A level Economics: Are Universal Values a form of Imperialism?

They argue that universal values are the new imperialism, imposed on people who want security and stability instead. Here is why they are wrong argues The Economist

 

The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 held out the promise that growing prosperity would foster freedom and tolerance, which in turn would create more prosperity. Unfortunately, that hope disappointed. Our analysis this week, based on the definitive global survey of social attitudes, shows just how naive it turned out to be.

Prosperity certainly rose. In the three decades to 2019, global output increased more than fourfold. Roughly 70% of the 2bn people living in extreme poverty escaped it. But individual freedom and tolerance evolved differently. Many people around the world continue to swear fealty to traditional beliefs, sometimes intolerant ones. And although they are much wealthier these days, they often have an us-and-them contempt for others.

The World Values Survey takes place every five years. The latest results, which go up to 2022, canvassed almost 130,000 people in 90 countries. Some places, such as Russia and Georgia, are not becoming more tolerant as they grow, but more tightly bound to traditional religious values instead. At the same time, young people in Islamic and Orthodox countries are barely more individualistic or secular than their elders. By contrast, the young in northern Europe and America are racing ahead. Countries where burning the Koran is tolerated and those where it is a crime look on each other with growing incomprehension.

On the face of it, all this supports the campaign by China’s Communist Party to dismiss universal values as racist neo-imperialism. It argues that white Western elites are imposing their own version of freedom and democracy on people who want security and stability instead.

In fact, the survey suggests something more subtle. Contrary to the Chinese argument, universal values are more valuable than ever. Start with the subtlety. China is right that people want security. The survey shows that a sense of threat drives people to seek refuge in family and racial or national groups, while tradition and organised religion offer solace.

This is one way to see America’s doomed attempts to establish democracy in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as the failure of the Arab spring. Amid lawlessness and upheaval, some people sought safety in their tribe or their sect. Hoping that order would be restored, some welcomed the return of dictators.

The subtlety the Chinese argument misses is the fact that cynical politicians sometimes set out to engineer insecurity because they know that frightened people yearn for strongman rule. That is what Bashar al-Assad did in Syria when he released murderous jihadists from his country’s jails at the start of the Arab spring. He bet that the threat of Sunni violence would cause Syrians from other sects to rally round him.

Something similar happened in Russia. After economic collapse and jarring reforms in the 1990s, Russians thrived in the 2000s. Between 1999 and 2013, gdp per head increased 12-fold in dollar terms. Yet that did not dispel their accumulated dread. President Vladimir Putin consistently played on their ethno-nationalist insecurities, especially when growth later faltered. That has culminated in his disastrous invasion of Ukraine.

Even in established democracies, polarising politicians like Donald Trump and Jair Bolsonaro, former presidents of America and Brazil, saw that they could exploit left-behind voters’ anxieties to mobilise support. So they set about warning that their political opponents wanted to destroy their supporters’ way of life and threatened the very survival of their countries. That has, in turn, spread alarm and hostility on the other side.

Even allowing for this, the Chinese claim that universal values are an imposition is upside down. From Chile to Japan, the World Values Survey provides examples where growing security really does seem to lead to tolerance and greater individual expression. Nothing suggests that Western countries are unique in that. The real question is how to help people feel more secure.

China’s answer is based on creating order for a loyal, deferential majority that stays out of politics and avoids defying their rulers. However, within that model lurks deep insecurity. It is a majoritarian system in which lines move, sometimes arbitrarily or without warning—especially when power passes unpredictably from one party chief to another.

A better answer comes from prosperity built on the rule of law. Wealthy countries have more resources to spend on dealing with disasters, such as pandemic disease. Likewise, confident in their savings and the social safety-net, the citizens of rich countries know that they are less vulnerable to the chance events that wreck lives elsewhere.

Universal and valuable

However, the deepest solution to insecurity lies in how countries cope with change, whether from global warming, artificial intelligence or the growing tensions between China and America. The countries that manage change well will be better at making society feel confident in the future. And that is where universal values come into their own. Tolerance, free expression and individual inquiry help harness change through consensus forged by reasoned debate and reform. There is no better way to bring about progress.

Universal values are much more than a Western piety. They are a mechanism that fortifies societies against insecurity. What the World Values Survey shows is that they are also hard-won.

J Sai Deepak on Pew Survey on Religion in India and his First Book

 

Mandated ‘respect’ for others’ opinions hurts free speech

A polite but deadly serious Cambridge university row over the issue shows the need for ‘tolerance’ instead writes CAMILLA CAVENDISH in The FT


If you wander down Trumpington Street in Cambridge, you will find yourself at one of the birthplaces of the English Reformation. It was here, at The White Horse Inn, that scholars secretly met to debate the smuggled works of Martin Luther. By preaching Luther’s heretical belief that ordinary people should read the Bible for themselves, and not just accept the word of priests, Cambridge was one of the places that helped to transform European thought. So it is especially sad that the University of Cambridge is now pushing proposals which could undermine free speech. 

The university’s governing body, the Regent House, is voting until Tuesday on a new code of conduct which demands that staff, students and visitors be “respectful” of different opinions. This harmless-sounding clause is meant to support free speech. It was drawn up partly in response to faculty who were alarmed after a student backlash led to the rescinding of a fellowship to the psychologist Jordan Peterson, a self-styled “professor against political correctness”. But the row also demonstrates how dangerous it can be when well-meaning people try to please everyone. “Respect” is a soft-edged word that means different things to different people. It can easily morph into a prohibition against giving offence. 

