Marriage, Totems, 1982

Working in the London newsroom of a right of centre Japanese newspaper has its highs and lows. Highs; there are always plenty of delightful seaweed flavoured snacks about the place.

Lows; the constant instruction from Tokyo to rattle sabres in China's direction and pursue every interview, piece of research or avenue of journalistic enquiry with the sole intention of slagging of China or, failing that, Russia.

But never mind! Right now, as I am sure is the case in every newsroom up and down the country, everything has been dropped so that we can focus on the royal wedding. The Palace put out a brief (6 sentences) statement earlier today and we have all been banging on about it ever since and bound to keep doing so until the end of the week. Glory be!

Here at Goodanimalbadanimal though we like to look beyond the headlines. For now we will ignore that all of a sudden it is OK for the BBC to ask royal historians whether or not it is acceptable for a ‘commoner’ to marry into the Royal Family. After all we are a meritocratic society! If a commoner like Kate Middleton, ma’am, an ordinary middle class girl (multimillionaire family, a flat in Chelsea, finishing school!!), can marry Royal then we must be doing something right.

We will also ignore the media’s celebration of the fact that Kate seems to have spent her entire life fantasising about marrying Wills and that how only now, after so many years of upwards socialising, she can finally define herself as she has always desired – as a grinning appendage of her hubby to be.

There are two more interesting forces at work here. The first is the gearing up of the history and news industries to generate a readymade narrative of the unfolding events – even though very little has so far unfolded. The second is the making of the sacred, defined by Durkheim as being opposed to the profane.

A strange mobius loop has enveloped the nation – cart wheeling us backwards in time to 1982. Nirvana have gone back in utero, oasis back to baggy Manchester and simply red is rolling back the years. I myself am rapidly regressing and find myself once more a babe in the arms of my mother, infant eyes transfixed by the riots on the streets of Toxteth.

Eric Hobsbawm put events such as this succinctly when he said;

“Nations without a past are contradictions in terms. What makes a nation is the past, what justifies one nation against others is the past, and historians are the people who produce it.”

So, as the nation slowly wakes up to the fact that it is defeated in Afghanistan, and as people prepare for the strictest economic contraction of a generation – destined to leave a trail of social dystopia in its wake – what better opiate than a royal wedding to ease the pain. The perfect glue for a fragmenting British identity.

What better a chance to articulate a sanguine nationalism and dilute the bitter, violent and racist working class version that, as sure as eggs is eggs, accompanies economic downturns? Yes, it’s the 80’s again.

The New Statesman are having a Thatcher special, the Tories are in office (with their lib dem interns making the tea), the Falklands are once again under threat and the rusting remnants of British industry are being priced up ready for auction.

Already the wedding has taken on an aura of the sublime, the sacred. As citizens we are either with this sacred force or against it.

As the Prime Minister has said; “I am sure the whole nation will want to celebrate.” Nick Clegg, the intern, dutifully echoed; “Like everybody I am so thrilled. Everyone will be united in delight and joy about this.”

To be a public figure and say that you are in any way not delighted, or even indifferent, about this news – is political suicide. And so, through the distilling process of hegemony, the same eulogy finds its way to the flapping lips of a hundred TV hopefuls who want to rearticulate the message. And so, we have a narrative.

Newscasters and historians are slowly piecing together a tale of ‘special romantic destiny’ (BBC), class barriers buckled (wasn’t Diana common as well?) - a hegemony to take all our eyes of the bankers bonuses, the wars and, of course, the Prime Ministers about turn on his photographer. And, let us not forget, the very real issue of class and social mobility in the UK.

So, as I write these words I cast a wary eye over my shoulder – fearful of being seen and causing a moral panic for being on the wrong side of the sacred/profane dichotomy. Just remember to repeat – I am so happy, I am so happy ; )