Why did multiculturalism become a dirty word? It made me who I am
I hated being 'different' when I was a child, but now it appals me that the celebration of diversity is under attack
Anushka Asthana
When I was a child, I desperately wanted to wish away my brown skin, and instead be white. I thought about it all the time. Maybe I could get rid of my stupid name – Anushka – and instead be a Natalie or Joanna? I could drop Asthana and take up Smith or Jones. I'd have the same features and the same hair, just with (much) paler skin.
My mum remembers it. She describes how I once kicked out my leg to her, hopefully, and said: "Look – that is white." Another time, when I was very young, I tried rubbing talcum powder into my face. She would talk to me, comfort me, love me, but it didn't make a difference – I still wanted to be white.
Perhaps it is something to do with being a brown girl growing up in a predominantly white town in a predominantly white country that contributed to my anger.
I was listening to the Today programme on Radio 4 when security minister Pauline Neville Jones came on to talk about government efforts to tackle home-grown extremism. "We do think that the previous policy... of multiculturalism, which on the whole emphasised the differences between people, was a mistaken route," she said. The presenter, Justin Webb, carried on with the conversation: no flinch; no surprise; no questions; not even a pause for breath. "For god's sake," I screeched.
Because when did we, as a society, agree that the great multicultural experiment had failed? Where is the proof that policies that specifically celebrate different identities and cultures across our nation fuel extremism in a tiny minority?
The debate began in 2004 when David Goodhart, writing in Prospect, challenged the liberal orthodoxy on multiculturalism. Then Trevor Phillips, now chair of the Equality and Human Rights Commission, waded in. When asked in an interview if we should kill off the word multiculturalism, he said: "Yes, let's do that – multiculturalism suggests separateness."
It was the first time that those on the left had questioned a long-held view that celebrating and therefore emphasising people's different cultures would result in a more harmonious society, with some arguing it had the opposite effect. The interview with Neville Jones made me realise how accepted that view has since become. She suggested that the time had come for a policy of "integration" instead. But is it really a choice between the two?
This isn't a sob story – I had a wonderful childhood, with fantastic parents, a loving brother and amazing friends. And actually I had very little experience of racism. But I really struggled to be comfortable with my identity.
It wasn't just about skin colour – it was culture, too. I desperately did not want to be Indian. If I went to the shopping centre with my mum and she wore a sari, I would refuse to walk alongside her. I'd "die" if she turned up to school in a traditional outfit. On the few occasions she persuaded me to wear one (only ever to an Indian event), I would run hunched down to the car, ideally when it was dark, hoping no neighbour would spot me.
When a teenage boy who lived in my neighbourhood once said: "You're all right because you are different to the other Pakis", I didn't feel uncomfortable. I felt happy. In a curious way, it made me feel accepted.
In Delhi, I was just as bad as in Manchester. Once, I gabbled so much about what I saw as Britain's superiority to India that my cousin snapped angrily at me. It took a long time for us to be friends again. As for me, I didn't understand if I was Mancunian, British, Punjabi or Indian.
I can't really remember when or why that changed but at some point it did. These days, I realise that I'm all four and I could not be more proud of the Indian part of me. I love the culture of my parents: its generosity; its laughter; its dancing; its colours; its vibrancy. When I got married, I loved the saris, bhangra music and curry.
The strange thing is, it was only in accepting that I was Indian that I finally felt comfortable being British. It was the very multicultural nature of my upbringing that made me most integrated.
I'm not suggesting that Neville Jones believes people should hide away their cultures. I'm sure she has a sophisticated and nuanced critique behind what she said. And I realise that she was speaking about the review of a government programme that aims to reduce radicalisation. Neither am I suggesting that my experience gives me any answers to the broader, societal issues. Clearly, growing up as an Indian girl in Manchester is very different from growing up as a Pakistani boy in Bradford or black Caribbean in London.
But I still think that comments like the one she made are dangerous because they feed more extreme views in those who are unsure that Britain should ever have welcomed immigrants to its shores. And I worry that the use of the word multiculturalism in that way is making it almost synonymous with segregation. Allowing the word to drift in that direction stops us being able to use it in a much more positive way.
Sometimes, it feels as if we talk far more about multiculturalism in the context of its impact on this tiny minority of young men (important though that is) than in terms of the great things that people from across the world have brought to Britain. When I speak to my dad about it, he says he has never experienced racism in this country and he lists names of south Asians, the children of immigrants, who have excelled in journalism, in the NHS and in business.
To me, the problem is not identifying and celebrating the differences, it is the failure to instil into society an ability to understand them.
A number of years ago, I interviewed the late MP for Rochdale, Cyril Smith. I asked him why his town avoided the race riots that overtook neigbouring Oldham. He argued it wasn't about the fact that people had come from elsewhere, but how they had been treated when they arrived. He told me of one white family who complained that a new Asian family kept chickens in the basement. So he took them to the Asian family's basement to show them they were wrong.
I look at my parents now and think they are wonderful example of multiculturalism. They are Indian and proud of it. They have Indian friends whom they meet regularly at weekends, eating Indian food, sometimes in Indian dress and speaking in Hindi. But they have just as many close friends who are white and British. Their next-door neighbours – the Hallows – are one of the most wonderful families I have ever met. They created agap in the fence between the two homes so they could come easily into ours and my parents go into theirs.