 “There’s no limit to how far this could go,” I was told by Arif Ahmed, the young philosopher at Gonville and Caius college who is leading a rebellion of academics against the code. “Did the Charlie Hebdo cartoons respect Islam? Was [18th-century Scottish philosopher] David Hume a respecter of religion? Who decides? A word like ‘respect’ is worse than useless. You can slide all the way from civility to a kind of deference which would refrain from attacking Islam, Christianity or Judaism.” 

The new code defends “robust and challenging” debate, and “free speech within the law”. However, it seems to undermine those clauses with the demand that staff, students and visitors be “free to express themselves without fear of disrespect or discrimination”. 

The problem is that there is no limit to what any individual might define as disrespect. Furthermore, while all beliefs should get a hearing they cannot, as Stephen Fry has said, command the heart. That is why Oxford university’s concise policy on free speech says that not all theories deserve equal respect. Cambridge’s proposal threatens the lifeblood of academic progress: the right to argue, challenge and, potentially, change minds. 

Strangely, Cambridge’s authorities seem unable to see the problem. Over the summer, concerned academics asked its executive body, the Council, if it would replace the word “respect” with “tolerance”. This would promote courtesy but ensure that people could openly disagree. The Council refused. At that point, a polite but deadly serious war broke out. A growing number of academics now support amendments to the proposed policy, including philosopher Simon Blackburn, economist Diane Coyle and statistician Sir David Spiegelhalter. 

Mystified why the Council rejected the seemingly helpful “tolerance” proposal, I asked the university’s vice-chancellor, Stephen Toope. He doesn’t remember the rebels’ proposal being “so clearly articulated at the time”. He told me, robustly, that “free speech is utterly central, and if we don’t uphold it we’re not doing our job”. He also warned against “overinterpreting what is meant to be a very high level statement”. Professor Toope has chaired meetings with the neutrality expected of his role. “I am not taking a position on ‘respect’ or ‘tolerance’,” he said, “though I have heard some people say they don’t like the word ‘tolerance’ as it makes it seem as if other views are to be discredited.” 

This, surely, goes to the heart of the issue. Tolerance is an ancient concept, and the best protector of free speech when people strongly disagree with each other: it allows issues to be aired and weaknesses exposed. I happen to deplore the pro-life movement. I have marched against it in the US and donated to pro-choice campaigns. But I defend pro-lifers’ right to make their case. I also note that pro-life charities have become vociferous in favour of free speech, along with some Jewish and feminist groups. Proponents of unfashionable causes often discover the importance of freedom of expression, which underlines its value. 

The Cambridge row shows how hard it is for institutions to keep their footing in this new world of outrage. Twenty years ago, English universities felt little responsibility towards students beyond the lecture hall. Today, they are beset by activism, and demands for censorship from the political left and right. 

The way to navigate these choppy waters is surely with the rigour and precision that characterise the best academic work. The vagueness of language in Cambridge’s new code lacks both. Some academics worry that it will have a chilling effect on who they invite and what they say, and that this may extend to their own contracts. “If the respect agenda becomes entrenched in disciplinary and grievance procedures, and arguments which used to be sorted out by people saying ‘grow up and stop being silly’ fall to intervention by HR busybodies, that will mean the end of academic tenure as we know it,” Ross Anderson, Cambridge Professor of Security Engineering, told me. 

Such fears may be exaggerated. But the code’s fudge is dangerous. Do we really want to risk returning to a world where enquiring minds huddle together in secret, debating banned works and wondering if they dare say what they believe? If universities don’t do everything in their power to prevent such a reversal, they are not worthy of the title.

New Data on the History of Kashmir

Conversation with Markandey Katju

Farook And The Art of Selectivity

Anand Ranganathan in News Laundry








You believe what you see, but unfortunately what you see is written by those who see what they believe.

A recent article by columnist Sadanand Dhume is proof if ever it was needed, that Objectivity is a metallic object that must be left behind before the writer passes through the op-ed threshold. All good now. Next!

Biases don’t beep.

The present article is not a rebuttal but, rather, an attempt to understand, using Dhume’s column, our fascination – both as writers and readers – with selectivity. To be sure, Dhume has written what needs to be read. He has highlighted the gross fraud perpetrated by the present Bharatiya Janata Party government, on freedom of speech, on the right to life, on the rule of law, and, to an exaggerated extent, on what all of us think India should be or become.

So where has he erred? To put it simply, here: Dhume has hidden more than he has revealed. He has indulged in selectivity, an attribute none other than BR Ambedkar warned us of 75 years ago. Explaining why selectivity is damaging, he wrote:

"The social evils which characterize the Hindu Society, have been well known. The publication of 'Mother India' by Miss Mayo gave these evils the widest publicity. But while 'Mother India' served the purpose of exposing the evils and calling their authors at the bar of the world to answer for their sins, it created the unfortunate impression throughout the world that while the Hindus were grovelling in the mud of these social evils and were conservative, the Muslims in India were free from them, and as compared to the Hindus, were a progressive people. That, such an impression should prevail, is surprising to those who know the Muslim Society in India at close quarters."

