There is a fight over the true vision of Englishness. In one corner is a nervous nostalgic narrative, wistful in its gentlest form and snarling in its ugliest. In the other, a more inclusive, multicultural, socially liberal vision is more common in larger cities and younger populations. In between is a third, less ideological, group nervous of change but ready to accept it as long as it is managed carefully.
In recent years the Conservatives and Brexiters have enjoyed more success in this tussle for this third group because they have managed to portray their opponents as extremists, ready to tear down statues, voice shame at the country’s history and determined to silence “incorrect” opinions. The other side, they argue, is unpatriotic, illiberal and therefore profoundly un-English.
The question for progressives is how to fashion an alternative view of Englishness that is not only modern and inclusive but, essentially, viable with the middle ground of the electorate.
In Who Are We Now?, Jason Cowley, editor of the left-leaning New Statesman, asks some of the same questions. In essence a series of unconnected dispatches — from new towns born in the flush of post-1945 utopianism to a racist murder in the immediate aftermath of the Brexit referendum — Cowley attempts to map the disappearance of the England of 20 years ago and the emergence of the nation of today.
Each dispatch is a pleasure to read. Cowley has an eye and an ear for the small details that add emotional depth to his reports. Nonetheless, the book is less than the sum of its parts. There have been a rash of “state of the nation” books of late but the ones that work best are those that narrow in on a particular issue, rather than trying to capture the entirety of modern England.
A second and more substantial issue is that for an examination of how England and Britain changed in the past two decades, this book is seriously light on the impact of the financial crisis and the resulting economic dislocation that was the forerunner of all that followed.
Finally, the stories Cowley chooses to tell are disproportionately those that make his point about inclusive Englishness rather than those that do not. There is a chapter built around Mohammed Mahmoud, the imam who stopped a crowd from setting on a terrorist who had just attacked Finsbury Park mosque in 2017, another on Patrick Hutchinson, the black activist who carried an injured English Defence League protester to safety when the far right turned up to a 2020 Black Lives Matter demonstration in London.
These are attractive figures who fit with Cowley’s key theme, a political message one could in effect call “Southgateism” in honour of the manager of England’s national football team who spoke out for his players taking the knee and for a vision of a tolerant multicultural country. Gareth Southgate and his players, writes Cowley, “have shown us how to stretch the flag . . . so it may be wrapped around all the people”.
What there is not enough of is the other side, the people who see their certainties sliding away. The “we” who don’t read the New Statesman.
The best chapter is the one built around Gillian Duffy, the Rochdale Labour supporter famously dismissed as a “bigoted woman” by Gordon Brown, then UK prime minister, during the 2010 election. The story is beautifully and intricately captured and Cowley uses it to highlight the moment Labour detached from ordinary voters, dismissing legitimate worries as prejudice.
Duffy was bothered not only by uncontrolled immigration but also by student debt and, crucially, under-investment in her town. Leaders from Tony Blair to David Cameron stretched the social elastic of small “c” conservative England further than it was prepared to be pulled by dismissing concerns over immigration, social change and the costs of globalisation. So when the financial crisis meant people stopped getting better off, a nation was ready to revolt.
This is the cautionary tale for the Southgate vision. Inclusivity cannot mean a self-righteousness that besmirches those who do not share your vision. A flag that wraps around everyone must also drape over the shoulders of those who fear change and depart from the political consensus.
Who Are We Now? starts with the closure of a doctors’ surgery in Harlow, the Essex new town where Cowley grew up, and the political and economic forces that led to the decision and the powerlessness of those affected. This is probably where the focus needed to stay, with an England that feels less secure and therefore more keen to cling to its history, its sense of place. Boris Johnson’s Tories have understood this and it lies at heart of both the Brexit victory and his election success.
Culture wars are fuelled by economics as much as politics. For those like Cowley who wish to craft a more forward-looking Englishness, the true challenge goes deeper than building a society that is at ease with its multicultural reality. It is about a vision of economic empowerment that leaves people once again confident about change. Until they find this, the promise of a better tomorrow that also looks a bit like yesterday will always seem more alluring.
Who Are We Now? Stories of Modern England by Jason Cowley Picador, £20, 304 pages
Robert Shrimsley is the FT’s UK chief political commentator
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Who Are We Now? by Jason Cowley — looking for a new England
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