Socks*

As I've grown up, my ideas about what it means to be 'rich' have evolved substantially. I don't mean that I've migrated from a materialist definition - big house, smart car etc - to a more spiritual 'Love of the common people'-type definition. Financial assets and possessions remain important, if not central, and only a knave, a fool or a through-going combination of the two -John Lennon, perhaps - would tell you otherwise. Indeed, the 'materially rich/spiritually poor' archetype is not only demonstrably false in plenty of cases, it's a lazy and dishonest construct - a bit like the 'tragic clown' cliche that probably applies to, say, ten per cent of professional comedians.

And the flip of the cliche, perpetuated by, among others, Paul Young, is exceptionally dangerous: it is manifestly obvious that millions of poor people don't have a daddy to buy them a dream to cling to; and, while their momma might love them as much as she can, that might well not be as much as she ought, or as much as they need. The idea that family love somehow compensates for the hole in your shoe that lets the snow come through will only hamper that family's exodus from state-peddled welfare dependency, particularly in those many circumstances where the state accrues to itself the role of father and provider. And let us not pretend that the presence of both daddy and momma gives a child a statistically greater chance of achieving 'positive outcomes.' Etc etc.


Paul Young: a musical cosh for the sans-culottes