Ambedkar detested the evil orthodoxy of the Hindu society, exposed the casteist and bigoted nature of many ancient Hindu texts, spoke authoritatively on Hinduism, brought to light its numerous ills, left its fold to become a Buddhist; and yet, here was the same man warning us of being selective against Hinduism and Hindu society. Such was his greatness and unshakable belief to 'Do the Right Thing'.

It is astonishing how prescient, and relevant, Ambedkar’s words are even today; not at all astonishing that we discard them with the chirpy tediousness of a CISF body-frisker. Subjectivity brings us eyeballs; Objectivity brings us calm and rational thinking. Precisely the reason why hunched-over emotional beings hunting for fist-sized stones to pelt prefer the former.

Dhume writes with the immediacy of a columnist who understands, like all good columnists do, that his writings would the day after be used to wrap kachoris by the neighbourhood halwai. He is what one would call a modern writer – aware, alert, and receptive to criticism; a social media animal who tries to learn from his trolls and critics, knowing well the worth of this engagement as a self-correcting measure. A Twitter handle laden with followers bends.

Occasionally, though, Dhume gives in to a closed set of arty dunderheads who stand in the middle of summer braving scalding loo to admire the coming of age of a frangipani in a TV studio carpark. These would be the seers who think the world sucks on their analysis and interpretation like an emaciated leech. They drench the newspaper centrespreads and seal the primetime debates at will. Their word makes no sense but it is final. Subjectivity and selectivity are their calling cards. Dhume's last column suggests he was in their company.

Dhume claims personal liberties are shrinking under the present government, coming to this generalised conclusion from his wholly justified condemnation of the religious zealots who go by the moniker, Gau Rakshaks. These criminals are seemingly running amok, doubtless comforted by an overseeing government that is, outwardly at least, non-violently fanatical about saving cows. The almost complete lack of law enforcement resulting from fear of political masters, coupled with the cushion the overseers provide through their obsession with saving the Gau, is precisely the deadly combination the extremists cherish and take comfort in. This author had written previously on their barbarity and criminality. Many other have, too.

The Gau Rakshak menace is not a recent phenomena but one that is increasingly in the news. That said, an objective reading is the need of the hour, especially when it comes to sweeping psychoanalysis.

While Dhume rightly criticises the BJP and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh for zealously promoting the idea of a cow-slaughter ban, he should have mentioned that in doing so, these organisations are only following the ardent views of none other than Mahatma Gandhi and Vinobha Bhave, who incidentally went on a fast unto death unless his call for a pan-India cow slaughter ban was acceded to. Dhume should also have mentioned that the ban on cow slaughter was first implemented, and rigorously imposed in most Indian states, by the Congress party, so much so that as recently as 2015 Harish Rawat, a sitting Congress Chief Minister of Uttarakhand thundered. “Anyone who kills cows, no matter which community he belongs to is India's biggest enemy and has no right to live in the country.”

That is correct. India's biggest enemy. Not Pakistan or China but a cow-slaughterer.

The fools of the BJP are following the fools of the Congress, only more stridently because this is what fools do. To miss this facet of our daily political drudgery is to give the impression that things are happening for the first time, that the phrase déjà vu is Martian gobbledygook and not something invented by earthlings.

Dhume then talks of a deeper malaise, suggesting that under the present government, personal liberties are shrinking. Again, while Dhume rightly criticises the BJP for contributing to this, what undoubtedly is a malaise, he is silent on the fact that most of our personal liberties have been shrunk already, and to the extent they don't fit our bloated bodies anymore.

Tellingly, much of the shrinking has been carried out by the Congress. One doesn't need to go as far back as Nehru, who jailed the famous poet Majrooh for composing a song lampooning him, and amended the Article 19 (1) to steal more of the freedom away from the speech; one only needs to look at Congress' recent history. From banning films to censoring them heavily, from banning books that offended dynasty sycophants, from bringingin the draconian 66A; from making it mandatory for people to stand up in cinema halls during the playing of the national anthem; from coming up with the aesthetically revolting idea of erecting world’s tallest flag-posts; from demanding an apology from the magazine that published the Danish cartoons – this from the Prime Minister of India, on the floor of the house; from staying silent when 8,000 activists were booked under the draconian sedition law by the Tamil Nadu police; from partaking in every possible chance our great democracy afforded to stifle free speech and expression; from ignoring every possible chance to repeal evil laws on sedition and free speech, the present government’s predecessors have been there, done that. The list of crimes and silences is endless. But Dhume doesn’t mention even a single intransigence. He fails to bemoan the fact that, far from providing liberties some breathing room, the Congress made things even more claustrophobic. Again, he is right in criticising the BJP, but he is wrong in giving his audience an impression that all this is happening for the first time, and that the BJP is responsible for it.

Dhume is not the first to have done this and he won’t be the last. In such a scenario, one may be entitled to ask: Are subjectivity and selectivity really all that harmful? Was Ambedkar wrong? What damage, after all, could selective outrage inflict on the reader and the running discourse?

Well, it can be devastating. Recall the early months of the Modi government and the media blitzkrieg over Church-attacks; the banner headlines screaming enough is enough, let Christians live in peace; the op-eds warning of creeping fascism and growing intolerance. What came of it? This, that three weeks of relentless boil and outrage later, the nation came to know that these attacks were nothing more than burglaries or accidents, that the perpetrators of the most heinous crime of sexual assault on a Bengal nun, one that quickly snowballedinto ‘Hindus are coming to get us, even the pious and the elderly won’t be spared’, were not Hindus; that as many churches were “attacked” under the UPA as they were under the present NDA.

