Abstract
Matthew Goodwin’s Values, Voice and Virtue follows on from his 2018 book, National Populism (with Roger Eatwell: Eatwell and Goodwin, 2018). But while this earlier work focused on national populism itself, Goodwin’s latest book examines the so-called ‘new elite’ in Britain – against whose rise national populism is portrayed as a counter-revolutionary ‘backlash’. Written by a political scientist, it is nonetheless intended for non-specialist readers and is significantly focused on issues associated with social class.
Goodwin’s ‘new elite’ is composed of graduate professionals who typically work in secure and well-paid occupations and are the economic beneficiaries of globalisation, in contrast with the majority whose opportunities are said to have diminished in the face of de-industrialisation, corporate restructurings and mass immigration. The ‘new elite’ is also cosmopolitan and culturally liberal, especially in relation to race, gender and sexuality – again in contrast with the ‘white nationalism’ and conservatism of the majority. Crucially, Goodwin claims that their ‘elite’ values now dominate politics, media, the arts, education and even the corporate world – where diversity and inclusion are invoked as evidence of ‘virtue’ and operationalised to the detriment of the majority.
These economic and especially cultural polarities are said to indicate a new and more troublesome class divide in Britain: whereas the ‘old elite’ displayed ‘attachment and obligation to the majority group . . . the new elite . . . are far more counter-cultural’ (p. 18) and assertive. Goodwin’s analysis suggests a Bourdieusian view of class as constituted via economic, social, cultural and symbolic (or reputational) capitals. But while Bourdieu (1986) and others (notably Savage, 2015) have emphasised material and cultural consumption, Goodwin prioritises identity-related values that in his view are deployed by the ‘new elite’ to reshape institutions and enhance their own status.
And they have gone too far, he argues, and have conferred disadvantage and stigma on those who are unfairly derided as ‘ignorant bigots’ – who have been driven into the populist fold as a result. For example on race, he finds no more than ‘lingering discrimination’ (p. 125) in British society, is seemingly in denial of institutional racism and considers anti-racist and decolonising initiatives unnecessary and indeed divisive. The designation of cosmopolitan values as ‘luxury beliefs’ underlines Goodwin’s disdain for the ‘new elite’ and all things ‘woke’; in contrast he endorses the ‘coherent and rational’ views associated with Brexit and the Conservatives’ anti-immigration and ‘levelling-up’ manifesto, which famously attracted ‘Red Wall’ electoral support in 2019. And his appearance at the 2023 ‘National Conservatism’ conference, alongside ‘hard right’ politicians and intellectuals, confirms Goodwin’s public positioning as a leading exponent of national populist thinking.
Many sociologists and others will of course take issue with this analysis and stance. For example, he cites surveys that suggest a decline in racism without acknowledging that even by his own ‘stigmatisation’ logic we might expect increasing concealment of such views. And in relying on surveys alone, Goodwin bizarrely neglects the institutional dimensions of racism: no recognition here that anti-racist initiatives (for example, in schools) may have contributed to a decline in racism, and no mention of policing or media denigration of racialised minorities. Indeed, it is hard to credit Goodwin’s assertion that British media institutions are dominated by cosmopolitan values, or his implied view that pro-Brexit arguments are unsullied by deception and lies. The environment is scarcely mentioned, despite the growing source of polarisation it represents; but current political and corporate (in-)action hardly suggests the triumph of liberal cosmopolitanism! More generally, many readers will baulk at Goodwin’s view that ‘culture wars’ are being prosecuted only by the ‘new elite’, and at his assertion of their ‘total dominance over . . . politics, culture and society’ (p. 20); will dismiss as fanciful his lament for the passing of ‘established ways of life which had long held Western nations together’ (p. 22); and will question whether a credible view of class can be constructed primarily on the basis of reputational capital.
On the other hand, many may struggle to accept my own contention that this book is not without value. Goodwin’s analysis of the deepening cosmopolitan/graduate versus traditionalist/non-graduate divide is mostly valid – though scarcely novel (see, for example, Goodhart, 2017). And while expressions such as ‘luxury beliefs’ may be offensive to those whom they target, his focus on identity-related values arguably contributes to an underdeveloped dimension of class analysis at a time when these issues are at the forefront of academic debate. Goodwin’s view of class may be partial, and his claims at best overstated; but the fact that such views are rarely heard in academic circles speaks to his assertion that universities have become a liberal, cosmopolitan monoculture. At the very least, sociologists and others who wish to challenge their own positions on class – and those who may need reminding that their views are not shared by many outside the academy – would do worse than to read Values, Voice and Virtue.