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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The world has entered a new Cold War – what went wrong?

Peter Conradi’s Who Lost Russia? How the World Entered a New Cold War traces the accumulation of distrust between the West and Russia.

In March 1992 an alarmist “secret” memo written by Richard Nixon found its way on to the front page of the New York Times. “The hot-button issue of the 1950s was, ‘Who lost China?’ If Yeltsin goes down, the question ‘Who lost Russia?’ will be an infinitely more devastating issue in the 1990s,” the former US president wrote.

Nixon’s point was well made. At that time, Boris Yeltsin, who had acted as the wrecking ball of the Soviet Union, was desperately struggling to hold the splintering new Russian Federation together. An empire, a political system, an ideology and a planned economy had all been shattered in a matter of weeks. Western diplomats in Moscow feared that millions of starving people might flood out of the former Soviet Union and that the country’s vast nuclear arsenal might be left unguarded. Yet the West seemed incapable of rising to the scale of the historic challenge, providing only meagre – and often misguided – support to Yeltsin. Between 1993 and 1999, US aid to Russia amounted to no more than $2.50 per person. The Marshall Plan II it was not.

Even so, and rather remarkably, Russia was not “lost” during the 1990s. Yeltsin succeeded in stumbling through the decade, creating at least some semblance of a democracy and a market economy. Truly it was a case of “Armageddon averted”, as the historian Stephen Kotkin put it.

It seems hard to remember now, but for many Russians 1991 was a moment of liberation for them as much as it was for those in the Soviet Union’s other 14 republics. The Westernising strand of Russian thought briefly flourished. “Democratic Russia should and will be just as natural an ally of the democratic nations of the West as the totalitarian Soviet Union was a natural opponent of the West,” the country’s first foreign minister, Andrei Kozyrev, proclaimed.

When Vladimir Putin emerged on the political scene in Moscow in 1999 he, too, made much of his Westernising outlook. When my editor and I went to interview him as prime minister, there was a portrait of Tsar Peter the Great, who had founded Putin’s home city of St Petersburg as Russia’s window on the West, hanging proudly on his office wall. President Putin, as he soon became, was strongly supportive of Washington following al-Qaeda’s attacks on the United States in 2001. “In the name of Russia, I want to say to the American people – we are with you,” he declared. Russian generals instructed their US counterparts in the lessons they had learned from their doomed intervention in Afghanistan.

Yet the sediment of distrust between the West and Russia accumulated steadily. The expansion of Nato to former countries of the Warsaw Pact, the bombing of Serbia, the invasion of Iraq and the West’s support for the “colour” revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine had all antagonised Moscow. But Putin’s increasing authoritarianism, hyperactive espionage and propaganda activities abroad drove the West away, as did his interventionism in Georgia and Ukraine.

Given the arc of Russian history, it was not surprising that the pendulum swung back so decisively towards the country’s Slavophiles. As a veteran foreign reporter for the Sunday Times and former Moscow correspondent, Peter Conradi is a cool-headed and even-handed guide to the past 25 years of Western-Russian relations. So much of what is written about Russia today is warped by polemics, displaying either an absurd naivety about the nature of Putin’s regime or a near-phobic hostility towards the country. It is refreshing to read so well-written and dispassionate an account – even if Conradi breaks little new ground.

The book concludes with the election of Donald Trump and the possibility of a new rapprochement between Washington and Moscow. Trump and Putin are indulging in a bizarre, if not grotesque, bromance. But as both men adhere to a zero-sum view of the world, it seems unlikely that their flirtation will lead to consummation.

For his part, Conradi does not hold out much hope for a fundamental realignment in Russia’s outlook. “Looking back another 25 years from now, it will doubtless be the Westward-looking Russia of the Yeltsin years that is seen as the aberration and the assertive, self-assured Putin era that is the norm,” he writes.

But the author gives the final word to the US diplomat George Kennan, a perpetual source of wisdom on all things Russian. “Of one thing we may be sure: no great and enduring change in the spirit and practice of Russia will ever come about primarily through foreign inspiration or advice,” Kennan wrote in 1951. “To be genuine, to be enduring, and to be worth the hopeful welcome of other peoples such a change would have to flow from the initiatives and efforts of the Russians themselves.”

Perhaps it is fanciful to believe that Russia has ever been “lost” to the West, because it has never been fully “won”.

John Thornhill is a former Moscow bureau chief for the Financial Times

Peter Conradi appears at the Cambridge Literary Festival, in association with the NS, on 23 April. cambridgeliteraryfestival.com

Who Lost Russia? How the World Entered a New Cold War by Peter Conradi is published by One World (384pp, £18.99​)

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times