The generation of heroes and the generation of would-be heroes

I recently saw the film The Ipcress File on television. This was first distributed in 1965, the year I began living in London as a university student. The Ipcress File was a kind of antidote to the James Bond spy films, and emphasised the routines, the crowded working conditions and the everyday incompetences of working life. But the film had a special significance for me because of the profound influence its hero (played by Michael Caine) had on my life. When I was a teenager, no hero ever wore glasses. It seemed that wearing glasses (which became essential from about the age of 13) was therefore to be consigned to a secondary role in life: I would be behind the lines, in the backrooms, but never the hero winning the medals and the beautiful women. Michael Caine in The Ipcress File was the first ever hero on film to wear glasses. His character was from a working-class background, had a disrespect for authority, knew his classical music and was an excellent cook. He also succeeded with attractive women. He thus (I believed at the time) provided a template for my own life. I began to listen to classical music, and learnt how to cook. The attractive women came, although not quite in the numbers I had hoped for.

Seeing The Ipcress File also made me reflect on why I wanted to be a hero in the first place. Born in 1946, I was raised in the shadow of war. My parents and all the members of their generation had stories about the War. One of my uncles had been in the Eighth Army in Africa and Italy, and another in the Airborne forces from D-Day onwards. My father had been unable to serve on health grounds, but all civilians were on the front line when the air raids began. There were gaps in local streets where bombs had fallen, the centre of town (Birmingham) had ‘bomb sites’. A local wood was full of rubbish left behind by American troops who had been stationed there. Comics, films and newspapers were dominated by stories of the War. Heroes were everywhere. ‘Heroism’ was more than bravery in the face of the enemy: it meant endurance and stoicism, a sense of common purpose, and a willingness to sacrifice for the sake of others. Many members of my generation absorbed these values, even though there was no war left to fight. The substitute for some of us was politics: an heroic struggle against oppression and injustice which involved marching but no gunfire. We followed the campaigns in the USA against segregation as if it was our own battle. We marched against nuclear weapons, and when we came of age, we marched to support Dubcek and oppose intervention in Vietnam.

Of course, our generation of would-be heroes was pushed aside by younger people not raised in the shadow of the War and who responded to the peacetime values of self-enhancement, both financial and psychological. These new values became important in the later 1960s. Sexual hedonism and drugs were followed by searches for mystical enlightenment. Eventually, most people realised that financial and psychological enhancement could best be attained by an endless sequence of purchases. These values came of age politically in this country in 1979, and still dominate the political class. As a result, politicians still talk like members of rival firms seeking to persuade reluctant consumers to buy their products. When faced with real crises, like recession or global warming, they lack the skills or the understanding to mobilise mass support. There is once again a need for politics to be an heroic enterprise, but we have no heroes any more.