Workers against Wall Street

President Obama’s “shock and awe” statism is failing. On the eve of the midterm elections, the US ec

Gary, Indiana

We're hurtling through downtown Gary at about 75 miles an hour but Officer Lilley, at the wheel of our car, remains relaxed. He's telling me languid stories about the AK-47s that the local teenagers carry, about the gangs, the drugs, the overtime. Then the city's "shot spotter" pings an alert on to his laptop, which is wedged right next to the handbrake.

He mutters a call for assistance into his radio and swings the police car on to the forecourt of a gas station where about 30 people are running, pointing, strung out, screaming recriminations. There's been a fight, but the fighters are gone, as is the kid who decided to let off his pistol. Nobody is dead. Everybody is shouting into the face of Officer Lilley, a black cop in a black crowd, who simply drawls soothing phrases back at them.

Eventually seven police cars arrive and the cops fan out to disperse the crowd of onlookers, many of whom they seem to know by name. Two years ago there were times when the city could field only five cars in total on a night shift, but federal dollars have paid for 96 new vehicles and allowed Gary Police to re-employ 11 laid-off officers. This short, sharp exercise in armed social work is possible only because of the fiscal stimulus.

Gary is a city where 84 per cent of the population is black and one-third of the people live in poverty. It is one of the most obvious places on earth where an influx of taxpayer dollars might do some good. It has 3,000 abandoned homes and a decaying infrastructure, and its public finances stand two years away from bankruptcy. Yet what is obvious, amid these wrecked streets and impoverished lives, is how little the stimulus has achieved.

Gary's urban texture - grass and ivy over broken concrete - is testimony to what happens when an economic model fails. In its deserted downtown district, the churches, the concert hall, the theatre, the ballet studio, the Gothic apartments from whose windows steel magnates once surveyed the city's pulsating wealth, stand ruined, unsecured against intruders.

Though atypical of America, Gary's broken landscape is spectacularly typical of what has gone wrong in the country at large. Its meagre progress, two years into the Obama administration, signals the president's failure to solve America's most basic problems and to deliver to the very people whose votes put him in the White House.

The problem for America today is that another economic model has failed: one based on globalisation, cheap credit, home ownership and mass consumption. Six million Americans have fallen below the poverty line since December 2007. The median income has fallen by 4.7 per cent. In the same period, more than 2.5 million homes have been repossessed. And that only compounds the long-term problems America hid beneath the financial euphoria of the boom years - but average real wages have stagnated since the 1990s; the number without health insurance has grown by ten million in a decade and stands at 50 million.

The most basic problem is this: in a system based on credit, the credit system is not functioning. It's easy to spot the malfunction in a city like Gary: I saw one home for sale at $7,900 cash, the scrawled street-corner placard adding, by way of explanation, the word "Foreclosure". The only part of the credit system that does function is the destructive part; the "payday loans" store on Gary's main street is the only thing left with working neon signs. Most of the other shops are closed for good.

With a swollen mass of people unable to borrow, save or spend, the great dynamo of the world economy - American consumption - is sputtering. And the stimulus has not yet managed to restart it.

Eighteen months ago, the mayor of Gary, Rudy Clay, told me that all the city needed was $400m. With that, said the dapper veteran of the civil rights movement, Gary would "fly like an eagle and once again make America proud". In the event, the city was given just $266m - most of that earmarked for education - and for spending not on current costs, but on reorganisation.

Of the $24m Clay applied for to knock down derelict homes, $2m was delivered - and most of the buildings are still standing. It took 18 months for the money to pay for new streetlights to filter through the system. And, with $266m, Gary has managed to create the grand total of 327 jobs. That is more than $800,000 per job.

“We were last in line," Clay complains. "We keep pressing the State of Indiana for more money - to fix our roads, for example - but the problem is they spent all the money. They probably thought, 'Well, Gary voted in large numbers for the president, so the president can take care of them.'" A glance at the city's finances reveals a more complex picture. Its financial controls are archaic, its debts to other agencies high; and its tax base is heavily dependent on one source - a property tax that brings in 80 per cent of Gary's revenue.

In 2008 the Republican-controlled state government of Indiana brought in tax-capping measures that will, by 2012, halve the amount of property tax Gary can collect. While richer, whiter counties surrounding Gary have their own local income taxes, Gary does not - for the simple reason that there is very little income to tax. Within this system, redistribution is impossible unless the state and federal governments make it happen.

