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The dying of the middle-class dream

Millions of households have suffered a fall in living standards in these past few years. So when the politicians are seen to collude in what feels like a rip-off . . .

All of British politics since the end of the Second World War has been underpinned by a double promise. The first element is collective – every generation will live better than the one before it. The second component is individual – any citizen’s hard work will be rewarded with wealth and higher social status.

In the US, the equivalent offer is explicit in the idea of an “American dream”. In Britain, we are more reticent about expressing the belief that self-advancement should be a fundamental right and more pessimistic about whether it extends to us. That doesn’t mean the idea lacks currency, nor does it diminish the feeling of betrayal when the contract is broken.

It is breaking before our eyes. The financial crisis did not only disrupt the longest run of economic growth in living memory; it upset assumptions about who the economy was designed to serve. The perception that a super-wealthy elite was both responsible for the crash and insulated from its consequences is profoundly demoralising. It mocks the ambition of those who feel they are working harder than ever for diminishing returns.

For millions of British households the experience of the past few years has been creeping impoverishment. Wages have been frozen or have risen too slowly to keep up with the cost of living. According to data from the Office for National Statistics, the average weekly pay packet has fallen by about 8 per cent in real terms since the start of 2008 – the peak of the boom. In the same period, while GDP per head has contracted by 7 per cent, net national income per head has fallen by 13.2 per cent.

According to a recent study by researchers at Loughborough University, the cost of a basket of essential goods and services – including food, fuel and public transport – has risen by 43 per cent in the past decade. The average domestic energy bill has roughly doubled in real terms over the same period. For many, those pressures have cancelled out material gains accrued since the turn of the century. Necessary components of family life – childcare, running a car – have become punishingly expensive for anyone living on or below the median household income, currently about £26,500 per year.

Then there is the slow burn of Britain’s housing crisis. Surveys of mortgage lenders show the average age of a first-time buyer is now 35, up from 28 in the 2000s and 24 in the 1960s. The only reason hundreds of thousands of people who already own their property are able to stay in it is that interest rates are below the long-term trend. A sudden rise could tip them into arrears. Rents are inflating in the private sector, much of which is a wild west of cowboy landlords charging extortionate rates for hovels. As for social housing, in densely populated parts, anyone not destitute enough to qualify for emergency short-term accommodation can expect to sit on a waiting list for up to ten years.

Unemployment has not soared as much as many feared in the recession, but the official numbers are buoyed by increases in part-time work and by people declaring themselves self-employed, categories that conceal meagre incomes. Roughly 1.4 million people are forced to work fewer hours than they would like. There are still about 2.5 million people jobless. Youth unemployment is hovering just below the one million mark. A mass of research shows that future earnings and self-esteem will be dented irreversibly for those young people passing their formative years in a hopeless drift.

A YouGov survey conducted last month asked voters how worried they were that “people like you will not have enough money to live comfortably” over the next two to three years. Seventy-one per cent were fairly or very worried; 28 per cent were not worried. When asked about the fear of losing their job or finding work 64 per cent said they were worried and 32 per cent were not. Those proportions were broadly the same across social categories, political allegiance, age and region.

The fall in British prosperity and optimism is not just a function of the financial crisis and recession; nor will it necessarily be reversed as economic growth returns. Wages for those in the bottom half of the income scale have been stagnant since 2003. Research by the Resolution Foundation, the leading think tank looking at trends in living standards, has found that disposable incomes for low earners fell in every region of England outside London during the period 2003-2008 – the frothiest part of the boom, when the British economy as a whole expanded by 11 per cent.

***

Even in the good times, people were not as well off as they thought they were – or felt entitled to be. The state compensated for some of the shortfall with tax credits. Those are now being cut. Individuals also topped up their wages with credit cards and other private debts. That habit persists. A study by the consumer group Which? found that, this past September alone, 800,000 households took out emergency “payday loans”, often carrying extortionate interest rates. Last year, Wonga.com, a leading provider of such loans, more than trebled its profits on the previous year, up from £12.4m to £45.8m.

