Why inhumanity is winning

It will win only if we let it. It has been said that, for evil to flourish, it takes only a few good men to do nothing about it.

What makes us human? Well, we’d have to define “human”, wouldn’t we? Apart from the trivial meaning of simply “pertaining to a member of the Homo sapiens species”, the word is usually used in two ways, which are related . . .

1) Characteristic of people as opposed to God or animals or machines, especially in being susceptible to weaknesses: they are only human, and therefore mistakes do occur; the risk of human error.

2) Characteristic of people’s better qualities, such as kindness or sensitivity: the human side of politics is getting stronger.

These definitions are straight out of Apple’s dictionary and are probably typical.

Here we see the qualities that we hope are to be found in us . . . and it’s noticeable that they are not the qualities of accumulating riches or power, or dominating what surrounds us. On the contrary, the qualities that we instinctively feel make us special as a race are the opposite of what so much of the world actually strives for. We apparently admire vulnerability, consciousness of our own weakness, and consideration of the sensibilities of other beings around us.

So it doesn’t take 700 words to define what makes us human – by common consent, it’s kindness. But if this is the general perception of what there is to be proud of in human behaviour, why is it that, when we look around, so often we see the very opposite? We see decisions being made purely on the basis of money, or to benefit the careers of those wielding power. We see people being cruel to children, to the disadvantaged, and to the other creatures with whom we share this glistening blue planet. We see people enjoying the pain they can inflict on other beings, and vigorously defending their right to do so as a “civil liberty”. It’s almost impossible to believe, but there are people at this moment working night and day to keep hold of their right to indulge in despicable cruelty.

Once upon a time it was legal to keep black men in chains, to burn so-called witches at the stake, to dig out badgers and use them as “bait” for training dogs to be vicious, to hunt wild animals with packs of dogs that would rip the quarry limb from limb. All of these things are now illegal, but there are still teams of people working to bring back blood sports – these inhuman behaviours. And they are supported by many rich and powerful people in Britain today.

It’s worse than this. Just as the laws that protect children from abuse are flouted behind closed doors, and time and time again atrocities are exposed, the laws, such as they are, against wildlife crime are routinely being broken in our countryside. Law and order have broken down. Thousands of badgers are being slaughtered and thrown on the roads. Fox hunts regularly hunt foxes to death, in contempt of the law, which the present regime is refusing to enforce. The sickening practice of badger-baiting is rife and actually increasing.

It appears that the inhuman side of humans is winning. But it will win only if we let it. It has been said that, for evil to flourish, it takes only a few good men to do nothing about it.

Perhaps, after all, the almost laughable simplistic generalisation is true. Perhaps there are two kinds of human being. On the one hand, are those who understand that we are all – human and non-human – just animals, and that the gift which has been given to Man is awareness, to make the world a kind place for all. And, on the other hand, are those who don’t “get it”; who cling to the idea that Man, or more accurately they, are the only thing that really matters on this planet, and that all other beings –men, women, children and animals – are to be used and abused at their pleasure.

It is shocking. But after the past few years, in which I have seen so much awful cruelty, and so much shining goodness, it seems to me that the good can never persuade the bad to change. The amount of wasted effort is enormous and depressing. All we can hope for is a decent, benign, compassionate government one day which will outlaw cruelty of all kinds, and enforce decent behaviour on those who cannot see that they are doing anything wrong. That has been the pattern in the past.

But are we human? Are we a humane race? Looking around at the concrete world we have created, in which the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and the weak become persecuted to extinction, I seriously wonder if we have the right to call ourselves, as a race, human. We have a hell of a long way to go.

Brian May is a guitarist, formerly with the rock band Queen, and an astrophysicist This article is the third in a series published in association with BBC Radio 2 and the Jeremy Vine show

This article first appeared in the 20 May 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The Dream Ticket

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State