But that is where Gary's problems run into the culture war that has gripped America.The governor of Indiana is Mitch Daniels, a fiscal conservative who has made his reputation by balancing the state's books, privatising Indiana's major roads system in the process. Daniels - unlike some other Republican governors - agreed to accept the fiscal stimulus money, but on condition that the state retained control. He then decreed that the stimulus could not be used to fix the balance sheets of near-bankrupt city governments like Gary. Only major, one-off projects would receive federal dollars.

So, in the midst of the largest fiscal stimulus since the Second World War, one of America's poorest cities is being forced to cut taxes and cut spending. By 2012 its entire tax take will not be enough to cover the police, fire and ambulance services. Officer Lilley and his colleagues know that all the problems that fuel the crime - drugs, truancy, poor housing, unemployment - will remain unaddressed.

President Obama's stimulus was formulated with high hopes: two-thirds of the $787bn spent would be delivered not through the Bush-era mechanism of tax cuts, but through the overtly Keynesian channel of public spending. Jared Bernstein and Christina Romer, economists on Obama's transition team, predicted in January 2009 that the stimulus money would "create three to four million jobs" by the end of 2010, 90 per cent of them in the private sector. They projected that unemployment would peak at just 8 per cent in 2009.

The Romer/Bernstein forecast, like much of the Obama stimulus plan, was a triumph of optimism. Unemployment reached 10 per cent a year ago and has not been below 9.5 per cent since, even with the stimulus. Private-sector employment has shrunk. The money has been spent, but the jobs and growth did not follow.

The paucity of achievement is all the more remarkable given that, two months after the Romer/Bernstein report was published, the Federal Reserve was forced to launch its own, much bigger monetary stimulus package, known as quantitative easing (QE). By printing money and using it to buy a mixture of bank and government debt, the Fed pumped $1.75trn into the US economy.

Yet the combined results are poor. Growth is slowing. The threat of deflation is so clear that the Federal Reserve will, on the morrow of the midterm elections, be forced to throw several hundred billions more into QE.

In the housing market, there is already a double dip. Even with mortgage interest rates cut to their lowest ever, the sheer volume of un-sold properties - 1.5 million empty and a further five million trapped in a "shadow" market - has begun to push house prices down again. The banking sector has begun to shudder in turn at the prospect of another round of mortgage losses.

It is this tangible failure of economic strategy that is sapping the energy and credibility of the Obama administration. It has provided the American right with a convincing narrative to unite the plebeian conservative and "coastal elite" strands of Republicanism.

Governor Daniels, a mainstream Republican who is being tipped as the man to run against Obama in 2012, calls Obama's policy "shock and awe statism". But the real shock is how little has been achieved. Statewide, the whole of Indiana has managed to spend $4bn of stimulus money to create 10,000 jobs.

“It's not enough," the governor says, "and I would caution you that while I know the $4bn is real, I cannot say the same about the 10,000 jobs. We just don't know. They [the federal government] don't know."

Nationally, he says, "We've had this perverse outcome in which the private sector has continued to shrink and the public sector has gotten bigger. Frankly, it looks more like a way to take care of favoured constituencies than an economic policy."

So, for the mainstream American right, what explains the failure of the Obama stimulus is "crowding out": it is the size of the state that has prevented the private sector from responding to the crisis with fresh hiring and company start-ups. In addition, consistently large majorities polled by the Pew Research Centre believe that state intervention has benefited the banks and large corporations only - leaving the middle class, the poor and small businesses to rot. Finally, there is a growing fear that the size of the budget deficit will drag the United States into penury. Daniels tells me that the country faces a "survival-level threat".

It is in this context that the narrative of the Tea Party movement has emerged. And you have only to travel a hundred kilometres east of Gary, along the patched-up private motorways of Indiana, to hear it in full voice.

The hall is swaying to the tune of "God Bless the USA" - a song for which everyone except the journalists stands up, many clenching fists against chests. The crowd is 99 per cent white and 100 per cent Christian. Of those to whom I speak during the interval, several believe that the president is neither American nor Christian. One is selling a set of playing cards depicting Obama as a "Kenyan-born, lying, arrogant Muslim communist that hates America".

What the Tea Party objects to is the president's policies of state intervention. What it adds to conventional fiscal conservatism is the idea that all state intervention into economic life is immoral, un-Christian and unconstitutional. The plebeian right is convinced that a city like Gary neither deserves stimulus money nor can use it to any good effect.

