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Comment
Virtues
5 min read

The corrosive effect of profuse profanity

The coarsening of speech prompts Yaroslav Walker to remember that what you say influences who you are.
An irate man holds a mobile phone to his ear while gesticulating with his other hand.
Malcolm Tucker makes his point.

“You breathe a word of this to anyone, you mincing f*****g C**T, and I will tear your f*****g skin off, I will wear it to your mother’s birthday party and I will rub your nuts up and down her leg whilst whistling ‘Bohemian-f*****g-Rhapsody’…right!?” 

This is my favourite Malcom Tucker line of all time. This is what Malcom might call, ‘top swearing’. The Thick of It exploded onto our screens in 2005, supposedly lifting the lid on the workings (or absolute lack of) of the twenty-first century British government. The show immortalised the sweary Scot Malcolm Tucker – supposedly partly based on real-life New Labour spin-doctor Alastair Campbell, and played to perfection by Peter Capaldi. The nation watched with a mix of horror and delight, enraptured by the best political comedy since Yes, Minister. However, unlike Yes, Minister, power in The Thick of It is not wielded through the obscurantist language of the elite Oxbridge-educated civil service, but through the terrifyingly unhinged and violent rantings of Tucker’s Svengali spin-doctor.  I can only assume that most people on the outside of government took it all with a pinch of salt – I certainly did. Surely, SURELY, it couldn’t be as bad as ‘that’!? 

Dipping in and out of the coverage of the UK’s COVID public inquiry showed me just how wrong I was. Civil servants and political appointees writing on WhatsApp were indistinguishable from eighteenth century press-ganged sailors in a tavern. The highlight was the testimony of Dominic Cummings, who was confronted with his use of the saltier elements of the English language: “Due in large part to your own WhatsApps, Mr Cummings, we’re going to have to coarsen our language somewhat…” the investigating KC chided. “I apologise”, was the rather phlegmatic response.  

We were then given a tour-de-force of aggressive sweariness – ministers were called ‘useless f**kpigs’, ‘morons’, ‘c**ts’, and it was suggested that in the case of civil servant Helen MacNamara he would ‘handcuff her and escort her’ from Downing Street. Upon being asked whether this language might have contributed to a lack of effectiveness in the Downing Street COVID response, Mr Cummings denied the charge – he was just reflecting the prevailing mood…but of course such language did. 

He is very clear in teaching people that the words that leave their mouths have the power to bless them or damn them. 

We live in a culture where speech, especially public speech, has progressively been coarsened. The television ‘watershed’ excludes less and less offensive speech, performative profanity is now de rigueur for many celebrities and even some politicians, and there has emerged a real generational divide between those of my generation and the baby-boomers. We appear to have forgotten a basic rule that the ancients knew all too well: affect has effect. What you say influences who you are.  

What we say, just as what we do, impacts the sort of person we become and the virtues (or lack of them) that we build up and possess. If we look to Aristotle, we are introduced the concept of habitus. It isn’t just a habit – not just an activity that we engage in on a regular basis – but is a repeated behaviour that builds up our character, for good or for ill. This idea was taken up in some form by Augustine, Averroes, Aquinas, and even people whose name doesn’t begin with the letter A. Our speech, if repeated over and over again, moulds our character. Kind speech, lovely speech, righteous speech – repeated ad nauseum – will have as their end product a kind, a lovely, a righteous person. Violent speech, aggressive speech, coarse speech, will have as their end product a violent, aggressive, and a coarse version of the same. 

Going beyond Aristotelian categories to biblical ones, the use of language is often a favourite theme. The most famous Hebrew example is perhaps the commandment: “Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain…” Our speech is important to God, because it is a basic indicator of how we conduct ourselves – and so an indicator of who we are – and we ought to be conducting ourselves in the light of God’s will and God’s law: “Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.”  

As we move from the Old Covenant to the New, we find St Paul continuing this idea and extending the principle – our words reflect our relationship with God, and so will impact our relationship with other people (who are made in His image). He asks the Colossians that they speak ‘always with grace’, tells the Ephesians to avoid ‘filthiness…foolish talking…jesting’, and commands the Romans to always have a word of blessing ready rather than a curse. The community of holy people, living a life for God and for each other, can easily be destroyed by a cruel slip of the tongue – a fight can break out over even a mild insult. Perhaps this is why Jesus is quite so strict about speech – “But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.” He is very clear in teaching people that the words that leave their mouths have the power to bless them or damn them.  

Perhaps one of its recommendations could be that at the highest levels of national decision making, our leaders and officials always strive to behave with calm and considerate courtesy. 

“Do you think your description of your colleagues, the way in which you described them, their functions, their abilities, their talents, added to that dysfunctionality?” the KC asked Cummings. “No, I think the opposite…” came the slightly bewildered reply. But how could it not? How could speech that has been revealed to be so chaotic, so hostile, so unpleasant, and so callous contribute anything positive to the working environment? More importantly, and I don’t know Mr Cummings and am not making a statement on what his inner character and virtue actually is - how can it contribute anything positive to the person who utters it?  

The COVID inquiry has been set-up to teach us lessons on how to be better prepared to tackle the next pandemic. I pray that it succeeds in this aim. Perhaps one of its recommendations could be that at the highest levels of national decision making, our leaders and officials always strive to behave with calm and considerate courtesy, where speech is used to edify, support, and commend. I believe, and Scripture teaches, that if this is taken on as a vital lesson we will, not only be better prepared to steer the country through the crises of the future, but the entire tenor of our political and public life will be better – holier even. The good news is that it costs nothing to put this recommendation into practice...all it takes to get started is a kind word. 