We can outrage only on the news that we receive; and that which we don’t, it glides through the system unseen.

Under President Obama, during his first term in office, there occurred 1.1 million hate-crimes. 263,540 violent hate crimes were reported in 2012, just one year – 30 violent hate-crimes every hour. Of every day. 365 days. How many of these came to the reader’s notice? How many times was the Obama administration hauled over blazing coals for this? How many op-eds accused him of twiddling his thumbs while 30 minorities were attacked every hour of every day of every year?

Under Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, during his second term in office, there occurred 172,837 crimes against the Dalits. 2,073 rapes against Dalits were reported in 2013, just one year – a 31 per cent jump over the 2012 number. Five Dalit women were raped every single day in 2013.

The eye decides; the eye selects; the eye omits. Creeping fascism and growing intolerance become house lizards at will, scampering for cover under the shoe rack, leaving not even their writhing tails behind.

One may ask: why is it important to divulge previous occurrences – is that not Whataboutery? Why does a reader need to know that churches were also being “attacked” and robbed under the UPA, that 30 violent hate-crimes were happening every hour under Obama, that five Dalits were being sexually assaulted every day under Manmohan Singh? Why? Because outraging on any new occurrence with incomplete information is like fencing the adversary blind-folded; your every jab is in anger and desperation.

The solution to any problem is inextricably linked with its identification first as endemic or spontaneous. Rest is clickbait.

India is intolerant. Intolerant towards gays, towards Dalits, towards minorities (and majorities that become regional minorities), towards just and conscientious laws, towards free speech, towards freedom of expression. India has always been intolerant because we have laws, and Constitutional amendments, that protect Intolerance. The problem is endemic; it is not going to go away when the BJP goes away. But to realise this one has to forsake belief in one’s preferred ideology, preferred historians, preferred newspaper; preferred news channel; one has to forsake belief in selectivity. Easier said.

When it suits us, we become a nation of selective cacophony and silence.

The Left is silent when SFI goons go on a rampage; the Right is silent when ABVP goons indulge in the same. The Left is silent over one kind of bounty; the Right is silent over the other. The Left is silent when Muslims demand punishment for Kamlesh Tewari; The Right is silent when Hindus demand punishment for Prashant Bhushan. The Left is silent when a Muslim interprets Islam and his shop is burnt to the ground; the Right is silent when a film director interprets history and his set is burnt to the ground. The Left is silent when Yatra app is down-voted; the Right is silent when Snapdeal app is down-voted. The Left is silent when the communists rewrite our textbooks; the Right is silent when the nationalists rewrite our textbooks. The Left is silent when communists murder RSS workers; the Right is silent when RSS workers murder communists.

When it comes to selectivity, the Left and the Right are two sides of the same coin – emotional, impulsive, hypocritical, entrenched.

For the uninitiated, it takes some time to realise that this here is a game being played. The Great Indian Intolerance Chess Clock. Every single time there is intolerance that shames the Right, there follows intolerance that shames the Left. And vice versa. The Left outrages on one kind of intolerance, and the Right does the same for the opposite kind. The Left spots an atrocity that would shame the Right and slaps the intolerance chess clock; the Right spots an atrocity that would shame the Left and does the exact same after a while.

If I can shame you more than you can shame me, I believe that I can reduce my shame, disregard it even.

This constant jabbing at the other, while blind-folded, is what keeps the fire burning. Indian media discourse is this chalice runneth over with hundreds of stories that suit any one particular narrative. Take a sip, pass the cup along.

That selectivity can be immensely damaging to a nation's psyche is not quite apparent at first glance. This is because highlighting an atrocity devoid of its previous histories is in itself an important undertaking. To draw the reader's attention over any atrocity is essential in a democracy, to outrage over it equally so. No rational person can deny that even in isolation – i.e. devoid of previous history or knowledge an atrocity must be condemned and acted upon.

Why, then, did Ambedkar worry about selectivity? Why was he not satisfied with the selective outing of Hindu evils? It is because he was looking for solutions, and reforms – not just for one problem, not just for one community, but for the nation as a whole. He worried that conscientious Hindus shamed by their religion's evils would try and reform, but that conscientious Muslims not shamed by their religion's evils wouldn't. Reform is possible only when mistakes are identified, spoken of, written about, and the conscientious shamed. Shaming is good, shaming is essential, shaming is catharsis, but what good is shaming if it deepens further the chasms in our society, reforms only one community, is selective.

The writer Aatish Taseer has written an impassioned essay on the lynching of the Muslim Pehlu Khan at the hands of the Gau Rakshaks. It is an important read; it shames us as it should any conscientious Indian. Taseer talks of the murder of a Muslim at the hands of Hindu extremists; the outrage is real and affecting. At the end, Taseer holds India complicit in the murder: "...a whole nation, through its silence, is complicit," he writes.

If one has to hold the whole nation, including Taseer himself, complicit in the murder of a Muslim, why, then, would have asked Ambedkar, should that man not also be Farook, the Muslim lynched by Muslim extremists?

Farook, who, you ask. Farook, who, asks India. Farook, who, asks even Taseer.

Farook, a Muslim-turned-atheist, was lynched by Muslim extremists around the same time as Pehlu was by Hindu extremists. Pehlu is remembered, as he must be; but Farook is forgotten. Why? Why has Farook been forgotten? Is it because he was lynched by Muslims and not Hindus?