Jackie Walorski, a Republican who sits in the Indiana legislature and is standing for the US House of Representatives on 2 November, tells me: "We are watching a freight train of spending in this country. Americans don't live that way. We're the land of capitalism; we're not the land of taking people's public tax money and throwing it into a concept that isn't proven, that has not produced jobs."

Does she begrudge the money spent in Gary? Would she have blocked the cash for schools, more police and police vehicles?

“It's not a question of begrudging," says Wal­orski, a 47-year-old former TV journalist. "Just because it's gone to education, police and fire doesn't mean the money has done anything in those areas. That's not what the key is in this country. You can continue to write cheques but recovery comes from private-sector jobs and holding a line on spending."

What is sapping the energy of Democratic Party supporters, even in a place like Gary, is that if you strip Walorski's words of all the rhetoric, economically they ring true. America's governance system, lacking the basic capacity, and in some places the will, to spend the money, looks ill suited to delivering maximum bang for 787 billion bucks.

But the rhetoric itself has material impact, and way beyond the worried Christian faces assembled to hear it. It is a rhetoric that - intentionally or otherwise - identifies the recipients of state spending as the enemies of the American constitution. From Indiana to the Gulf of Mexico, that means the public sector, migrants and the African-American poor.

When Walorski takes the stage at a Tea Party rally in the small rural town of Angola, Indiana as warm-up act for the Fox News commentator Glenn Beck, she points to a giant US flag behind her and whips the audience to its feet with the warning that they have just days "to fight for who we are in America".

She continues: "If we don't fight for freedom, liberty, individual destiny, they are redefining this country out from underneath us. The battle we're facing is to defend this flag on our turf, our soil. When our soldiers came out of the boats in Normandy they literally walked over the bodies of other soldiers to fight for our freedom. The battle we face today, the ideological war that we're fighting, is for standing up for a constitution. The land of the free and the home of the brave is under assault today."

It is worth unpacking this statement. In the literal text, Obama and the Democrat-voting Congress are the "they" Walorski refers to. But America's airwaves are alive with the angry voices of enraged white Christians, channelled towards coherence by the right-wing commentators. No one on the stage in Indiana needs to assert that Obama is "a racist" with “a deep-seated hatred for white people or the white culture" - because Beck already said so on TV, on 28 July 2009.

Back in Gary, for the black community activists trying to hold things together, it feels as if the word "they" has another meaning.

“When you turn on the TV and hear all this anger, all this vitriol," says Ben Clement, who helps run a community theatre group for teenagers, "well, it's culture-based, race-based, and it's frightening. And it shows that there's a disconnect - it's almost like we're living on two separate planets."

Clement, like many Obama-supporting black professionals, rues the complacency of a generation that has drifted out of activism. "Our parents went through the civil rights movement, but for our generation it's been a time of rest, where we didn't think those were going to be issues. Now, when I see Obama vilified, my stomach tightens up, because he is the best of us, the best of what we have to offer. If they feel like that about him - how would they treat me?"

This is the real culture war - an artillery battle of words in which the two sides never meet.

It has blindsided America's political commentators. The polling organisations record no perceptible increase in the numbers of extreme right- and left-wing views. But distrust and fear are tangible once you get where the American media dare not venture - into the honest and considered thoughts of ordinary people.

So, where does the battle go after 2 November? Economists on the Keynesian left of the Democratic Party are now clamouring for a further fiscal stimulus as they frantically try to recover ground in the ideological war they have essentially lost. Judging by the polling on all possible outcomes, the Congressional arithmetic makes another fiscal stimulus impossible. And even if it were possible, it is difficult to see how a second stimulus could overcome the institutional problems that Gary typifies.

Over at the Federal Reserve, the chairman, Ben Bernanke, is inching towards a further round of quantitative easing. In September, he conceded that even if the Fed did opt for a second round of quantitative easing, the impact of this might be softened: though central bankers have no way of knowing how much increased demand they get from QE, they suspect it works best as an anti-panic measure, not as an additional boost. Once "QE2" is begun, the Fed has in effect fired the last bullet in the clip. It may signal the start of a unique period of policy stasis in which all conventional options have been used up.

One route out would be through a trade war and dollar devaluation - a route as popular among the Democratic grass roots as it is among the Tea Party activists.