It is a tiny but perfect example of integration – and it relies wholly on the fact that every person involved embraces multiculturalism.
When I was growing up, people in India used to call me a "coconut": brown on the outside and white on the inside. I hope they never do that again.
Perhaps it is something to do with being a brown girl growing up in a predominantly white town in a predominantly white country that contributed to my anger.
I was listening to the Today programme on Radio 4 when security minister Pauline Neville Jones came on to talk about government efforts to tackle home-grown extremism. "We do think that the previous policy... of multiculturalism, which on the whole emphasised the differences between people, was a mistaken route," she said. The presenter, Justin Webb, carried on with the conversation: no flinch; no surprise; no questions; not even a pause for breath. "For god's sake," I screeched.
Because when did we, as a society, agree that the great multicultural experiment had failed? Where is the proof that policies that specifically celebrate different identities and cultures across our nation fuel extremism in a tiny minority?
The debate began in 2004 when David Goodhart, writing in Prospect, challenged the liberal orthodoxy on multiculturalism. Then Trevor Phillips, now chair of the Equality and Human Rights Commission, waded in. When asked in an interview if we should kill off the word multiculturalism, he said: "Yes, let's do that – multiculturalism suggests separateness."
It was the first time that those on the left had questioned a long-held view that celebrating and therefore emphasising people's different cultures would result in a more harmonious society, with some arguing it had the opposite effect. The interview with Neville Jones made me realise how accepted that view has since become. She suggested that the time had come for a policy of "integration" instead. But is it really a choice between the two?
This isn't a sob story – I had a wonderful childhood, with fantastic parents, a loving brother and amazing friends. And actually I had very little experience of racism. But I really struggled to be comfortable with my identity.
It wasn't just about skin colour – it was culture, too. I desperately did not want to be Indian. If I went to the shopping centre with my mum and she wore a sari, I would refuse to walk alongside her. I'd "die" if she turned up to school in a traditional outfit. On the few occasions she persuaded me to wear one (only ever to an Indian event), I would run hunched down to the car, ideally when it was dark, hoping no neighbour would spot me.
When a teenage boy who lived in my neighbourhood once said: "You're all right because you are different to the other Pakis", I didn't feel uncomfortable. I felt happy. In a curious way, it made me feel accepted.
In Delhi, I was just as bad as in Manchester. Once, I gabbled so much about what I saw as Britain's superiority to India that my cousin snapped angrily at me. It took a long time for us to be friends again. As for me, I didn't understand if I was Mancunian, British, Punjabi or Indian.
I can't really remember when or why that changed but at some point it did. These days, I realise that I'm all four and I could not be more proud of the Indian part of me. I love the culture of my parents: its generosity; its laughter; its dancing; its colours; its vibrancy. When I got married, I loved the saris, bhangra music and curry.
The strange thing is, it was only in accepting that I was Indian that I finally felt comfortable being British. It was the very multicultural nature of my upbringing that made me most integrated.
I'm not suggesting that Neville Jones believes people should hide away their cultures. I'm sure she has a sophisticated and nuanced critique behind what she said. And I realise that she was speaking about the review of a government programme that aims to reduce radicalisation. Neither am I suggesting that my experience gives me any answers to the broader, societal issues. Clearly, growing up as an Indian girl in Manchester is very different from growing up as a Pakistani boy in Bradford or black Caribbean in London.
But I still think that comments like the one she made are dangerous because they feed more extreme views in those who are unsure that Britain should ever have welcomed immigrants to its shores. And I worry that the use of the word multiculturalism in that way is making it almost synonymous with segregation. Allowing the word to drift in that direction stops us being able to use it in a much more positive way.
Sometimes, it feels as if we talk far more about multiculturalism in the context of its impact on this tiny minority of young men (important though that is) than in terms of the great things that people from across the world have brought to Britain. When I speak to my dad about it, he says he has never experienced racism in this country and he lists names of south Asians, the children of immigrants, who have excelled in journalism, in the NHS and in business.
To me, the problem is not identifying and celebrating the differences, it is the failure to instil into society an ability to understand them.
A number of years ago, I interviewed the late MP for Rochdale, Cyril Smith. I asked him why his town avoided the race riots that overtook neigbouring Oldham. He argued it wasn't about the fact that people had come from elsewhere, but how they had been treated when they arrived. He told me of one white family who complained that a new Asian family kept chickens in the basement. So he took them to the Asian family's basement to show them they were wrong.
I look at my parents now and think they are wonderful example of multiculturalism. They are Indian and proud of it. They have Indian friends whom they meet regularly at weekends, eating Indian food, sometimes in Indian dress and speaking in Hindi. But they have just as many close friends who are white and British. Their next-door neighbours – the Hallows – are one of the most wonderful families I have ever met. They created a
It is a tiny but perfect example of integration – and it relies wholly on the fact that every person involved embraces multiculturalism.
When I was growing up, people in India used to call me a "coconut": brown on the outside and white on the inside. I hope they never do that again.
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