The NS Interview: Annie Lennox

“I’m not going to use my sexuality to define me”

What do you think of yourself as first, an advocate or a musician?
I have different hats; I'm a mother, I'm a woman, I'm a human being, I'm an artist and hopefully I'm an advocate. All of those plates are things I spin all the time.

Will you always make music?
I only want to make music because I have a passion for it. The momentum of success that we had as the Eurythmics was so powerful that
I couldn't get off the bus for a decade. I got to my thirties and suddenly felt that I didn't have a life - it was just about travelling and touring and making albums. Money is a good thing and it's obviously useful, but to work only for money or fame would never interest me.

Is there a positive side to fame?
It certainly has something of value if you are famous for doing good work or creating great art. Fame for fame's sake is toxic - some people want that, with no boundaries. It's unhealthy.

What was the significance of your androgynous style?
It was about being in a partnership, in a duo with a man. In a way, it was saying: we are equals and I'm not going to use my sexuality to define me. I'm going to be as good as a man. I'm even going to make you wonder what I am.

Would that work nowadays?
That was then. I thought that things could progress, but nobody is thinking along those lines any more. Sex sells. It sells cars, shampoos, everything. The message to young women is: "You look a certain way and that's powerful." Well, it's not, actually.

Are you troubled by mass culture being so sexualised?
There's no problem for me with sexuality itself. We're all sexual creatures. But it troubles me when hardcore misogyny is used in such a generic and accepted way. Playing into that - the game of "the whore" - might make women some money, but it is not truly empowering.

Do we still need feminism?
Feminism is a word that I identify with. The term has become synonymous with vitriolic man-hating but it needs to come back to a place where both men and women can embrace it. It is particularly important for women in developing countries.

Have you ever experienced sexism?
In ways, of course - it's part of society; it could just be a patronising comment - but compared to the disparity that I've seen in the developing world, my experience of sexism is minuscule.

Is charity the best way to help the developing world?
Charity is necessary - as is aid - but I agree with the argument that we should be teaching people to help themselves. However, it should be a human right for a mother to have access to life-saving treatment. We can get Coca-Cola spread across the world; why not vital drugs?

What do you think of the coalition government?
When I was a kid, grown-ups identified themselves with a party and it was very cut and dried. Nowadays to say you're left- or right-wing - no onereally knows what that means any more. In a way, the coalition represents where we're at. We're in the middle of nowhere: a bit right-wing, a bit left-wing, a bit in the middle.

Is there a plan?
You make a plan because you have to. I recognised that I wanted to be a singer-songwriter back in the 1970s, but a lot of it is timing, fluke, determination. If I were to write down my life as a game of snakes and ladders, I would be going up the ladders and down the snakes all the time. That's kind of how it seems to work.

Is religion a part of your life?
I've nothing against anybody who has a faith, but I look at organised religion and I'm appalled by what I see, the hypocrisy and the double standards. The universe is an extraordinary place, but bigotry comes in and spoils it.

Is there anything you'd rather forget?
One wants to forget bad experiences, disappointments, but you have to deal with your own unfinished business - it's almost like you have to spin it into gold. You have to look really hard at your bitterness, your destructive tendencies and your knee-jerk reactions, and say: "How do I take responsibility for myself?"

Do you vote?
For many years I didn't. I thought: I don't believe in this political system, so not voting is valid. Then I voted Labour in 1997. But I was disgusted and hugely disillusioned by the invasion of Iraq. If I'm going to vote, I want to believe 100 per cent in who I'm voting for. So I'm back to not voting.

Are we all doomed?
Well, we're all going to die. The sooner we accept that life is temporary, the easier we can be about our living.

Defining Moments

1954 Born on Christmas Day in Aberdeen
1980 Forms Eurythmics with Dave Stewart
1990 Leaves Eurythmics to concentrate on family and work for Shelter
1992 Releases her debut solo album, Diva. It goes to number one in the UK
2007 Becomes Oxfam global ambassador
2010 Is appointed Unesco's goodwill ambassador on Aids
2011 Sets up Equals, a network of charities, to mark 100th International Women's Day

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 30 May 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Hands up who knows how to fix our schools

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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