell had identified and exploited the growing gulf between the people and a liberalminded ruling elite. He accused it of being an “enemy within” bent upon the destruction of the country. It was the first major assault on the postwar consensus.

The response of both the Labour and Conservative leaderships was to dismiss Powell as a demagogue and racist. Few recognised that new political fault lines were opening up, nor did they grasp that Powell had embarked on what was, in Tom Nairn’s phrase, “a preliminary groundbreaking exercise” for a new political order. However, not even Nairn could have foreseen the radicalism of Margaret Thatcher’s economic revolution. “Race” and immigration would play a major role in the new battle for England.

Concern about immigration is felt by all British ethnic groups. Anxiety about being isolated among people of a different culture through no choice of one’s own is understandable. Living in a neighbourhood of constantly changing strangers can be intolerable. People live in places and seek stability and familiarity for their family and children. Home is basic to a secure society. It provides a sense of belonging and identity. People’s loyalties and fidelities are local, ordinary and particular; they are not universal, abstract and general. We live within our relationships and these are foremost in value and importance for us. To fear their loss or disruption to them is only human.

Immigration is as much about those who have lived in these islands for generations as it is about those newly arrived. As Ed Miliband has said, we have to create together a common life around the shared language of English and a willingness to work and obey the laws of the country. It is out of these social bonds that shared ideas of the common good can be built. When people are secure in their culture and identity, they are open to others.

Labour’s “one-nation” politics is less about a society of many cultures and more about creating a common life that allows us to find unity in our differences. It is about a patriotism in which all British citizens are equal in their rights, their obligations and in the opportunities that are open to them. The task of rebuilding Britain will require a democratic politics of culture and belonging as much as a new political economy; a connected society as much as a new economic model of wealth creation.

I was fearful of reading this book. I feared that Goodhart, while claiming he is “not setting out to be provocative”, might seek to turn up the dial in order to gain a certain notoriety and traction for his work. Instead, however, I found greater nuance and texture than before.

There are still some difficulties. I don’t understand why he doesn’t acknowledge that hardline economic liberals, just as much as the most abstract cosmopolitans, reject any notion of national boundaries and loyalties. Goodhart is also too ready to accept the government’s claims about reducing “net migration”, which lumps all immigration together and does nothing about the problem of “churn” that he says he wants to avoid. He misses a trick, too, in not locating hostility to patriotism within a longer arc and linking it to the collapse of Gladstonian Liberalism as patriotic fervour bled into the ballot box in 1900. J A Hobson’s The Psychology of Jingoism (1901) looked for explanations in the essential irrationality of the sentiment, and conditioned much left thinking about patriotism through the last century as a consequence. Goodhart fails to respect genuine concerns on the left regarding the racial absolutism of much patriotic politics.

Nevertheless, The British Dream is an important contribution to any durable “one nation” politics. The country is heading for some pretty turbulent times and the left must contest these spaces, not vacate them to the right and the politics of loss and demonisation. Goodhart has occupied them longer than many and his work is evolving into something of real substance. I hope the book will be widely read.

Jon Cruddas, MP for Dagenham and Rainham, is co-ordinating the Labour Party’s policy review

Britons celebrate during last year's Jubilee. Photograph: Getty Images

Jon Cruddas is Labour's policy review coordinator and MP for Dagenham

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

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Marc Maron: a conversation with the anxiety co-pilot

Now that the interview-based podcast WTF has had millions of downloads and featured guests from Iggy Pop and Barack Obama, what does its host Marc Maron want to say?

Richard Pryor decided to talk about race. Sam Kinison used his fame and his family history to talk about God. Bill Hicks asked why nothing produced in America seemed quite worthy of the people who consumed it. Now that the intimate, interview-based podcast WTF has had millions of downloads on iTunes and has featured guests from Mel Brooks to Iggy Pop and, this summer, Barack Obama, what does its host, the comedian Marc Maron – adopter of stray cats, recovered addict and vinyl hoarder – feel he has to say?

“I think the type of conversations that I have on the show are something that is missing in our lives,” Maron told me one recent Friday, down the line from the garage in the garden of his home in Highland Park, Los Angeles, where WTF has been recorded twice a week since 2009. “We’ve lost the knowledge that it’s not that hard to have an hour-long conversation with someone. You’re built to carry whatever problems they have. I think it’s good for the heart.”

If the Maron family crest bore a motto, it might be that timeless adage: “Wherever you go, there you are.” Born in 1963, Maron was raised by a real-estate broker mother and an orthopaedic surgeon father, first in New Jersey, then in Alaska, then in Albuquerque, New Mexico. “My father is and was both an overactive hypochondriac and a physician,” he wrote in his 2013 memoir, Attempting Normal, “which is a bad combination.” After studying English at Boston University, he began performing stand-up comedy at the age of 24.