Back in Indiana, Walorski swaps insults with the Democratic incumbent, Representative Joe Donnelly, whose support for the stimulus, she claims, has "exported jobs to China". Meanwhile, in the union hall of Local 1066, which represents employees of US Steel Corp in Gary, workers are calling for the government to impose tough trade sanctions against Chinese steel imports.

But, for now, the Obama administration is sticking to the economic doctrines that formed the shared belief set of both parties since the 1990s: globalisation and a strong dollar. Even as Bernanke's promise of further QE caused the dollar to slide against other currencies, the treasury secretary, Timothy Geithner, took to the airwaves to promote keeping the dollar strong. "It is very important," he said, "for people to understand that the United States of America and no country around the world can devalue its way to prosperity . . . It is not a viable, feasible strategy and we will not engage in it."

Another route out is the one offered by Governor Daniels: a new, national, one-year fiscal stimulus of between $400bn and $800bn, including suspension of payroll taxes, in return for equivalent cuts in state spending and a bonfire of business regulations. Though fiscally neutral, a tax cut on this scale could put money where neither state spending nor money printing has yet managed to put it - into the pockets of American consumers.

Yet the problem remains: without restarting the credit market, nothing can sustain growth. There needs to be some kind of defibrillating shock. The American patient, with all its problems of obesity and fast food, has to have its heart restarted before the rehab and the statins can get to work.

For two years, America's political cycle and its economic crisis have been parallel stories, the one played out on brash television shouting shows, the other handled by the super-brained east coast policy elite in the privacy of summits and retreats. After the midterm elections, the two cycles will collide. Either the Obama administration will find a new kind of circuit breaker for the economy, or America will face stagnant growth, deflation and the possibility of a further banking crisis.

In Gary, the people know what they want the president to do: to break with Wall Street, ditch the doctrine of free trade, end foreclosures and deliver jobs. There is, despite the political chasm between the union guys and the Tea Party activists, a parallel desire for politicians to break with the lobbying industry and speak for the people. "He [Obama] has to drive the agenda," says Steve Dunn, a steelworker. "If you ever listen to a speech by Franklin Delano Roosevelt, it's basically you against me; it's the working class against Wall Street. And that's the way things are today - but I don't hear that from President Obama."

The irony of American politics, on the eve of the midterms, is that if anybody owns the narrative of "workers against Wall Street", it is the ultra-conservative, free-market right.

Paul Mason is the economics editor of BBC Newsnight. His reports from the US can be seen at bbc.co.uk/paulmason. A revised edition of his book "Meltdown: the End of the Age of Greed" (Verso, £8.99) is out now.

Martin O’Neil for New Statesman
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Why the British addiction to period drama is driving away our best black and Asian actors

There is a diversity crisis in British TV and film as, increasingly, stars are decamping to America to make their career there.

Back in April, a six-part drama called Undercover premiered on BBC1. Perhaps you were one of the five million people who watched it: the story was audacious and continent-hopping, enfolding a narrative about a man on death row in the United States with an all-too-believable tale of a Metropolitan Police officer who marries a woman he is meant to be keeping under surveillance.

The reason the programme attracted so much attention, however, was not what it was about, but whom. Starring Sophie Okonedo and Adrian Lester, Undercover was widely reported as the first mainstream British television drama with black actors in the lead roles. This wasn’t true: as James Cooray Smith wrote on the New Statesman website, that milestone was passed in June 1956 by Mrs Patterson, a BBC adaptation of a Broadway play starring Eartha Kitt.

Yet Undercover was still a breakthrough. Smith, casting his mind back over more than six decades of British television, could not think of more than a handful of other examples. Writing in the Observer, Chitra Ramaswamy expressed her feelings with quiet devastation: “In 2016, it is an outrage that it’s a big deal to see a successful, affluent, complicated black family sit at a ­dinner table eating pasta.” Think about that. In 2016 in Britain, a country where more than nine million people describe themselves as non-white, it is news that a black, middle-class family should not only feature in a prime-time BBC drama but be at its heart. Undercover exposed how white most British television is.

Actors of colour have appeared on British film and TV screens for decades, and they have been visible on British stages for centuries – yet they have been shunted into the margins with depressing regularity. In January the actor Idris Elba urged British MPs to take the matter seriously. “Although there’s a lot of reality TV,” he argued, “TV hasn’t caught up with reality.”

