Pick and Mix Multiculturalism

A couple of days ago I went to a Leeds Salon event about Multiculturalism. I’ve been struggling to write something since, there were far too many interesting ideas, and it was impossible to summarise. There’s a reading list on their web site.

I ended up trying to explain it to my mum and a group of her friends at the community centre when I called over yesterday with a bit of shopping (mainly iced cream and ginger biscuits, but who is counting calories when you are almost 80?). They are a curious bunch, always eager to know what I’m getting up to.

Imagine, I said, Britain after the Second World War – a bit like a dusty, dingy sweet shop with a rationed stock, empty shelves and very little to offer. There was a choice of humbugs or pear drops, with maybe the extravagance of strawberry bon bons for very special occasions.

Immigration brought diversity – more colours, flavours, textures and incredible shapes. Most people enjoyed the experiment. It took a while but tastes did change.

A few people, however, were a bit disgruntled. They longed for the days when the only sweet you heard unwrapped around here was a Werther’s Original. They demanded English sweets for English Shelves!

Down with Dolly Mixtures!

No to nougat!

The macaroons are coming over here, getting all the syrup, stealing our sugar…

The government responded with a multi-confectionery policy. All sweets are equally delicious. You can’t say you enjoy one sweet more than, nor appreciate less than, another, not even the cinnamon balls. Respect your neighbour’s choice of confectionery. All toffees are tolerable!

Unfortunately you can’t legislate taste. The bitter lemonists got more bitter. The sour apples fermented. And, worst of all, the Blackjacks became radicalised by the internet and wanted to ban wine gums, throw fruit salads off the roof and force all other sweets to convert to a strict and quite unpalatable recipe for aniseed flavoured chews…

Of course, my little allegory is a bit childish.

It’s not meant to be taken seriously (read Kenan Malik’s blog if you want the serious stuff.) But, to be fair, compared to some of the commentary on social media, and pundits in proper papers, writing about the winner of a certain cake baking competition, I think I come across as positively Gladstonian. Chocolate mosque?… well, I have seen a Gurdwara gateaux, but that’s for a different post.

All I can say is that in my mum’s community centre – full of white, working class, left behind old people in their ‘70s and ‘80s, and as monocultural as you could imagine – there was not one comment you could possibly interpret as racist. Nadiya was “a nice Leeds lass”, and that was all they really cared about. And, daft thing is, I know a good many of them voted UKIP…

I took mum a box of licorice allsorts to enjoy while she watched British Bake Off. She likes the pink and blue, crunchy sprinkly outside, chewy gelatinous inside ones best, while I favour the black and white squared layers. But, like mum says, if we all liked the same thing it would be a very boring world…

Wise word, mum.