According to the Resolution Foundation’s analysis, even when heroic assumptions are made about a prompt bounce back to growth and rising employment, the benefits will accrue to those who, by any objective measure, are already rich. “There is a complacent view that a return to growth will be enough. That is unlikely to be the case,” says Gavin Kelly, the foundation’s director. “We know from recent history in the UK, and far longer experiences in other mature economies, that it is perfectly possible for steady growth to coincide with an era of stagnant living standards.”

This opens a new chapter in British politics. For the first time, swaths of middle-class voters, who for generations were given to understand that the system was fashioned for their benefit, feel it is rigged against them. In such a climate, the conventional messages – the appeal to aspiration and the promise to reward enterprise – ring hollow. Yet the current generation of party leaders doesn’t know any other kind of middle-class politics.

The American experience is instructive, although never wholly analogous. The US middle class has followed the same pattern of stagnant wages, shrinking opportunity and squeezed living standards but for even longer. The “Death of the Great American Middle Class” is a well-established trope in the US media, debated in newspaper op-ed pages and dissected by political scientists.

A new book by James Carville and Stan Green­berg, two veterans of Bill Clinton’s presidential campaigns, charts the phenomenon in depth. It’s the Middle Class, Stupid! argues that the mechanisms for delivering the American dream to the average citizen – access to quality education, affordable housing, jobs that pay decent wages – have broken down.

“There’s a presumption that you will do better and better, have more disposable income and more savings, and you’ll have a decent retirement, that your kids will get a college education and be able to do better than you,” says Greenberg. “If you look at the period 1945-80, that’s what happened in America. We now know, looking back from 1980 onwards, that it largely stopped – the story is now a myth.”

I met Greenberg, a pollster and strategist who is currently advising the Labour Party, on a recent trip of his to London. We sat in a central London coffee shop discussing the parallels between the American and British predicaments. One vital distinction, he observes, is that the “middle class” in the United States is a much broader category. Those who aspire to the status automatically expect to acquire it and so pre-emptively identify themselves with it. “In the US, working-class people who are clearly not middle class by the standards we’re talking about here [in Britain] consider themselves middle class, and they do so because they believe they will have rising incomes.”

When that expectation is disappointed the result is rage. It shows itself in the banners held aloft at this year’s Democratic National Convention saying “Middle Class First” (a slogan that would invite satirical sneers about easier access to organic vegetables in the UK). It is also a force driving the rise of the radical conservative Tea Party movement. Although the Republican fringe is better known in Britain for its Christian fundamentalism, it channels a sense of betrayal at the hollowing out of the American dream – the feeling that the Washington and Wall Street elite have stolen the country from the people.

As Greenberg sees it, the common belief is that America is “hard-wired” to furnish opportunity, so if it doesn’t happen, some conspiracy is to blame. “So we end up with a morality tale – who are the bad guys that are blocking the natural forces? It’s class conflict in the context of an assumption that we just need to take away the distortions that rig the rules.”

The suspicion that government is a malign influence is then inflamed by ultra-conservative media, weaving in reactionary religious fear that liberal policy degrades the moral fibre of the nation. Greenberg’s analysis is supported by Jacob S Hacker, a professor of political science at Yale University and an important intellectual influence among those in Ed Miliband’s inner circle. “The hallmark of contemporary public attitudes,” Hacker wrote in a recent paper, “is not public conservatism but public cynicism and distrust, fuelled by the economic trend of the last generation and a sense that government is out of touch.”

That, he argues, poses a particular challenge to politicians of the left, who must decontaminate state intervention of any kind before voters can trust them again to address structural imbalances and entrenched injustices in the economy. “To rebuild the middle class requires rebuilding a sense that government can make a positive difference.”

Thus, in the US at least, the mainstream politics of class resentment, historically imagined to be a resource of the left, has been appropriated by the anti-government right. A significant observation in It’s the Middle Class, Stupid! is that the raw evidence from opinion polls shows Democratic candidates do surprisingly well when they become unapologetic in demanding that wealth be shared more equitably. Yet they are often intimidated out of pressing the point home by a received wisdom – and a well-mobilised conservative commentariat – which says that such messages are divisive, signal a drift away from the centre, represent “class war” and alienate independent voters with a whiff of socialism.