In February, there was renewed uproar over the lack of racial diversity in Hollywood at the 88th Academy Awards, and the infuriated hashtag #OscarsSoWhite blossomed again on social media. A month later, Lenny Henry argued that black and minority ethnic (BAME) talent was being “ghettoised”. The term could hardly be more charged. Speaking at the London premiere of Mira Nair’s film Queen of Katwe, the actor David Oyelowo said: “What we need now is for a change to come. I think the talk is done.”

There has been some change. In March, the Royal Shakespeare Company opened a production of Hamlet starring Paapa Essiedu, an actor of Ghanaian heritage raised in London. It was the first time that a black performer had taken the role for the company. A new set of BBC diversity targets both on- and off-screen was unveiled in April. Noma Dumezweni is playing Hermione in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child in the West End, and in October the BFI launched Black Star, a nationwide season celebrating black talent in film and TV. But what does the picture really look like, in late 2016? And what, if anything, needs to change?

The first challenge is that many in the film and TV industry find it difficult to talk about the subject. Researching this article, I lost count of the number of people who demurred to go on the record, or of actors who seemed eager to speak but were then dissuaded. Fatigue might be partly to blame – it’s exhausting to be asked repeatedly about diversity because you didn’t go to Harrow and your skin isn’t white – but I got the sense that there’s more going on.

One man who passionately believes this is the screenwriter Trix Worrell, the creator of the pioneering Channel 4 sitcom Desmond’s, which brought an African-Caribbean barbershop in south-east ­London to Middle England’s living rooms in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

“TV is very difficult to break into. There’s a protectionism there,” he says with a shrug, when we meet for coffee on the seafront in Hastings, where he now lives. “People are nervous about rocking the boat.”

Though cheerful about most of the things we discuss, Worrell admits to feeling a roiling anger when it comes to this particular matter. Does he think that diversity has improved since he was pitching Desmond’s, three decades ago? “No. I say that with absolute certainty and surety.”

It is hard to underestimate the influence that Desmond’s had. The series ran for 71 episodes and at its peak it had five million viewers, remarkable for a sitcom. Starring the veteran actor Norman Beaton alongside a largely British-Guyanese cast, it made that community visible in a way that has not been rivalled in Britain in the 22 years since it came off air. It did so with the deftest of touches, addressing problems of interracial relationships and tensions within the black community through warm comedy.

“Up to that point, black people were ­never seen on TV,” Worrell recalls. “The only time we appeared in any media was in the red tops – muggings, vice. The idea was to show a black family who were just like any other.” Yet it seems that, apart from the spin-off comedy series Porkpie, occasioned by Beaton’s sudden death in 1994, Channel 4 has regarded the idea of portraying a normal black family in a sitcom as too great a gamble in the years since, despite an increase in the number of non-white roles in its other drama output.

Worrell smiles, but it is clear that the ­matter isn’t a joke. “The thing that’s said among black people is that there’ll only be one black sitcom every ten years.”

***

When I phone Paapa Essiedu while he’s on a lunch break from Hamlet, I am prepared to get a more positive perspective. Just 26, Essiedu has had a spectacular and seemingly unimpeded rise. A graduate of the prestigious Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London, he joined the RSC in 2012 and then hopped to the National Theatre in Sam Mendes’s King Lear, before returning to Stratford. The Telegraph greeted his debut as Hamlet with the notice that every actor dreams of: “A new star is born”.

But Essiedu seems ready to implode with frustration. “It’s ridiculous,” he says. “This stuff has been here for decades and decades: we’re lying to ourselves if we think there’s been a lack of awareness until now. Lots of people are talking and talking, but we need action.” Has he experienced racism directly? “Put it this way: quite often, I’ve been in a room where everyone else is white.”

A major issue, he says, is the apparently unshakeable addiction of British TV and film to corsets-and-cleavage period drama, which has left many BAME actors locked out of the audition room. The BBC is in the middle of a run of literary spin-offs, from War and Peace to The Moonstone. Over on ITV, we have had Victoria and the invincible Downton Abbey.

It still feels as though much of British drama is stuck in an airbrushed version of the country’s past. Though partly set in contemporary Egypt, BBC1’s adaptation of The Night Manager by John le Carré had only a handful of non-white actors in significant roles. Allowing for exceptions such as the BBC’s version of Andrea Levy’s Windrush-era novel Small Island, broadcast in 2009, you could be forgiven for thinking, had you never visited Britain, that people of only one skin colour live in this country. That the largely white drama series are successful on the export market only helps to extend the cycle.