Who decides who is to be remembered and who forgotten? Who learns, who is shamed, who believes, who sees?

We do. Our selectivity does.

Holding India complicit for the murder of Pehlu will shame us into making sure such atrocities never happen again. But not holding India complicit for the murder of Farook, not shaming us for this atrocity, means that many more Farooks would meet the same fate. This, in summation, was what Ambedkar had warned us of.

But where is Objectivity; where do I find it?

Listen, Red. Far away there is an oak tree beneath whose tired, protruding roots is a biscuit tin containing a note that says, Don't just worship Ambedkar, follow him. Slither out that sewer pipe using your elbows and stand up on your legs and look up to face the heavens and let that rain wash away all the shit and the filth and give you the strength to find that tin. Find that tin, Red. It is your only hope.

Intolerance has always existed in India: Niti Aayog’s Bibek Debroy

Niti Aayog's member Bibek Debroy is a renowned economist who is known for speaking his mind. In an interview to TOI, Debroy reflects on the issue of intolerance and cites examples to show the need for multiple views. Excerpts:

Q: A debate has been raging on the issue of intolerance in the country. What has been your experience?

A: What is generally not known is that Jagdish Bhagwati was essentially made to leave Delhi School of Economics and had to go abroad because his life was made very uncomfortable. He left DSE because there is a certain prevailing climate of opinion and if you buck that, your life is made uncomfortable.

In the course of the second five-year plan, a committee of economists was set up to examine it. Dr B.R. Shenoy was the only one who opposed it. Do you find Dr Shenoy's name mentioned in the history of union policymaking? No. He was completely ostracized. He could not get a job in India and he ended up in Ceylon.

The third is a book called 'Heart of India', written by Alexander Campbell who was a journalist. A patronizing book for that day and time but it is still banned in India because it says frivolous things about Jawaharlal Nehru, socialism in India, and the Planning Commission. People who say there should not be bans, why don't they ever mention 'Heart of India'.

I cited these three examples to drive home the point that intolerance has always existed and we will be stupid if we haven't recognized it.

Q: At a personal level, did you ever experience intolerance in the academic arena?

A: I studied at Presidency College in Kolkata and in a real sense my first job was there at its Centre for Research. Then it was time for me to apply for a proper job, meaning Department of Economics. The head of the department was Dipak Banerjee, who told me you are not going to get a job, just forget it. Remember it was the Left. All the experts are Left-wing. So, I went off to Pune.

Q: How do you view the Rajiv Gandhi Institute, which you once headed, holding this conference on the issue of intolerance?

A: I was there for eight years and during that period we consciously distanced ourselves from the Congress. In 2002, I decided to organize a conference on what India was supposed to be, what its society be like, what the idea of India would be? I invited Seshadri Chari who was the editor of Organiser. Several people from the Left also came.

On the day of the seminar, a paper front-paged a report 'Congress think tank invites editor of Organiser." I get a phone call from 10, Janpath. Not Mrs Gandhi. "Madam has asked me to speak to you. Please withdraw this invitation to Seshadri Chari." I said I have issued the invitation and if Madam wants to talk to me, let her talk to me. Ten minutes later the phone rings again. "Will you please ask Seshadri Chari to give in writing what he is going to speak?" I said I am not going to do that. "No, Madam wants to see it."

Again the phone rings. "What happens if Seshadri Chari goes ahead and speaks about Godhra?" Meanwhile, all hell broke loose and some noted Congress people dropped out because Seshadri Chari was invited. I held the conference.

In 2004, Loveesh Bhandari and I did a study on economic freedom rating of states. Gujarat was number one. In 2005, municipal elections were being held in Gujarat and a newspaper carried a front page story, 'Congress think tank ranks Modi's Gujarat as number one', and all hell broke loose. I got a note from Mrs Gandhi saying anything that the Rajiv Gandhi Institute publishes henceforth be politically vetted. I said this is not acceptable to me. I resigned.




There was an Arjun Sengupta Commission. Next day, I was thrown out of there. I was on two task forces of Planning Commission, I was thrown out of there. Did anyone complain? I only remember two people. One is Loveesh, he was biased because he was the co-author, and the other was a journalist, Seetha Parthasarathy. All these people who are complaining about different points of view, none of them raised their voices.

The intellectual discourse has been captured by a certain kind of people, with certain kinds of views. It is a bit like a monopoly and that monopoly does not like outsiders and that monopoly survives on the basis of networks.

Q: A section of academics has raised the issue of growing intolerance. Do you think they have a point or is it because they are politically aligned?

A: If you tell me intolerance is increasing, it is purely anecdotal and is purely a subjective perception, there is no point in arguing with you because you will say it is increasing and I will say there is no evidence of it increasing. The only way I can measure something is that if I have got some quantitative indicator. If I look at any quantitative indictor, communal violence incidents, internet freedom, these are objective indicators, and I don't think it is increasing. In the intellectual circuit there has always been that intolerance. Let's not pretend otherwise.

How to cohabit (and live to tell the tale): 10 essential commandments

Emma Jane Unsworth in The Guardian

Cohabiting is about accepting each other as human beings with human bodies. As the bumper sticker almost says: “Stuff Happens.” Illustration: Anna Parini

Moving in with someone can do many things for a relationship. It’s a way of ramping up the commitment and lowering living costs. It means you get to enjoy more time in each other’s company while simultaneously doubling your daily shirt-and-sock options. It’s also that thing you often do when you reach a certain point, and, while I’m generally against things we do simply because we feel we should, I can’t deny that sooner or later, in any relationship, I find myself wondering about living together.

