If it's time we called things by their proper names, Can we stop calling David Starkey a Historian?

Okay, let me be clear from the start. If you’re looking at this blog and considering it as an evidential source as to whether David Starkey is of any more use to humanity than a knitted condom – I openly declare that you may wish to untick any ‘balanced’, ‘fair’ and ‘without prejudice’ criteria.

I have long since decided that the man is an ‘uber twat’.

From years of exposure to his vile[1], sexist[2], sometime racist[3] and generally hideous appearances on Newsnight, Question Time and other nauseating news shows, I confess I cannot stand the man and generally disregard any opinion he has to offer, as complete Bantha fodder.

There is however, no point in tapping out a blog to justify such a position. A quick glance at the reaction to his Sunday Times interview[4] yesterday, tells us this view is already shared by an unquantifiably vast number of people[5]. I’d like to be fair to the reader however and point out that there may be others who disagree. Maybe the man is a God in the eyes of millions. I’ve just never encountered anyone who shared that view. I haven’t looked very hard though – and remember, I think he’s as objectionable as a Docken-less nettle meadow, so be sure to make up your own mind.

The thing which makes my blood boil however, is the way that Starkey is rolled out as some sort of Talismanic Historical Deity, who must be respected because he has achieved the honour of Professorship in this most worthy subject. No matter how much the man gets of my nerves for his personal opinions, it is the disrespect and disservice he does to the presentation of History and the name of Historians that makes me want to stuff Magna Carta up his……well, you get the idea.

I am not questioning that Prof. Starkey is a very learned man. He probably knows quite a lot about a whole heap of very interesting things and I daresay mis-understands the point of why it’s worth knowing about them in the first place, for at least half of them. (Note, this is opinion, biased opinion - not fact – he may know very little about anything and it might all be boring to boot.)

What I am trying to offer for consideration is that David Starkey is a truly terrible historian.

For a start, it doesn’t take a degree in history (just for the record, I do have a degree in history but that spoils it a bit) to make an analogy between the rise of the Nazis and the rise of the SNP. As it happens, it’s an offensively amateur analogy at best – I bet he didn’t even look into whether Salmond or Sturgeon had been rejected from art-school, have animal loving tendencies or questionable sexual preferences.

I jest, but, tell you what, let’s turn every government who ever advocated investing in national infrastructure into Nazi war-machine full employment fascists. Let’s turn the ‘Labour Rose’, the ‘Tory…eh…Tree?’, the Pride Movement’s ‘Rainbow Flag’, into Swastikas. Let’s run with the SNP modelling itself on 1930’s right wing continental nationalist movements. Nevermind that it’s nonsense, screw the following 80 years of history, and as to events before - we’ll just have to ignore Woodrow Wilson’s intentions for the Treaty of Versailles regarding the right of National Self Determination.

Nope, everyone who ever thought devolving power closer to the people it affects in any form whatsoever must be likened to Nazis. The Dalai Lama better watch out because if Starkey even gets a whiff that he thinks China has something to do with the plight of the Tibetan people, it’ll be his turn to get Starkey-ed the next time a book needs promoting. (Though at least he has the decency not to expose his knees in public.)

Honestly, David Starkey’s opinion on the rise of the SNP is about as objective as my opinion on the God-like cheekbones of Benedict Cumberbatch. Anyone who has listened to us for even 5 minutes already knows what it is going to be.

It is however in his own self-professed regard from himself, that I feel he gives most offence and disservice to the office of Historian. My knowledge of the events and inter-weavings of this planet’s vast history is small by comparison to many of the great tutors who have inspired my learning but that does not mean that in seminars and tutorials, conversations in common rooms or discussions down the pub - ideas, information, assessment of evidence and controversial theories could not be discussed openly, on many occasions taken apart, and on others given due consideration - because whether a historical theory happens to be likely to be true, or not, has nothing to do with how many letters you have either before or after your name. ‘Top’ Historians frequently disagree with each other on almost everything and they can’t all be right. The point is - it’s in the evidence, stupid.

