Despite the best efforts of Irish, Welsh and Scottish
nationalists, the process of Breaking Up the Union of Great Britain and Ireland
is a job for the English, and always has been ever since the process really got
started in Dublin in 1916. Now, by an
irony of history, it turns out that our shared membership of the EU across
these islands was not only the essential underpinning of the Good Friday
Agreement, it was the last glue that held together the devolved Union within
the island of Great Britain as well. One of the battles yet to be properly
fought is over the respective roles of the devolved Parliaments in Cardiff,
Edinburgh and Belfast. Meanwhile, it is of totemic importance to the DUP’s
ongoing dance of glee and grievance that the Assembly in Stormont is currently
shut. That the Parliament in Holyrood
has been effectively sidelined by…well, what shall we call it nowadays…the
Imperial Parliament?...in London, is essential to what is laughingly still
referred to as a “smooth” Brexit.
The discomfort of calling Westminster either the Imperial
Parliament (of the past) or indeed the English Parliament (of the future?)
points to the structural dysfunction that Brexit is newly and ruthlessly exposing. The
centre, to quote Ireland’s poet of 1916, cannot hold. To misquote England’s
great poet, there’s quite a lot in a name. The names we call things are what
all this boorach is about.
What is as old as the hills, or as Sherwood Forest, is the
insouciant ease with which the words “England” and “Britain” or “English” and “British”
are still apparently regarded as comfortably interchangeable, as,
unfortunately, they still are in an essay on the English roots of Brexit
published last week in the London Review of Books. This lazy identification has
never been possible in any of the other constituents of the Union of British
Nations. For one thing, we’ve always had our own patron saints and emblematic
outlaws over and above St George and Robin Hood, potent though those symbols of
Englishness are. My own profoundly loyal North British grandparents were
wearily familiar with the phenomenon, and always regarded a hybrid identity as
both Scots and British as being intrinsic to who they were – they regarded the
Scots as the Best of British - whereas George Orwell, for example, in his
justly famous panegyric on Englishness, The Lion and the Unicorn, acknowledged
awareness of the uncomfortableness of the identification of the English and the
British for his Scottish, Welsh and Irish readers in a rather irritated
footnote.
No exploration of the very English roots (and likely
destination) of Brexit can even remotely come to terms with any of it actually
means if it doesn’t start with the insight that all four nations are going to
have to learn how to name things all over again. No matter how irritating it is
that the Scots, Irish, Scots-Irish and Welsh have got a head start in adapting
to a new world of multiple rather than subsumed identities.
Unionism, for example, cannot be understood unless it is
understood that the same word means subtly different things in all four nations
that make up that union. And that hybrid rather than merged identity has always
been the syntactic rule in three of them. Englishness needs to learn how to
speak its name if it is to face the world with confidence. As Antony Barnett
has argued in his excellent book “The Lure of Greatness”, it is only as the
European English that the English will find a future.
Britishness, like every other national identity, was a
series of projects, not an essence. Starting as a Protestant bulwark against
dynastic Catholic Europe, it successively evolved into a commercial Empire
and a Welfare State. When it ceased to be any of these three things then it
ceased being a useful way to think about what it means to live on these
islands. It became a distorting mirror in which to see ourselves.
But just as in 2014, the status quo, despite appearances, is
not an option on the ballot paper. Just as there was no way “back to normal” in
a No vote in the Scottish referendum, the events of the past few years have
permanently let the English genie out of the British Bottle. The Brexit process, like the process of the
referendum in Scotland, has shone a ruthless light on tectonic change. There is
no way back to the relationship with the EU that the UK used to have, and there
is no way back to what Britishness, civic or civilising, used to mean.
Brexit is only the symptom. “Britain” is now the disease
that awaits a cure.