“Producers say, ‘Oh, we commission stuff that people want to watch,’” Essiedu tells me. “But it’s such a narrow version of history – middle-to-upper-class Caucasian men, generally. Period drama can be from anywhere in the world: Africa, Asia. Where are those stories?”

Drama is just a sliver of broadcasting output, but other genres aren’t much better. Journalists from ethnic-minority backgrounds have made steady progress in television newsrooms – but not fast enough, Channel 4’s Krishnan Guru-Murthy has ­argued; there is a glaring absence, however, when it comes to lifestyle and entertainment TV. The recent success of the intrepid youth TV star Reggie Yates notwithstanding, it is difficult to ignore or account for the dearth of BAME presenters in documentaries and “serious” factual programming; and no major current British chat show has a permanent anchor who isn’t white.

Adil Ray’s BBC1 comedy Citizen Khan, which focuses on the escapades of the overbearing Muslim patriarch Mr Khan and his family in the Sparkhill area of Birmingham, is a rare exception. It has just returned for a fifth season. A worthy successor to Desmond’s in its tongue-in-cheek approach to potentially inflammatory issues (the 2014 Christmas special featured the birth of Mr Khan’s grandson, Mohammad, on Christmas Day) the programme also resembles its forebear in a more depressing way: it appears to be one of a kind.

When I ask Ray why he thinks this is, he selects his words carefully. “It’s not prejudice exactly,” he says, “but in the TV business, there are a lot of formulas. If you’re doing curry, get an Asian person. If it’s hip-hop, someone who’s black. If you’re doing a walk in the countryside, or drinking tea in the Cotswolds . . .” He leaves the sentence hanging.

What appears on screen is only the visible part of the problem. Actors get cast in roles only if writers write them; projects get made only if commissioners commission them. TV and film are notoriously incestuous and competitive industries. Careers are unstable. Knowing someone who knows someone is often – too often – the only way of getting work.

According to figures produced this year by Creative Skillset, many media companies fail dismally when it comes to representation. Just 24 per cent of those in senior roles in cable or satellite firms are female; 4 per cent of employees in positions in senior terrestrial broadcast are BAME; and, if the numbers are to be believed, there are no BAME people at all working on the senior production side of independent film companies. The figures aren’t entirely robust – they rely on organisations filling in forms and returning them – but if they’re anywhere near the truth they make for grim reading.

The BBC’s statistics are more encouraging (according to the latest figures, BAME people make up 13.4 per cent of staff overall and hold 9.2 per cent of leadership roles) but don’t include freelancers, an area in which it is reasonable to suppose that, without quotas to fill, representation will be worse. In September, the media regulator Ofcom put broadcasters on notice that they could face “harder-edged” regulation if they did not improve diversity.

Chi Onwurah, the MP for Newcastle upon Tyne Central, who has been vocal about these matters in parliament, says that the BBC has a special duty to up its game. “It’s not doing enough,” she tells me. “If it was, there wouldn’t be a problem. It was very interesting watching the [European Union] referendum; all the efforts broadcasters have gone to to make sure there was balance. If they went to half that effort for BAME, gender and disability, it would be a different world.”

The BBC is keen to show that it is paying attention. Last year, it appointed Tunde Ogungbesan as its new head of “diversity, inclusion and succession”, and in April his team announced eye-catching targets: gender parity across every part of the corporation; 8 per cent of staff disabled; 8 per cent of staff lesbian, gay or trans; 15 per cent of staff from BAME backgrounds. Those numbers will be replicated on screen, lead roles included, and are roughly equivalent to averages for the overall population of Britain.

Yet the idea that established BBC presenters will go quietly seems optimistic. Take the ruckus that the comedian Jon Holmes recently raised when his contract with The Now Show (Radio 4) wasn’t renewed. Holmes asked in the Mail on Sunday: “Should I, as a white man . . . be fired from my job because I am a white man?”

Ogungbesan – a former head of diversity for Shell – has a businesslike attitude to the challenges he faces, which are, he concedes, considerable. “We’ve got four years to do this, and we know there’s a hell of a lot of work to do.” That is why his team has given itself a deadline. “Hopefully, when we hit those targets in 2020, we’ll be the most diverse broadcaster in the UK.”

How does he respond to Onwurah’s suggestion that the BBC is skilled at announcing targets but less good at making change happen? “We’re publishing our results,” he says. “You’ll be able to hold us to it.”

