Letter from London: One World

As many know, it was the hottest day ever recorded on earth last week. London was warm yet breezy with flags flapping gently from lofty white flagpoles and one or two tourists fanning themselves with theatre tickets. I was actually attending an outside meeting in Shepherds Market with people working in the green sector. An element of recycling was taking place nearby with a barefoot man picking up a discarded cigarette. The people I was with were friendly and commercial. The company head surveyed his surroundings as you might a brand new government on a low emission agenda. Secretary of State for Energy Security and Net Zero Ed Miliband is super-determined to decarbonise the national grid. People say he stands no chance but others that he is formidable. One or two complain of continued corporatist asset and wealth grabs of net zero. Londoners meanwhile realise the amount of air pollutants since the introduction of ULEZ (ultra-low emission zone) have dropped considerably, and people are responding to this far less threateningly than the chainsaw decapitations still meted out on ULEZ monitoring equipment by tiresome masked ULEZ warriors.

Not that our green diligence will thwart continued damage done by the likes of China or the US, and of course JD Vance enjoying vast contributions from the oil and gas sector is no surprise to anyone here, and of course explains why he hates the ‘wanton harassment’ of fossil fuel companies so much. Ask a farmer waiting for rain in Chad however and it is a different story. A confused Spain, while protesting about too many tourists, worries the climate emergency will lead to an end of tourism altogether. A severe heatwave in Iran is presently forcing shops and public buildings to close. Unrealistic grandstanding or not, Keir Starmer has promised offshore wind aplenty over the next five years, saying he will run 20m homes by using taxpayer money to cultivate areas of seabed owned by the crown estate — that curious part of the sovereign’s public estate belonging to neither government nor the King’s private estate. At the same time, five Just Stop Oil supporters have been given multi-year prison sentences for nothing more than attending a Zoom call. Sir David King, former Chief Scientific Adviser, said: ‘This is so disgraceful. We are all hoping that the change in UK Govt will also change the situation in our courts.’

I sat down alone in the shade afterwards in a small coffee place on Curzon Street. All around were friendly Arab voices energised by coffee. The Saudi embassy is nearby. To my right was the ornately packaged — Portland stone — Third Church of Christ Scientist. I was actually wondering if religious difference was a red herring or not. We always exaggerate the bad and minimise the good. I have mentioned before that I travelled with two Bishops a few months ago to film in an underprivileged area of a northern city. The Muslim taxi driver — wearing a neat maroon shalwar kameez, not unlike the attire of the Bishops — kept looking in his rearview mirror to say what an honour it was to carry ‘holy men’.

There has been trouble lately in the Whitechapel area of London. On social media this is mis-framed as a problem with Islam which could not be further from the truth. What was really taking place were protests by the Bangladeshi community over trouble in Bangladesh. These were largely, though not entirely, in opposition to a system offering 30 per cent of government jobs in Bangladesh to people related to veterans of the country’s independence war. Any tensions happened between the two groups. Besides, it remains precisely our backstories which give this city energy. Maybe we forget too easily the city’s biggest enemy ignorance is what leads to prejudice. Not that people are not scared. I saw a neighbourhood post last week claiming to identify a group of youths with machetes approaching one of Chelsea’s favourite streets. Understandably, the tone was anxious. But even one intimidating gang in likely pursuit of another does not a city of nearly 9 million people make. Interestingly, the only violence from protests last Saturday was from a large ‘patriotic rally’ organised by Tommy Robinson, the dangersome former English Defence League leader.

Back in the cafe, a man to my left slapped the table in hysterics, then immediately apologised to everyone, realising what he had done. One of the great things about Arab culture is its expectation of courtesy. Of course, Islam is not exclusively Arab. Later in the week, a young armed policeman kicked and stamped on the head of a young man at Manchester airport, who had been picking up his mother from a flight via Doha in Qatar from Pakistan, and the incident was immediately framed on social media as either racist or Islamist. Bewilderingly, more footage has since revealed violent assaults beforehand on multiple police officers. Mayor Andy Burnham urged people not to make it political. Local MP Paul Waugh said of the family: ‘They wanted me to appeal for calm and I hope that appeal is heeded. And while there is clearly deep concern about this incident, there is also a vital need not to let extremists of any kind hijack these events for their own ends.’

Nor, famously, does Islamic culture need alcohol. I was speaking to a gifted Irishwoman last week about alcohol. A number of people we once knew are either dead or obliged to take better care of themselves with drink. (Young Londoners are especially low-key about drinking.) To be endlessly celebratory seems no longer a badge of honour. Even survival can be murky. I visited one person my age last week who took twenty minutes to walk a few hundred meters — he used to be a great sportsman. I was obliged to show him an image of the funeral card of a mutual friend of ours whose party lights went out a few months ago. Tears formed as he held my phone in his shaking hand. What was that line from Bowie’s Where Are We Now? ‘The moment you know, you know, you know.’

I will soon have my next meeting. The person to my left is speaking with a suddenly deeper voice. Is it the arrival of the more senior figure at his table? My Arabic is poor to non-existent but I always enjoy its phonetics. I used to feel the same about Farsi when Iranian friends spoke among themselves. I had a Jewish friend from Teheran then Beirut (then London) whose throaty Hebrew always fascinated me. Some Afghans I knew would finger the earth and stare at the sky emitting these amazingly long Pashto word-sighs. My Bedouin friends always spoke slowly but commandingly in surprisingly soft consonants, at what I always considered desert pace. I love it when everything is turned down a notch and peace is allowed in. The Middle East could explode even further, alas, but in this one small corner of London last week was peace. I do hope it does not shatter as some would wish it to. In the meantime, even on the hottest recorded day in the history of the world, I hear the city breathe.

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