Personally, I am the type of historian who thinks you cannot definitively prove or disprove anything. I can’t prove or disprove that theory, but I don’t think that particularly takes away from my point of view. For Prof. Starkey however, it would seem all that is required for a theory to be true, is that oxygen molecules flowed to and from his body in an orderly fashion, while he had the good grace to en-noble the world with his gaseous offerings.

In a recent interview on Radio Four[6] concerning the context of the differing texts and signatories to Magna Carta, Starkey’s argument as to why his theory should be respected above that of the other contributor was extraordinary.

To be fair, his fellow guest had previously (in mistaken flattery) mentioned the word ‘Great’ in the context of Starkey being a Historian but his irate and impassioned defence of his theory and the disdain he felt for his opponent could be summed up in the phrase, “I am the historian, as you have pointed out, I AM A GREAT HISTORIAN.”

So let me flippantly return the compliment of yesterday’s column inches to David Starkey, perhaps he might want to dye his moustache a little before he utters those words next time (even if it is for radio) because ‘you will respect my view over yours because I am the authority on it’ sounds just a teeny bit fascist to me.

He doesn’t have the authority to tell anyone what is historical fact or otherwise. No one does and no historian ever should. Historians should explain in complete candour and without expectation of automatic respect, the fullness of their argument, the evidence it is based upon and their analysis of what it means for our understanding of how the world once was. Politicians would do well to do the same for how the world is and could be. Respect will follow.

For me, the skills of the historian should be more prised than ever in the modern world. The expertise to make sense of thousands of pieces of information, assess their validity, pull them together into theory and be prepared to unpick them all when new information comes to light - these should be the lifeblood of education itself. We are flooded with sources on every subject conceivable and every event half imagined. Yet if we do not inspire each new generation to enquire beyond what the thoughts of Kim Kardasian, Katie Hopkins, nay, even the great historian David Starkey himself are, we might as well build our own bonfire of knowledge and turn the internet over to the gossip columns.

The irony is, though it isn’t my area of study, I might even agree with what Starkey has to say on Magna Carta, but he hasn’t given me the understanding of the basis of his argument to be able to make that assessment. (Though in fairness I’ve never felt able to part with cash to read any of his books - was this article supposed to convince me?). If I cared more, I’d look into it and make up my own mind but I’m too worried at present about what patterns in recent history point towards being our future if the current Westminister government continue down the path they are going.

So, as a fellow, though lowly, historian, I’d like to know which sources David Starkey really considered in his decision to compare the rise of the SNP to the rise of the Nazis.

How much time did he spend amongst the people of Scotland during the referendum? Which articles and blogs did he read, which public meetings did he attend to take the pulse of the populace? What did he think of the diversity of backgrounds of the volunteers manning street stalls, week after week? Which policy documents did he pour over, who did he interview, what was his method of analysis of the debates? What does the rise in engagement in grassroots politics before and after the referendum tell us about the political reorganisation of the country? In comparing social attitude surveys across the last three decades with those currently, just what substantive data analysis can he offer to support the view that Nationalism more than Socialism is at the heart of the current SNP surge? Can he produce the actual policy documents, election literature, party political broadcasts or text of ‘Nuremberg style’ speeches which blame ‘the English’ for all Scotland’s woes. I’d like to have it, because after 17 years in the Scottish National Party, I feel like an idiot not to have noticed that I was a member of the next all conquering fascist empire.

Oh, I know, that’s not fair because he’ll never read my blog, so the lack of response says nothing.

But if I had to take a guess at his sources, I’d say that the equally empty analysis of the BBC, Murdoch Empire, Daily Mail etc. were more than background informants - which I can almost forgive the general populace for, but not a ‘Great Historian’. His inability to even cite the name of the party correctly[7], rather sums up the depth of his analysis for me.