A similar dynamic operates in Britain, though much moderated because we are less hysterical about the spectre of reds under the bed. The charge of sowing interclass strife is central to Tory rebuttals of Ed Miliband’s attempt, laid out in his speech to this year’s Labour conference in Manchester, to position himself as the leader of a “one-nation” party. Conservatives leapt on Miliband’s scorn for David Cameron’s quasi-aristocratic background, Eton education and cabinet staffed with millionaires as evidence that the call for national unity disguised a return to embittered socialism. Cameron addressed the point directly in his own autumn conference speech. “We don’t preach about one nation but practise class war,” he said. “We just get behind people who want to get on in life.” In parliamentary debate, Cameron routinely uses “left-wing” as a term of derision and a byword for unelectable incomprehension of mainstream British sensibilities.

Downing Street is under no illusions that politics for the foreseeable future will be shaped by the feeling in many households that the ground is giving way beneath their feet. Senior Tories also know that they will not long get away with blaming the nation’s misfortune on the legacy of the last government. “Answering the question ‘What are you going to do about this?’ will be the dominant theme in politics for the next 30 years,” says a No 10 strategist.

Cameron’s strategy for re-election rests on the hope of reviving his party’s appeal to those lower-middle-class and working-class voters who once flocked to Margaret Thatcher’s banner. They are often identified in the Conservative lexicon as the “strivers” – driven by the will to work their way up and deeply resentful of those perceived to be gaming the system, especially through “unearned” welfare payments.

The historically emblematic policy for winning the support of these voters was the “right to buy” council houses, which held out a mass invitation of enhanced status and asset wealth through property ownership. It is far from obvious what an equivalent offer today would look like. Besides, Thatcher, the daughter of a greengrocer, was intrinsically plausible as a champion of that target demographic. David Cameron is not.

***

One Conservative who is sensitive to the needs of the “strivers” is Robert Halfon, the respected MP for Harlow in Essex. It is a bellwether seat, taken from Labour in the Thatcher landslide of 1983, reclaimed in the Blair stampede of 1997 and then surrendered again in 2010. Halfon has made a name for himself in parliament campaigning vigorously and with some success against rises in petrol duties, which, he says, are pummelling what he calls the “white van” voter. “The next election will be about the cost of living,” he tells me. “People in my constituency are getting up at 5am to drive to work. They are holding down two jobs. People are suffering but they still want to get on.”

Halfon doesn’t believe that the British middle class is responsive to political attacks based on the Prime Minister’s privileged family history, arguing that they see in these stories a sneer of envy. But he recognises that the Tories in general are in danger of looking as if they stand up for the wrong people. “Not one person on the doorstep has ever commented on Cameron’s background or [his education at] Eton,” Halfon says. “What people do care about, what is a large problem for us, is that we are seen as a party of the rich. Even people who agree with us and are inclined to vote for us are hesitant about it because they wonder if we are governing for the benefit of our rich friends.”

The distinction is vital. It is unreasonable to blame Cameron for the circumstances of his birth; it is fair to challenge him over the choices he makes in power. Labour has been stung in the past trying to depict Tories as cartoon toffs. In the 2008 by-election in Crewe and Nantwich, the Conservative candidate, Edward Timpson, a Cheshire barrister from a wealthy family, was trailed by Labour activists wearing “Lord Snooty” top hats and tails. The stunt backfired when the background of the Labour candidate, Tamsin Dunwoody, was shown to be no more proletarian. The seat was lost.

Since then the climate has changed. The imposition of painful economic policy has coincided with the appearance of a prime minister who is obviously unfamiliar with toil. Even many Tories admit to irritation with their leader’s haughty manner and encirclement by a gilded clique.

Stan Greenberg, who has a detailed knowledge of opinion-poll trends, believes the Prime Minister’s personal brand has been compromised by the impression that he moves in rarefied circles, is distant from the concerns of ordinary people and fails to put their interests first. The turning point was the phone-hacking scandal, which exposed Cameron’s seamless social integration with executives from Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp in a kind of rolling beau monde Cotswolds garden party.

“His identity is so fuelled by who he was hanging out with during that crisis – the horseback riding [with the News International executive Rebekah Brooks], the whole set of associations, Murdoch’s back-door entry to No 10. It resonated,” Greenberg says. “He’s part of the horsey set. He’s seen to be a typical Conservative who makes choices on policy, including cutting taxes for wealthy people, while also doing a granny tax. Combine that with who he was hanging out with, and things have come together in a way that is pretty indelible.”