And what if the targets aren’t met? Ogun­gbesan laughs, for perhaps a touch too long. He will not consider the possibility. “I’m like a boxer. I refuse to look at it.”

***

If British TV and film don’t get their act together soon, there may be no one left to cast. Increasingly, black and Asian stars are decamping to America to make their career there. Among those who have joined the brain drain are Archie Panjabi and Cush Jumbo (The Good Wife), David Oyelowo (Selma) and Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years a Slave). Idris Elba, who brooded brilliantly in BBC1’s crime procedural Luther, would likely never have been cast in a big British series if he hadn’t already made a name in the United States with The Wire. Before she appeared in Undercover, Sophie Okonedo said in an interview that the scripts she was offered from the US far outnumbered those from the UK.

Visiting Los Angeles recently, I tracked down Parminder Nagra, who made her name in Bend It Like Beckham before being spotted by a producer for the long-running medical drama ER. In 2003 she was offered the role of the Anglo-American doctor Neela Rasgotra, which she played until the series ended in 2009. A big part in the NBC crime drama The Blacklist followed, along with other film and TV work.

She never intended to move, she says, laughing ruefully, when we meet at a café in a well-to-do suburb of LA populated by movie folk. She has worked occasionally elsewhere but, 13 years on, she is still on the west coast. “The jobs I’ve got, like most actors, haven’t come about in a conventional way. It’s generally because someone is open-minded enough to look at you.”

Although she is careful to make it clear that the US is far from a utopia in terms of how it portrays race, sexuality or gender on screen – she tells a gruesome tale of a white writer who sent her his attempt at an “Asian” character – Nagra senses that things are more open in the US. “It’s a bigger pond here, because of the sheer size of the country,” she says. “There are writers of colour in the UK, but what happens is that you’ve only got one or two people at the top who are making decisions about the taste of the country . . . Those people are white.”

The landscape is certainly more open in the US. Leaving aside the allegations about Bill Cosby, NBC’s Cosby Show (1984-92) was a force for good, with its focus on a middle-class African-American family and with the numerous ethnically diverse shows it made possible: A Different World, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, In Living Color, Scandal (the last was commissioned by the influential black writer-producer Shonda Rhimes). Back in the early 1980s, the gentle NBC sitcom Gimme a Break! – starring Nell Carter – explored issues of racism, too.

US cable and online subscription ­services are even more courageous. Netflix’s Orange Is the New Black has an ethnically kaleidoscopic cast and plotlines that vault across almost every conceivable question of gender, sexuality, body image and politics. Where it has apparently taken the BBC until 2016 to realise that families can be both black and upper middle class, ABC in the US was years ahead: in 2014 it commissioned Black-ish, which offers a subtle portrait of an advertising executive who frets that he is losing touch with both his Obama-era kids and his inner-city origins.

Nagra nods. “There still are a lot of issues here, but if you’re an actor of colour, there is more work. All those British period dramas are really well done, but there’s a yearning there: ‘Can I please just see somebody like me on TV?’”

The reason all this matters is that TV, theatre and film have a duty to show us not merely who we are, but who we can become. In Undercover, Okonedo becomes Britain’s first black, female director of public prosecutions: this may seem unlikely, given the state of the UK’s judiciary, yet seeing it on TV helps to shift perceptions. No one would argue that Okonedo’s co-star Dennis Haysbert got Barack Obama into the White House by playing a black president of the United States in 24, but perhaps it made such a world marginally more imaginable.

The time is overdue for British TV to abandon its fetish for bodices and show us what our nation actually looks like, in all its variety – and to be more imaginative about the kind of history it presents. Colour-blind casting is mainstream in theatre. Actors of various heritages appear in Pinter or Chekhov and no one raises an eyebrow.

Anthropologists argue that race and gender are forms of performance, sets of shared codes, rather than something intrinsic to who we are. Is it so difficult to imagine a Jane Austen production with performers of black or Asian heritage? Is that any harder to believe than the thousand impossibilities we witness every day in TV drama?

I ask Essiedu if he is optimistic. Yes, he says forcefully. “I have to be. Optimism is the only way we initiate change.”

When I put the same question to Nagra, she pauses to think. “I remember being asked about this when I started ER, and I was a bit tired of the issue even then. Yet here we still are.” Her expression is wry. “So ask me in ten years’ time.”

This article first appeared in the 24 November 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Blair: out of exile