I’ve just moved in with a man for the fourth time in 15 years (different men), and there’s a lot I’m going to do differently this time, because there’s a lot I’ve learned. So in the spirit of sharing, I’ve developed the following set of handy rules. Behold, my Ten Commandments for Cohabitation.

1 Thou Shalt Start With A Blank Canvas

As the saying goes, there’s no accounting for taste. That may be true, but it’s important that you both have an equal chance to inflict your aesthetics upon a place. Fair’s fair. It’s not good for your psychology, or the power dynamics of your relationship, to slot yourself around someone else’s stuff and, by proxy, their past. So even if you’re moving into your paramour’s place, gut it, decor-wise, and start from scratch – together. From then on, it’s about negotiation, tolerance and compromise.

Example: my boyfriend likes crows. One time I walked into the bedroom to find a crow cushion on the pillow so realistic that it looked like an actual dead crow. I took a photo to put on Instagram, and then reacted with an almighty shriek.

Compromise: the crow cushion doesn’t go on the bed any more, and we continue to have sex.

2 Thou Shalt Divvy Up The Chores, Somehow

An ex told me that he found tidiness as oppressive as messiness. Nice try, huh. But it’s all too easy to forget whose turn it is to clean the hob and, unless you’ve got a dusting fetish, there’s nothing erotic about Mr Muscle.

If you can possibly afford to, splash out on a cleaner. I’d go so far as to say it’s worth two bottles of wine a fortnight, and that’s not something I would say lightly. The main peril of this, if you’re working class, is guilt – and guilt is even less erotic than Mr Muscle.

3 Thou Shalt Neither Repress Nor Celebrate Thy Bodily Functions

I’m sorry to include this – I know there are recipes in here and you’re halfway through your brunch, but this is a crucial one. Catherine Zeta-Jones once cited the secret to a long-term relationship as “separate bathrooms” (I know, they split – but they’re back together!). Not an option for the non-Hollywood stars among us, alas. But maybe it’s also about accepting each other as human beings with human bodies. As the bumper sticker almost says: “Stuff Happens”.

A friend of mine overshot it when she took her boyfriend of nine months to stay in a luxury shepherd’s hut for a weekend, as a “living together practice run”. I think we can all see where this one is going. The toilet was a funnel, a metre or so from the bed, behind a curtain. They split soon after. Another friend went to the doctor’s with chronic stomachache a few weeks after moving in with her man, only to be told it was because she was repressing wind.

I’m not saying you have to let it all hang and fly loose, but try to relax. Your body, your home, your air space.

4 Thou Shalt Not Steal… Food

My first experience of living with people that I wasn’t related to (and therefore didn’t expect to fight me at the dinner table) was at university. And it was there, within the walls of my student halls in Liverpool, that I learned one of the harshest lessons about non-familial domesticity. One evening, when I returned to the communal kitchen to retrieve my dinner, I found that someone had stolen my jacket potato from the oven. Then I remembered Susan, scurrying past me in the corridor, looking distinctly uncomfortable as she gripped her hoodie around her midriff, looter-like. Of course she denied it. But I knew she was lying.

And yet, after I’d angrily eaten a neat tin of tuna, I found I could let it go. Furthermore, I felt a deep need to go forth and perform the exact opposite of my natural instinct at that point, which was meanness. These days, I fill the fridge and I don’t count my teabags. I expect anything I leave in the freezer to go, and I don’t care. It actually feels nice. Because meanness doesn’t even make you that much less skint, but what it does make you is miserable.

So I’m grateful to that girl now, for what she taught me. No, really. Get in touch, Susan. Or at least send me a potato

.
Emma Jane Unsworth: ‘Tell your partner about their bad habits. The ones they don’t know about. Do it tactfully, but for God’s sake, do it soon.’ Photograph: Michael Thomas Jones for the Guardian

5 Thou Shalt Be Open To New Experiences

In a pressure-cooker space with someone, you can discover life-changing things that make you wonder how you survived without them. My former housemate Eden brought RuPaul’s Drag Race into my life, for which I am truly thankful. I introduced my best friend Alison to pesto with pasta when we lived together at university in the late 90s. As she destroyed the entire bowl, she looked and sounded as if she was having an orgasm – maybe she was. We now look on it as a foundation stone of our friendship, and given the fact she eats it at least once a week now, it’s a source of much pride to me that I was able to give her the gift that keeps on giving. We’ll always have pesto.

6 Thou Shalt Allow Each Other A Few Ludicrous Idiosyncrasies

This again boils down to compromise. My mum vigilantly turns off every single plug socket every night before she goes to bed. I think she once saw an episode of Corrie where a dodgy toaster burned down Sally Webster’s kitchen, and it stayed in her mind. She also unplugs the microwave because someone told her the clock uses up a lot of electricity overnight. I’ve tried to explain that this is simply not true, but not even Google can convince her otherwise.

My dad doesn’t seem to mind her frenzied routine. Nor should he. Because you know what? Everyone’s allowed their minor idiosyncrasies. Everyone is allowed to be ludicrous about one thing, once a day. Even the girl I lived with in my early 20s, who couldn’t find her keys one evening and decided to “lock” the front door by pushing it to and wedging the Henry vacuum cleaner behind it. When I came home, I thought we’d been robbed. Then I saw the vacuum cleaner, and realised I just lived with an idiot. But, you know, so did she, some nights.

