With many friends in the Middle East, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, has wasted no time in challenging the morality of waging war against Iraq. In his headline-grabbing Christmas message, the archbishop criticized in mordant terms the Western warmongers who have set themselves up as “wise men” but who — following the pattern of the “wise men” in the Christian story — may soon become the authors of much needless bloodshed and human suffering.
These days, such blunt dissent is a rarity in British public life. For since Tony Blair became the prime minister in 1997, the British political scene has been mired in bland consensualism. From the outset, Blair cunningly projected himself as an “inclusivist” leader whose New Labour politics nobody in his right mind could possibly disagree with. And because of the shrinking credibility of his chief opponents, the Conservatives, there has for some years been a gaping vacuum at the heart of British political life, an unhealthy absence of effectual democratic debate. But Nature abhors a vacuum, and now — over the issue of the threatened war against Iraq at least — Rowan Williams and fellow dissenting church leaders may be about to confront the government of Tony Blair with the concerted public opposition from which it has hitherto enjoyed immunity.
Though the possibility that British soldiers could shortly see military action in Iraq has been much in the news, there has been little public discussion about the war in Britain. In recent weeks the British media has been principally preoccupied with the question of whether Tony Blair’s wife told the whole truth about her involvement with an Australian crook who helped her to purchase property. It could seem that the looming conflict is a matter of indifference to the British public. Yet the fact is that last September more than a quarter of a million anti-war protesters poured into central London to stage the biggest demonstration that the British capital had seen in 30 years. Not that you would have gathered this from the scant attention which the media accorded the event.
What the anti-war movement has been crying out for is a charismatic figurehead, a prominent and articulate leader who cannot be easily ignored. Now, in the person of the new archbishop of Canterbury, it has perhaps found just such a leader.
Bearded, bespectacled and softly spoken, Rowan Williams might seem more like a middle-aged hippy than a high-ranking member of the British establishment. But his professional qualifications could scarcely be more impressive. Born in Wales in 1950, Williams attended both Oxford and Cambridge universities and by the age of 36 he was already an Oxford professor, capable of lecturing in no fewer than five languages. Today, with some 16 books to his name, he is regarded by many as Britain’s pre-eminent theologian. Nobody disputes that this remarkable clergyman has become head of the Church of England through sheer merit.
As the church’s primate, Williams faces formidable challenges. Against the background of an increasingly secular society, church attendances in Britain have been inexorably dwindling for many years. Williams’ predecessor as archbishop, Dr. George Carey, cannot be said to have done much to reverse this trend. A stolid, unglamorous traditionalist, Carey appeared little in tune with the complex, volatile, highly individualized country that Britain has become. According to an old joke, the Church of England is tantamount to the “Conservative Party at prayer”. Seemingly determined to give this old joke fresh currency, Carey simply failed to make much impression on contemporary Britons.
A gifted communicator, Rowan Williams has made more public impact in a few weeks than did George Carey in the course of several years. Under his guidance, the Church of England is certainly in no danger of going short of publicity. But with his radical views and appetite for controversy, Williams himself runs the risk of being portrayed as a crank, if not as a subversive, by Britain’s predominantly right-wing, big business-dominated media.
Aside from declaring himself anti-war, Williams has already attacked the Disney Corporation for corrupting tender minds — a stance hardly calculated to endear him to corporate media moguls such as Rupert Murdoch.
Rowan Williams is likely to become an especial source of irritation to Tony Blair. Himself a regular, not to say ostentatious, church-goer, Britain’s prime minister has been nicknamed the “vicar of St. Albion” by the satirical weekly Private Eye. Now, Williams and Blair seem set to become rivals as leading exemplars of British public virtue. The irony is that the prime minister endorsed Williams’ appointment as archbishop of Canterbury.
He could yet end up in the position of the 12th century English King Henry II, who became locked in bitter conflict with Archbishop Thomas Becket over the clashing claims of church and state. Perhaps Blair will find himself echoing the fateful words that Henry is supposed to have uttered about his pious and inflexible archbishop: “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?”
(Neil Berry, a London-based freelance journalist since 1980, is the author of “Articles of Faith: The Story of British Intellectual Journalism”.)
Arab News Opinion 30 December 2002