If this were an essay, I’d give it a D at most. I’m fully aware that I’m ranting my head off without the attention to proper punctuation or footnoting that even merits a proper pass. But even if it had been written by my five year old daughter with her fingers covered in organic honey, it would still be superior in relevant analysis to the kind of dangerously irresponsible childish nonsense which came out of the mouth of David Starkey in comparing the SNP to Nazis this week.

If I didn’t think he would scar them for life, I’d invite him to come and speak with my kids about how we ‘do history’ in this house. At five and eight they are beginning to understand that you get more of a telling off if you just ‘agree with Mummy’ without being able to explain why, than if you argued the opposite til you were blue in the face. It isn’t that I’m trying to turn them into great historians, it’s just that as people, I want them to understand why they hold the views they do. I don’t get any pleasure in their agreeing with me because I’m the authority – that would be fascist – the pleasure I get, is in seeing them use their brains.

If David Starkey has opinions, historical or otherwise, to offer the world in future, perhaps he would do well to rediscover his. Until then, I wish he would consign himself to his own, unsold, history books. At least then, he’ll be in the company which he truly deserves.

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[1] E.g. Views relating to rape: Question Time 06/02/2014

[2] Really, too many to reference but try waiting til he opens his mouth. Views on Female Historians from interview in Radio Times March 2009, or comments about ‘Pretty Girl Historians’ : SkyArts Interview April 2010 should give a flavour without the need to question where his evidence comes from this year in concluding that historically most women are of average intelligence (Daily Telegraph Interview, April 2015)

[3] E.g. Views expressed during commentary on London Riots: Newsnight 13/08/2011 BBC 2 August 2011

[4] http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/news/Politics/article1568593.ece

[5] Honestly just type Starkey SNP into twitter or google…there’s quite a lot of people who really don’t like him.

[6] Today Program, Radio Four 24/04/2015

[7] Sky News 15/06/2015 “Scottish Nationalist Party”

Puddles and Pyramids. The Strange Advice we give to our Kids in the Quest for Happiness.

Dancing in the rain (and mud)

Happiness is about learning to dance in the rain? Perhaps. But such a statement has more than just ‘motivational quote’ value when you’ve just come back off the school run in “Scottish Summer Time”. 

The younger of my two bedraggled monsters doesn’t seem to mind the affront to seasonal normality, jumping in every puddle she can find, taking extra detours at the prospect of deeper and more satisfying splashes. It bothers me not. She has waterproofs and wellies, and to be honest, her happiness is the one thing keeping me warm on this woeful May morning.

For my eldest, the hunched shoulders and tip-toeing avoidance tactics tell a different story. I’m not going to bother with the “Oh well, at least we won’t have to water the flowers” line. At 8.55am on Monday morning, I don’t need to see the sulk on her face to tell me it won’t be appreciated.

Sometimes however, we deliver these little pieces of advice or consolation to our children, almost on automatic pilot; like we’ve pre-agreed a set of lessons in our head that can be rolled out whenever the occasion allows, to reinforce the necessary learning on the way to adulthood. Every so often however, there comes a moment when we might say something that has such damaging or profound consequences that we stop to think. Should I really say this? Should I say it now? Should I wait? What if I’m wrong?

With the caveat that I’ve long accepted there are going to be lots of things I’ve got wrong as a mother and with the sincere wish that I was better at the ‘sucking it in and counting to ten’ phenomenon, I said something to my eldest daughter this weekend which perhaps runs contrary to every other motivational poster that’s out there and rather flies in the face of most of the advice the world is giving her on what her future can be.

I tried to serve it with an over-generous handful of ‘never give up’, ‘dream big’, ‘there are no limits to what you can achieve’ seasoning, but what I said was in effect,

“Don’t rely on your dreams and ambitions for your future happiness. It’s very unlikely that they’re going to come true.”

Which isn’t exactly going to feature next to a kitten on a Facebook poster any time soon, I realise, but perhaps it’s the kindest thing I can say to her just now, convinced as she is that she is going to be the next J.K.Rowling at the age of 8.

Amelie winning her first writing award.