“I don’t think of myself as a joke guy,” he told me. “Most of what I do is creating a dialogue around my own problems. Some people call it ‘navel-gazing’ but I’d prefer to call it ‘compulsive self-awareness’.”

And there have been many problems. Maron, now 51, began his 2013 comedy special Thinky Pain by telling the audience in the basement of the Village Gate nightclub in New York that he didn’t “have a lot of respect for people that don’t have the courage to lose complete control of their life for a few years”.

When Maron was 35, unhappily married, hoovering up booze, weed and cocaine most evenings, he met a beautiful aspiring comedian 12 years his junior, who told him he looked dreadful and offered to help him get sober. And she did, more or less. He divorced his first wife and pinned his hopes on his second. By 2009, he was living on the US west coast, divorced for a second time, barely able to work and newly dismissed from the morning talk show he’d co-hosted on the left-leaning Air America radio network.

“It was a period where I needed to talk a lot,” he said, “but also to sort of re-engage with something I think I had practised as a child: being part of somebody else.” With the former Air America producer Brendan McDonald, Maron began recording conversations with comedian friends, seeking advice, delving into their lives. He asked stock questions, such as “What did your old man do?” and “Who were your guys?”, as if they might provide some clue to where he had gone wrong. Then people started to listen.

“I started getting emails saying somehow or other the dialogue with my guests, or my monologues, were making people feel better or getting them through dark times,” he said. “I never anticipated people would get that type of help from the show.”

In a recent episode with Ian McKellen, Maron explained to the British actor that his listeners were “sensitive, slightly aggravated, usually intelligent people”, not so much “a demographic, more of a disposition”. By 2010, WTF had attracted a cult following. Robin Williams came to the garage and talked about his depression. Maron’s fellow stand-up Todd Glass came out as gay on the show after a string of suicides among young LGBT people. Friends whom Maron had known throughout his career, including David Cross, Sarah Silverman and Bob Odenkirk, joined him to reminisce. His 2010 interview with Louis CK, arguably the best-known US comedian of recent years, was voted the greatest podcast episode ever by the online magazine Slate.

“Comedians in their infancy are generally selfish, irresponsible, emotionally retarded, morally dubious, substance-addicted animals who live out of boxes and milk crates,” Maron wrote in his memoir. Yet, as they mature, they can become “some of the most thoughtful, philosophical, open-minded . . . creative people in the world”.

“The best comics are people that have taken the chance to live a life independent of mainstream culture and expectations,” he told me. “They’re constantly looking for an angle on the information coming in. They write things down. It’s the life of a thinker, or a philosopher, or poet – however you want to put it.”

I suggested that poetry was an ideal analogy for comedy, not only because poets reframe reality in a truthful way but also because they can be savage and resentful, particularly to fellow poets. It’s a fact Maron openly concedes about himself.

“I’m the clown that thought Louis CK’s show Louie should be called F*** You, Marc Maron,” he said at the 2011 Just for Laughs Comedy Festival in Montreal. The episode of WTF with Louis CK, a friend since the late 1980s, is remarkable not only for the moment when CK becomes audibly emotional as he discusses the birth of his first child, but for the way in which he unflinchingly airs his grievances with Maron, who confesses to envying CK’s success so much that they lost contact for a time. “You were being a shitty friend by being jealous,” CK says. “I could’ve used you . . . I got divorced. I got a show cancelled. I could’ve used a friend.”

So, in 2015, with a TV series about his life on the IFC cable network concluding its third series, the widely discussed interview in which Obama opened up about parenting, gun control and racism in the US and a series of high-profile appearances in Dublin, London and Sydney booked to showcase new material, surely the glass at last looks half full? “Maybe,” he said. “There are some people whose ego is able to accept the love and adoration of an audience. I’ve always been one to question that.”

Yet the improvements to his life – recognition, financial security, reconciliation with old friends – are undeniable. “Most creative people move through a tremendous amount of insecurity, which can turn to hostility. But the podcast became socially relevant and some of the insecurities dissipated. I could accept myself, for the most part, and realise that all the hard work I’d done for half my life had manifested into something that connects with people.”

Maron’s biggest anxiety today, he explained at the end of our talk, before opening the garage door to face the day, is that he’s “swamped with work all the f***ing time”.

“I beat myself up feeling like I should be out in the world, seeing a play or some art or something. Often, when I do monologues, I think, ‘I’ve got nothing to talk about.’ But then I go on and talk about nothing.”

The truth is that Marc Maron isn’t Richard Pryor or Bill Hicks – but that’s OK. We live in a different time. Perhaps what listeners need most is not more opinions, but a little help getting out of their own way: a co-pilot to navigate the anxieties of living day to day. “That’s exactly right,” he said. “The little things.”

Marc Maron performs at the Southbank Centre, London SE1, on 3 and 4 September

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 03 September 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Pope of the masses