7 Thou Shalt Not Inflict Animals Upon Your Beloved

Animals can be a deal-breaker. Allergies aside, some people don’t like the idea of furry creatures around things like food and furniture. I love cats. To me, a house without cats in it feels resonantly sad, but not everyone’s the same. I’m still half-convinced my last attempt at romantic cohabitation ended when I got a cat and it took to urinating on the duvet, generally square on the crotch of whoever was in bed. Morning! It materialised that as well as an unpleasant experience, this triggered bad memories for my then boyfriend, who had once lived with a cat called Moon, who’d systematically terrorised him.

But really: never live with anyone who doesn’t like cats. Those people are suspect and, at the very least, social perverts.


My mother turns off every plug socket before she goes to bed, and the microwave. My dad doesn’t mind – and nor should he

8 Thou Shalt Have A TV

And the internet. My most recent housemate and I tried to do without both for a year, in a bid to “be more productive”. We lasted a month, then we got online (mainly for RuPaul’s Drag Race). Books, I hear you cry! What about books? Well, books are all well and good, until you have a hangover. Then you just need something to look at while you sweat and cry for pizza. Entertainment options other than each other are the key to a happy home on those evenings, or days, when you just want to flop. I also recommend a karaoke machine.

9 Thou Shalt Not Assimilate Resentment

The assimilation of resentment is the death of love. Tell your partner about their bad habits. The ones they don’t know about, I mean. Do it tactfully, but for God’s sake, do it soon.

I have a terrible habit of leaving dirty mugs everywhere; something I only discovered after a man I’d been living with moved out and the mugs began to accumulate on the sink, the toilet, cistern, all of the windowsills – until I ran out of mugs and looked around and saw my awful truth. I called my ex and asked whether he thought I had a mug problem. “Oh, that,” he said. “I guess I just got used to picking them up every day.” “You must have hated me a bit for it, though?” I asked. To which he replied: “Well, I guess I sort of got used to the resentment, too.” (Insert Blaring Relationship Countdown Siren, set at T-minus two months.)

10 Thou Shalt Revolutionise The Meaning Of Romance

Cohabitation brings new meaning to what constitutes romantic behaviour, and you must embrace this, because we’re not getting any younger, and life is short, and love is the greatest, wherever you can find it. You’re not dating any more, and some of the more superficial magic might be gone – but there’s a wealth of possibilities by which you can demonstrate passion and kindness within the confines of your new situation.

Before we said we’d move in together, my boyfriend was staying at my flat and I gave him my keys for the day while I went out to work. My keys were a daily source of woe – identical Yales for a two-lock door; the great Law of Sod meaning I invariably tried the wrong key first, and would stand there, jangling and cursing and disturbing the neighbours. When he returned the keys, he had bought two coloured fobs from the hardware shop on the high street, and put them on. He even gave me an easy way to remember which was which: Blue for Bottom; Gold (yellow) for Top. Now when I open my door it’s a breeze. My everyday is that bit easier. If that’s not true romance, then I don’t know what is .

The secrets of long-term love

What is the key to a happy marriage? Is there a formula for long-term love? And how do you keep the passion alive after more than 50 years together? Six happily married couples share their secrets, from never eating in front of the television to keeping some things a mystery

• Hannah Shuckburgh
• The Guardian, Friday 22 August 2014 13.00 BST

Together for 56 years

Gem, 74, and Ezra Harris, 74, grew up in Glengoffe, a village in St Catherine, Jamaica. Ezra emigrated to England at 19, Gem followed him two months later, and they married in August 1958. They settled in Bradford. Ezra was a forklift driver and Gem worked in domestic service until they both retired. They have three children, Jennifer, 55, Christopher, 52 and Samantha, 45, and four grandchildren.

 Ezra and Gem Harris: ‘ We have a good time. We used to love a dance, listen to reggae, calypso. But it’s hard now with our bad knees.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Ezra: Back home, people used to talk about abroad as if the whole place was paved with gold. When a plane passed overhead we would all look up and wish we were on it. One day I heard an advertisement on the radio, saying you could come to Britain and get work. It was a promise of a future. I wanted to make myself better off and be somebody.

I arrived in Bradford in June. It was supposed to be summer but I can remember the cold, the smell of the coal. The first day I was here, I felt like going back. You feel lonely; you miss your parents. I thought it would be much easier if I got a wife.

Gem had been two years below me in church school. I didn't know anything about women. My father was a preacher and very strict. I wrote to her saying I'd like to send for her to come and marry me. I hoped she'd agree and she did – she was glad to come because I bought her a ticket out of Jamaica. I knew she would make a good wife.

We didn't go back to Jamaica until 1973. Everything seemed different – smaller, farther away. It didn't feel like home. But still, after all this time, I can't get shot of my accent. Gem always tells me, "Speak English!" But you cannot teach an old dog new tricks.

Fifty-six years we have been married. You must work at it. Talk to each other. Disagree, but don't let arguments drag on. Don't go around having lots of kids with women and not looking after them. And believe in God. If you trust in Him, everything is going to be all right.

I try to be a good husband. I try not to come in with mucky hands. She worries about me passing first, and I tell her, "Don't worry about a thing." But if she goes first I will be miserable.