As her mother, I will do all I can to nurture her talent, develop her skills, provide all opportunities possible and sacrifice whatever I can to help her achieve her goals. But success and happiness are not the same thing and I worry that we damage our whole society in our insistence on telling our children to ‘dream big’ without the perspective of expectation vs reality.

As a quite often 'novel a day' sort of girl, she is better read at 8 years old than even a book lover such as myself was on starting my Standard Grades. Despite this, I asked her to name all the children’s authors she could think of and compare this to the number of people in her class, her school, all the schools in our town, Scotland, the UK etc. As the gears began to turn in her head, I could see a little puff of hope being ground out of her soul and I tried to catch it and mother it back into her as quickly as I could.

The truth is, (with mother’s goggles on of course) she is a brilliant writer and if she has good luck and opportunity somewhere along the way, she could very well be as successful as any writer ever has been. But as I took out her ancient Egypt book to look at the pyramids, I wanted her to understand something straight away that also seems contrary to the modern lexicon when it comes to our kids. Hard work, talent and determination have almost no relationship to how ‘successful’ you will be in life. I could see in her eyes she was already questioning “why are you saying the opposite of everything everyone’s ever said to me?”

I asked her to look at the pyramid and instead of Pharaoh and Egypt, put the Queen at the top and imagine the United Kingdom in its current form, all the way down to the ‘normal’ folk at the bottom. I told her that even as short a period as 200 years ago (with an early medievalist for a mother she’s used to the idea this being "modern") there were perhaps around 10 million people who lived in the UK. It is obvious, even at eight years old, that then, just as now, there was one queen, one ‘prime minister’, one government, one head of each institution and very little chance for the masses at the bottom to make their way to the top of the pyramid.

Definition of happy.

Without wishing to explore the depressing crash in social mobility even within our own lifetimes, the fact that there are now six times the number of people living in the same space but still the same number of positions available at the top can pretty much be extended to every dream of ultimate ambition. There is still only one gold medal at the Olympic Games for 100m, one No. Chart Spot, one World Cup Trophy, one Best Actress Oscar, one Turner Prize and so on. Yet the ability of the earth to produce amazing human beings with talents and gifts, strength and determination, has not slowed. The base of the pyramid is wider, more intelligent, diverse and remarkable than ever, but it stretches forever, and in a global society, the angles are not drawn in favour of those who begin at the bottom.

I explained to her that that doesn’t mean than you can’t go from bottom to top, but it certainly makes it impossible that everyone can. The ‘American Dream’ exported to us in countless Hollywood movies down the years may work for the rare lucky individual but it isn’t achievable as a society and perhaps we need to be more up front about that with our kids than generally seems to be the norm.

What I really wanted her to understand though, was not how unequal the world is, how we need a social revolution, how everything from realistic female body image to ‘opium for the masses’ TV talent shows, are a pile of crap – what I really want her to understand is that ‘success’ in terms of fame, position, money, material wealth or social regard, are not what keeps us smiling inside on muddy Monday mornings in May.

One daisy is all it takes.

Not so much, “don’t forget to smell the flowers” but, if you can find the beauty in a single daisy, you will soon discover that there is a whole meadow of them to lie in. It is in the expectation of what we "should" achieve that I see the danger – that if our hopes are set on only the petals of the rarest orchid just because we know it exists and we can see it in our dreams, we may miss every rose, every bluebell, every snowdrop and all the sweet scents that life can throw at us if only we would not depend on earth shattering excellence to fulfil all our desires.

Our home being what it is, I didn’t really explain this through the medium of flowers to her. I explained in all seriousness that she had to learn to take joy in her little sister's ‘pump’ jokes – that therein, lies the key to true happiness. Because when a new-born baby laughs for the first time, its happiness is every bit as real and worthwhile as that of the grandparent who holds them in their arms. When you learn to skip for the first time, do a cartwheel or ride a bike, it’s no less a feeling of achievement than getting promotion, being elected to parliament or winning X-Factor. What makes you dance inside, doesn’t need to be complicated. If you can accept the landscape of your reality, your happiness is more likely to bloom than if you rely solely on your dreams for brief moments of ecstasy. 

