My friend voted Leave.
I voted Remain, in the Brexit referendum that has divided the UK in two. This fact has sat between us ever since, an undigested lump that over the past three years has gradually solidified into a wall.
She thinks that I think she’s a racist. Or at least, that’s what I think she thinks. There’s a lot of mind-reading and fake narratives going on, from both sides of this dispute.
It’s not true, by the way. What I do think is that she voted that way to stick two fingers up at the political establishment, which is always a tempting position. But it has opened up a box we had both hoped was closed for good, unleashing the dark shadows of populism and prejudice. And now they are out, vocal and vile in a way I didn’t expect to see again, in my lifetime.
We haven’t talked about this much. Actually, we haven’t talked much at all. Not like we used to. Our conversation is not as free as it was. We are gingerly picking our way over rocks of resentment, trying not to slip into the chill, choppy sea below.
We are not alone in this, of course. The UK, like the USA, has quickly become a country of deep divides, tweeting abuse at each other and united only in our rage.
Then she calls, my friend.
She has bought tickets, to see a band we have both loved for years. Would I like to come?
We meet up, and we are careful. We avoid politics. Instead, we have a couple of drinks. We talk about the other times we have seen this band. In a pub, before they were famous. At festivals, where we danced with our children in our arms. And the time we turned up at the venue a day early because we’d somehow got our dates confused. Instead of slinking home, we ended up in a Brixton bar, loudly singing the band’s greatest hits while the assembled hipsters looked on in horror.
The show starts, and the band dives straight in with an early hit that we love. For the next hour or so, we sing along. We dance like loons. We laugh a lot. We clap, and we cheer. Most of all, we remember why we like each other.
As we walk back to the station, it’s as if a dam has burst, and the words come gushing forth. We talk about how much we love Mick Herron’s Slough House spy series, and Gabriel Tallent’s dark, twisted yet beautiful debut novel, My Absolute Darling. We discuss what we’re watching on TV, and find that we’ve both binge-watched Russian Doll and Wild, Wild Country and we’re glued to the third series of The Handmaid’s Tale, even though it’s not quite as good as the previous two seasons.
I still think she was wrong, with that vote. She still thinks I’ve been too judgemental. What’s changed is that we can now see there’s some truth in both of those views. And that anyway, a friendship that spans three decades is more important than being right. Especially in times like these.
My point is this.
A shared love of a cheesy dance band reignited a friendship that was dying of neglect. Our passion for books and film helped us regain common ground. And our insignificant little tale illustrates a far more important truth. Which is that culture is the way to begin to bridge the gaping divides of the past few years. And creativity may be the only way out of the mess we humans have made of our politics, and our planet.
If your TV show gets people talking to each other, if your music gets people dancing together, if your art is able to provoke or inspire or invite discussion, if your book helps a reader see someone slightly different from themselves as human, instead of Other and alien… You have helped. You have shown why art matters.
If your day-dreaming, creative experiments and tangential thinking helps you come up with a way of reversing climate change or cleaning plastic out of the oceans, then you will help heal the planet. And your creativity can save our world.
Art matters.
I just re-read Art Matters – Because Your Imagination Can Change The World. It’s a gorgeous little book illustrated by Chris Riddell and featuring bits of writing by Neil Gaiman, one of the great storytellers of my generation. In it, he defends free speech, explains the power and magic of libraries, and begs us all to use our creativity, and make good art.
It’s a short read – half an hour, if you really savour every word. But it’s important, because art does matter, and creativity is more needed than ever.
So let’s make what we can, and get together often to enjoy the work others have made. Let’s love, and laugh, and try to see how much we share, rather than focussing on what divides us. Because there’s already enough hate to go around.
What do you think?