On Saturday, according to its organisers, over 100,000 people gathered for a March for a People’s Vote through London, the object being to lobby for a vote on the final ‘deal’ on Brexit.
The organisers defended their movement and on their website asked, “You wouldn’t sign a bill without checking it first, so why should the Brexit deal be any different?” (A slightly wonky question because I don’t know about you, but I don’t know anyone who ‘signs’ bills any more. Maybe it’s something you just assume happens if your life is run by staff?).
Placards and banners were unfurled, children held aloft, selfies taken, hashtags exploited, and those clever entrepreneurs who bought lorry loads of EU flags made a packet.
It’s very easy to mock these things, as we hit peak marching season, and as Theresa May’s government lurches around like a drunk trying to make it to the toilets, while the Labour Party shifts uneasily from foot to foot before pointing in the other direction saying “Ooh look at that more interesting thing over there!”, the polarised nature of public opinion around Brexit shows little sign of abating.
Hatred spews on both sides, with Brexiteers claiming that ‘Remoaners’ are just a bunch of spoilt, privileged white middle class sore losers, upset that their au pairs might cost more to employ, or that they might not be able to buy that third house in Provence, while the Remainers think that the Leave campaign was sponsored by Putin, voted for by racists, fuelled by outrageous lies printed on buses (it was in fact a coach — a common mistake comedian Geoff Norcott suggested might be down to them not knowing the difference due to never travelling on either) and cynically appealing to worst values of human nature.
Unfortunately though, the truth will be somewhere harder to define. In this world of black and white, tribal politics, nuance doesn’t get a look in, and neither does understanding.
Among the many fedoras and buggaboos, the ‘B*llocks to Brexit’ placards, and dogs daubed with ‘F*ck Off’ Boris stickers on display at the march, some of the messages were quite telling. Here’s a selection:
“Groomed by tabloids, seduced by lies”
“Befuddled, Ruinous, Exaggerated, Xenophobic, Impossible, Tripe”
“Brexit is Racist”
“Stop Brexit” (with the X as a swastika)
It echoes the overabundance of remarks during the campaign that again demonised and patronised the working classes that might be lured into voting leave. In a spirited debate on Channel 4 News with Jon Snow and novelist Dreda Say Mitchell, a pointy fingered and characteristically verbose Will Self stated that, “Not all Brexiters are racists, but almost all racists will be voting for Brexit. And those are your fellow travellers (Dreda). Enjoy the ride!”
The judgemental snobbery and overt hatred of the working classes reared its head again and again just after the referendum with such Twitter corkers as, “We are a small-minded island” with someone replying “Well only 52%. 48% of us are intelligent, well-balanced, inclusive, lovely people”.
And a personal favourite, “And that ladies and gentleman is what you get when you leave important decisions up to the people who vote on Big Brother”
Whether it’s a maniacal Will Self telling the 52% they’ve ruined everything, millionaires like Sir Bob Geldof screaming from a boat, or JK Rowling doing one of those sad faces and telling the great unwashed they don’t understand how much this will hurt them, there’s a long tradition of the middle classes telling the lower classes what’s best for them.
In Orwell’s The Road to Wigan Pier he says, “Would it not be better if they spent more money on wholesome things like oranges and wholemeal bread or if they even, like the writer of the letter to the New Statesman, saved on fuel and ate their carrots raw? Yes, it would, but the point is that no ordinary human being is ever going to do such a thing. The ordinary human being would sooner starve than live on brown bread and raw carrots.”
From trailer trash and ‘deplorables’ in America, to the Chavs of the UK, there’s a distinct fear in leafy Chiswick and Dulwich that these knuckle-dragging ‘pikeys’ will wander into their dinner party, snag their Primark jeans on the tablecloth and upturn the table, tipping Verity’s home-made chilli marmalade all over the floor.
Brexit and Trump have made that fear a reality. These scumbags can really mess things up. And the middle classes aren’t having it. Bill Maher recently said on his HBO show Real Time that he hoped for a recession as it could bring down Trump. As has been pointed out, for millionaires like Bill, a recession isn’t that big a deal.
Asking for do-overs, however you want to dress it up, doesn’t feel like kindness or common sense, it smacks of desperation. The kind of desperation that they claim lead to the poor giving a f*ck you to the establishment.
As an Essex boy myself, I have experienced over and over again the kind of snobbery and snarky jibes that kindly inform you not to have views about certain things, not to expect to be too upwardly mobile, and to get back in my box and get on with adding fairings to my Ford Escort.
And as a true Essex boy, I’ve been ‘allowed’ to move between classes, sampling the best and worst of both and guess what, both can be racist, and sexist, charming and intelligent, full of kindness and generosity. And crucially, both can talk loudly and confidently about subjects they know next to nothing about.
For most, on both sides, the issues of Brexit were simple and justified. Sovereignty, immigration, economics, and security. People were more engaged than in any general election, more motivated and with a clear desire to have their voice heard. Whichever side you were on, that should be something to be proud of in some way.
Yet this nasty stench of snobbery won’t waft away, and all this march will really do is embed the ill feeling and stereotypes deeper and deeper. On both sides. I personally preferred the days of Jerry and Margo Leadbetter in the classic sitcom The Good Life, where their snobbery was front and centre for us all to see it for what it was and not this faux concern for the wellbeing of the oiks.