A Message from the Bairn.

Perhaps as a parent, I worry about everything a little too much, but increasingly I see my responsibility to my daughters as bringing them up with the knowledge, experience and outlook to be happy in life, more than just giving them the skills to be ‘successful’ in whichever path they might chose.

The irony is, that it is only through what my children have taught me about love, life and laughter, that I now see happiness and success in these terms at all and for that I couldn’t be more grateful. I have an encyclopedic volume’s worth of bottom humour to draw on whenever I feel down and in my darkest moments, it isn’t career successes or audiences clapping that I try to conjure, it’s cuddles, laughter and being told (however incorrectly) that I’m the best mum in the world.

If we could bottle this, there would be no war.

I want my kids to know that it’s ok to ‘live low’ even if you ‘dream high’. That aiming for happiness rather than ‘success’ is not an acceptance of failure. It’s just that being yourself is ok, no matter if you stay on the same level of the pyramid your whole life. 

Personally, I haven’t decided to accept ‘my lot’ in life and I’m not asking my girls too either. I’m not content to shrug my shoulders and say ‘well, the world sucks, what can you do’. I am trying my best to change it for the better, in however I can. But whether that’s campaigning against poverty, nuclear missiles, war, waste or saving the planet, my place in the success or otherwise of these efforts can’t be the thing which drives my happiness, any more than whether Bloomsbury pick up the phone to either me or my daughter. Happiness has to be much simpler than that.

It’s about time to go back on the school run and pick up my monsters and mercifully the morning deluge has stopped. Perhaps the Scottish summer has a little more to tell us about the quest for happiness though. 

Realise that actually it normally does rain. It normally is cold and the wind blowing isn’t exactly new. Rejoice when the sun comes out. Smile when the rainbows stretch the horizon. It’s when you don’t expect them, that the sunshine rays will warm you well enough to see you through. 

And don't worry if you think you can't dance when the rain comes on. Stick on your wellies and find a puddle. Small people don't need motivational posters to be happy, follow their lead and it's hard to go wrong.

Don't walk past moments of happiness. Splash in the puddles along the way to wherever you think you're going!

The Exploding Bums of Bumland (dictated by Erin, aged 5)

The Exploding Bums of Bumland

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Pump. One sunny day she went to the shop and bought herself a bum. It was a smelly bum but she was very pleased with it. On the way home though, the bum blew up, so she had to go to another shop to buy a new one. A mile further down the road, it also suddenly blew up. This continued for 100 bums later.

Pump felt sad and very angry. “Why are all these bums exploding?” she thought to herself. “I am going to find out!”

Going back into Bumland, Pump went straight to the biggest bumshop with hundreds of bums in it. She looked inside the most expensive one she could find and found it filled with boiling hot lava. Quick as she could, she dropped the burning bottom and went straight to the shopkeeper.

“Mrs. Stink,” shouted Pump, “why are all these bums filled with lava?”

“Oh no!” cried the shopkeeper. “It’s that little girl called Fart. She’s been going around filling all the bums in Bumland with lava and making them explode. Somebody has to stop her.”

“I know that little girl,” said Pump softly. “I’m going to speak to her on the way home and get to the bottom of this.”

Pump arrived at Fart’s house and knocked softly on the door.The little girl’s mother answered.

“Can I speak to Fart for a minute?” asked Pump quietly.

“Ok.” said her mum and called her daughter down.

“Why have you been filling up these bums with lava?” asked Pump angrily.

“I’m sorry,” said Fart. “I just thought it’d be funny and I didn’t have anyone to play with.”
Pump felt sorry for Fart.

“How about we go back to the shops and pour all the lava carefully back into the volcano. Then we can play together and there will be no more exploding bums.”

“Ok, I will.” replied Fart happily.

And the two silly, smelly girls became friends and lived happily ever after.

THE END.