Article
Comment
Community
Migration
Politics
5 min read

Starmer’s ‘island of strangers’ rhetoric is risky and wrong

The Prime Minister needs an English lesson.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A prime minister stands next to an Albanian police officer in front of a ferry.
Border control. Starmer in Albania.
X.com/10DowningSt.

In a recent speech launching the UK government’s white paper on immigration, Prime Minister Keir Starmer expressed concern that the country risks becoming an “island of strangers.” It is a compelling phrase - yet, for many, a deeply worrying one. Some argue it echoes Enoch Powell’s notorious 1968 “Rivers of Blood” speech, in which the then Conservative MP for Wolverhampton claimed that people in the UK were being “made strangers in their own country”. Even if the reference was unintentional, the sentiment is divisive and dangerous. Here are five reasons why this narrative must be challenged.  

Geography: We are fundamentally connected  

First and foremost, the United Kingdom is not a single island. To describe it as such is not only geographically inaccurate but symbolically unhelpful and politically careless. This sort of language risks excluding all those UK citizens who live in the other 6,000 islands that make up our country - islands such as the Isle of Wight, Anglesey, the Hebrides, Orkney, Shetland and the Channel Islands, as well as the 2 million UK citizens who live in Northern Ireland. Many of our families, mine included, are testament to the fact that between the British Isles there are connections and marriages. We are islands, plural, united by a national bond of friendship and collaboration, and a shared story of connection across water.  

Sociology: We are intrinsically social  

The notion that the UK is becoming “an island of strangers” contradicts what we know about how human societies function. We are fundamentally relational - forming and building connections in our schools, workplaces, neighbourhoods, shops, and clubs on a daily basis. Even if we do not know the names of those who live across the street, we have a great deal in common. They are not strangers, but neighbours. In times of crisis, as shown during the Covid pandemic, neighbourliness is a critical front-line defence. To undermine that by calling our neighbours ‘strangers’ is a recipe for social breakdown. True social cohesion can never come through exclusion only by being deliberately nurtured through acts of welcome, the language of inclusion and recognition of shared purpose and identity.  

Language: What we say matters 

In his speech, the Prime Minister gave credence to the claim that migrants fail to integrate because they don’t speak English. He said: “when people come to our country, they should also commit to integration, to learning our language.” But English proficiency is not the main barrier to social cohesion. As a country that proudly recognises multiple languages: Welsh, Scottish Gaelic, Irish, Cornish, British Sign Language, we should understand this. And as a nation who fails miserably at learning other world languages we should appreciate the enormous effort it takes to learn any level of English. The vast majority of migrants put us to shame in how quickly and readily they learn to communicate effectively. Might I suggest that the Prime Minister - whose speech contained questionable language that was factually untrue, politically dangerous and socially offensive - might benefit from an English lesson himself? 

Honesty: We benefit from migration 

When the Prime Minister claimed he was launching a strategy to “close the book on a squalid chapter for our politics, our economy, and our country,” he implied that migration is to blame for many of the difficulties the UK is facing. This is not a new tactic — some of the world’s darkest moments have been preceded by politicians stoking fear and resentment against immigrants for political gain. We must resist this rhetoric. Perhaps we could start by asking exactly which migrants are being blamed for this so-called "squalid chapter"? Is it the 200,000 people from Hong Kong who have arrived under the British National Overseas scheme, bringing skills and making major contributions to our economy? Or the 250,000 Ukrainian refugees who have been welcomed with open arms and helped knit communities closer together? Is it the 30,000 Afghans who supported British forces, risking their lives to do so? Or the 750,000 international students contributing £35 billion a year to the UK economy, sustaining our universities and global reputation for outstanding education and research? What about the 265,000 non-British NHS staff who work tirelessly to care for our sick and elderly? Blaming migrants for the UK’s problems is dishonest and dangerously divisive, potentially alienating the very people who are often most invested in making the country stronger, safer, and more successful.  

Integrity: We need to fix the real problem  

The Prime Minister’s use of the phrase “island of strangers” strikes a chord, not because we are all strangers to one another - we are not - but because many of us increasingly feel isolated in our own communities. There is evidence to support this emotional response. According to the Office for National Statistics, around 27% of adults in the UK report feeling lonely always, often, or some of the time. A report titled A Divided Kingdom, published just a day after the government’s immigration white paper, highlights growing intergenerational divides with only 5.5 per cent of children in the UK living near someone aged 65 or older, and just seven per cent of care home residents regularly interacting with anyone under the age of 30. Young adults are increasingly working remotely, reducing opportunities for casual, everyday social contact. Rising numbers of people live alone, and digital technology — while connecting us in some ways — often replaces the richness of face-to-face relationships. 

These shifts are not caused by immigration, and blaming migrants for the disconnections and discontent we feel only distracts us from addressing the real causes of social fragmentation. We need to find ways to reconnect with one another in person, recognising in those around us the image of God, our common humanity and the opportunity for service. 

Starmer’s narrative must be challenged before it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The great English poet and cleric John Donne famously wrote: 

 “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”  

It would be sad if, in our modern world, we lost sight of that truth and ended up becoming estranged islanders floating on a sea of fear and xenophobia. 

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