Another England
How to Reclaim Our National Story
Caroline Lucas
Having read it
★★★★★
Absolutely brilliant.
Realistic, honest and insightful and, with its narrative and structure, weaves an inspiring tale of hope and possibility with some threads of English literature used as as helpful barometer and perspectives of historical similarities with contemporary times; national criticism is progressive and constructive and often a truer view of real life than the ‘management’ want to admit to or even want to do anything about.
[...] Low pay is at the root of social injustice in England, exacerbated by the way profits are creamed off by senior executives and shareholders, rather than being shared more fairly. And we are on the edge of a new revolution in society with the widespread adoption of artificial intelligence, which will transform – perhaps eliminate – millions of jobs. As a result, England must once again ask itself the question raised by our Victorian and Edwardian forebears: how do we want to work?
The book shows that we have been here before and now, given the existential threats globally and even more political and social disengagement at home (and further afield) the (political) left (and centre) really have to own (collectively) a realistic and honest English story (delivered from the bottom-up and shared and owned by England’s multi-cultural and diverse people, not top-down by the state, read political Westminster) to actually help constructively interact, converse, debate, share and own the many issues that need to be faced and tackled (in England and the Union) and the approaches that can and should be taken to benefit all, now and in the future; the Right is not right and the (current) market isn’t the answer.
This blind faith in the ability of markets to solve the problem of inequality has been overcome before; it must be overcome again. Because, for all that today’s technologies are new, the problems they create are centuries old. Charles Dickens’s insight into the brutal consequences of inequality on English society would ring true to anyone on Universal Credit; Elizabeth Gaskell’s emphasis on the right of workers to organise would resonate with any Amazon warehouse worker; Nevil Shute’s appreciation of the importance of putting the well-being of employees and of society ahead of profit would make sense to many an underpaid care worker. I have yet to find a nineteenth-century novelist who defended the exploitative capitalism of England of their time. By reclaiming their spirit, we can begin to overcome the exploitation, at once so different and so similar, that defines our own.
A good passage
For a country that has such a reputation for nostalgia, it is surprising how much of our past we are prepared to see junked. What is more quintessentially English than the pub? Yet hundreds close each year. Our ancient woodlands have a special place in our hearts. Yet they still have no effective protection and their state continues to worsen. A lot depends on how much real say we have about change: too often it is done to us, and the benefits go to others, as with the planning system, where landowners can make vast windfall profits and local communities have to carry the consequences. In part, nostalgia is driven by the poor quality of the new, as with the post-war experience in so many English cities of uninspired but serviceable Victorian terraces being replaced by cheap and badly built blocks of flats. If innovations were always as good as the new road signage that Jock Kinneir and Margaret Calvert produced in the 1960s, we might not be so wedded to the past.
A second good passage
The effect is like a black hole. The greater the mass, the more it draws in and so it grows more massive and more powerful. London’s status as a world city makes it uniquely attractive as a place for elite performers – whether footballers, dancers or geneticists – to come and work. Conversely, the towns and cities further from London suffer, making them less attractive, so reducing investment and productivity.
In some ways, this is an accident of geography, with London ideally placed on the communication and trade routes to the Continent. But that cannot explain the intensity of this concentration, nor why it continues to worsen. The truth is, successive governments have deliberately taken power from local communities into their own hands, so that ministers in London make decisions about every aspect of our lives, right down to whether a council can build homes for rent or repaint the library.2 It is astonishingly dysfunctional. Whitehall does not have the knowledge or even the capacity to make these decisions wisely. They have little understanding of what communities really need and are fixated on winning favours in marginal seats. They have also become more and more arrogant, resenting anyone who challenges them, denying the reality of the collapse of services or the isolation and despair that grips communities across the land.
It is tempting to assume that this state of affairs was inevitable: that somehow, London was always destined to become the centre of English life – and that more localised identities would always, inexorably, be bludgeoned into submission. But a glance at England’s history shows otherwise. Ours is a country defined by the depth and diversity of its local identities and customs – and these distinctive ways of life crop up vividly in many of the most quintessentially English novels and poems. The question is what this body of literature might teach us about how England should be governed. Is there a way in which the places of England – the towns and cities, counties and districts – can provide a counterweight to the dominance of London?
A third good passage
Today, we are learning the painful truth about English exceptionalism: that it is a deeply dangerous creed, leading us treacherously into stagnation, isolation and chaotic decision-making (often, as in the Covid pandemic, with deadly consequences). The phrases with which the elites have tried to comfort themselves and us since the end of the Empire – world-beating, global Britain, a power broker between America and Europe, punching above our weight – ring hollow when the task of moving some cheese across the English Channel becomes an operation requiring military levels of logistical sophistication.1