The resignation last month of the Conservative chief whip Andrew Mitchell over allegations that he told police officers to “know their place” and called them “plebs” can hardly help redeem the party’s snobbish image. Downing Street claims the episode has caused much more of a stir in Westminster than anywhere else – that it has not “cut through” to a wider audience. It is hard to find an MP from any party who believes that.

While Cameron might struggle to reassure anxious voters that he is on their side, it is not obvious that Ed Miliband will be embraced as their more authentic champion. The opposition leader’s background is rarefied, too, only in a different way. He may have gone to the local comprehensive but his cultural schooling and political apprenticeship, in the north London intelligentsia and as a young adviser to Gordon Brown, respectively, do not resemble anything like the experience of the voters he wants to woo. For most people who take little interest in what happens at Westminster, he is another well-spoken, Oxford-educated politician who has never struggled to pay the rent.

To his credit, Miliband was the first party leader to identify what he characterised as the struggles of the “squeezed middle” – the long-term, downward pressure on living standards for people on or below average incomes. He has spoken about restoring what he calls “the promise of Britain”, a deliberate emulation of “the American dream”. The phrase has not caught on.

The focus on US trends is still the right one. It isn’t just the way real incomes have fallen while growth has risen. The UK is following an American labour-market pattern in which the kinds of jobs that pay well enough to sustain a high standard of living are becoming rarer – even as overall unemployment is falling. It has been called the “hourglass effect”. In other words, there is pool of poorly paid, low-skilled jobs at the bottom, a bulge of well-paid, high-end jobs at the top and a dwindling number of semi-skilled, white-collar, clerical or managerial posts in the middle. Those are the jobs that underpin mass participation in the middle class, as a lifestyle and an identity.

In another recent book charting the decline of the US middle class, Time to Start Thinking: America in the Age of Descent, the author, the Financial Times journalist Edward Luce, quotes Lawrence Katz of Harvard University, one of America’s leading labour economists, on the social consequences of polarisation between luxuriant and servile wages: “We are on track to becoming a country where the top tier remains wealthy beyond imagination, and the remainder, in one way or another, are working in jobs that help make the lives of the elites more comfortable . . . They will be taking care of them in old age, fixing their home wifi, or their air-conditioning, teaching or helping with their kids and serving them their food.”

***

It is conceivable that Britain will end up in a similar place. Politics in the aftermath of the financial crisis is unlike the recovery phase from previous recessions. In the past it was easy to imagine that the country was experiencing a period of temporary turbulence. Politicians just needed to advertise their credentials to navigate through it. This time is different for two reasons. First, restoring growth alone does not solve the structural flaws that disconnect the middle class from realistic attainment of its members’ ambitions. Second, the very capacity of politics to provide solutions is in question. None of the present generation of party leaders has any experience of governing at a time when the entire economic system is perceived to be a con. They all hail from a political elite that is seen as having devised the scam or, at best, colluded in it.

Hacker has identified a paradox that applies as well to the British challenge as the American one: “Progressive reform will require using a broken political system to fix a broken political system,” he writes. “The main obstacle to change and the main vehicle for change are one and the same.”

For generations, much of the British electorate has not been highly politicised. Suspicion of ideology and wariness of campaigning exuberance are features of genteel, middle-class identity. The most successful election candidates in recent decades have been those who persuaded middle-class voters – or those who aspire to be middle class – that backing their party is the predictable, respectable thing to do. Both Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair achieved a cultural monopoly over the non-political mainstream. They made voting for the opposition look somehow more conspicuously opinionated, a tilt towards the fringe, and therefore socially almost eccentric.

There is no candidate in British politics who can pull off that trick today. The financial crisis has ended the idea that the pursuit of a comfortable family life – “normal”, middle-class aspiration – can be automatic and politically neutral, as if decoupled from ideological choice. Already too much of a struggle for that to be the case, it is likely to become more of one and, by extension, increasingly politicised.

But how, and by whom? Not in recent memory have we seen politics in this country with a middle class radicalised by the brazen theft of its future. We may be about to find out what that looks like.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 05 November 2012 issue of the New Statesman, What if Romney wins?

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