We're going to go on a cruise, and when I booked it the lady asked if we would like separate beds. I said, "What are you talking about, woman?" We are husband and wife. Sometimes you still get some fun!

Gem: I remember looking down from the plane as I flew into England for the first time, and seeing all this smoke coming from the chimneys. It looked as if the whole place was on fire.

Even now, I don't know how I managed to get to Bradford alone. Ezra didn't come to meet me at the station – I am still angry with him about that – so I got a taxi to his lodgings. It was just a room, really, with a coal fire and a paraffin heater.

I'd brought a wedding dress from home, and my mother's veil. I arrived on 12 August, and we married on 30 August in a register office. I missed my family very much at first, but you get used to it. The winters were hardest.

There was a lot of racism back then. People would shout, "Go back to your dirty country!" They treated you as though you were nothing. It was hurtful, but you just try to keep away from trouble.

Ezra calls me "the wife", which he shouldn't do. I'll tidy up the house and he'll go and leave crumbs. We quarrel every day, but we always make up.

He likes to cuddle, but I don't bother. I am always telling him to talk properly, but when I get mad, I talk in patois: "Shuttup and come dung ere, man!" He just laughs.

We have a good time. We used to love a drink and a dance at the African-Caribbean centre, listen to some reggae, some calypso – but it is upstairs and it's hard to get up there now with our bad knees. On Sundays I'll always cook Jamaican food for the family – curried goat, rice and peas, but always with yorkshire pudding, too.

Together for 52 years

 Mick and Barbara Wilson: ‘ I know many couples can’t survive such loss, but we could always talk and cry together.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Barbara, 72, and Mick Wilson, 79, met in 1960 and married in 1962. Their eldest daughter, Sarah, died in a white-water rafting accident 14 years ago in Peru, when she was 36. Barbara is a neuropsychologist; Mick is a retired English teacher, and they live in Bury St Edmunds. They have two surviving children, Anna and Matthew, and four grandchildren.

Barbara: I was in my first year at teacher-training college when Mick, in the year above, invited me to his room for coffee. "Mick Wilson never invites people for coffee," a friend told me. He gave me a large German beer mug full of Nescafé; I think he wanted to make a good impression.

Mick thought we should wait to have children, but I decided we shouldn't. We were hippies: no TV, no car, we made our own bread. Mick had long hair and a beard and wore bell-bottoms. We had lots of cats and stick insects. I was a housewife, but Mick wanted me educated. I took my psychology A-level when I was 29, then a degree, a master's, and a PhD.

In 2000, I was leaving work when a colleague said, "Mick's on his way over." I just knew something awful had happened. Maybe it's the cat, I thought. Please let it be the cat. Mick called from the motorway. "There's terrible news." Some part of me already knew. "Is it Sarah? Is she dead?" He said, "I think so."

We somehow got through that night. Some kind of madness takes over. It's anguish, grief and everything in between. We took turns to be strong, I think. We talked and cried and held each other. We arranged to go out to Peru the following week and Mick paid £10,000 for a helicopter to look for Sarah's body. It was pointless, of course, but I knew he needed to do it, so I let him. Sarah has never been a taboo: we talk about her every day.

Mick: It was always a strong marriage. We've done daft things, of course. Back in the old, hippy days we thought we wanted an open marriage, but we tried it once or twice and it didn't work out for us. It taught us both that the best kind of arousal comes through affection, not sex with just anyone.

Our daughter Sarah's marriage had broken down after years of failed fertility treatments and she went to Peru to rethink her life. To this day, we've never had a body to bury. We won't ever have closure. You can learn to live with it, but you'll never close the book. I know many couples find their relationship can't survive this kind of loss, but ours did because we could always talk to each other and cry together.

We are in our old age now and, the way we see it, we've lived a happy life, apart from one terrible tragedy. We have two wonderful children, and four grandchildren. To have the marriage we have, the life we have together, I think we've been very privileged.

Together for 36 years

 Howard Shepherdson (left) and Rod Marten: ‘ We have no separate lives. We spend every day together and it never gets boring.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Rod Marten, 71, and Howard Shepherdson, 60, met in a pub in London in 1978. Rod is a retired tax inspector; Howard is a semi-retired management consultant. They were the UK's first same-sex couple to be legal long-term foster parents; their son, Glen, is 43. Rod and Howard have two grandchildren, and have been civil partners since 2005. They live in Ealing, west London.

Howard: I had always thought the idea of love at first sight was a cliche. But one Thursday night in 1978, that's what happened. I spotted Rod at the bar and it was just lovely from the moment we started chatting. I went home to my parents in Sussex that weekend feeling quite delirious. I thought, "What is this?" It was like catching pneumonia.

In 1985 I was a school counsellor and had been working with a 14-year-old boy, Glen, from a children's home. One day, Glen just asked me: "Will you be my dad?" I thought it was best to be honest with him, so I said I was afraid it was impossible, because I'm gay. Glen said, "Why should that matter?" And it struck a chord. Rod and I decided we might as well try. No gay couple had formally adopted – or long-term fostered, as we did – before. It was very strengthening, loving someone together and them loving you back. He now lives in France with his wife, Isabelle. We visit all the time, and Skype. Having grandchildren has been a deeply enriching experience for us.

Rod and I are not at all independent of each other. We have no separate lives. We spend every day together and it never gets boring. Yes, sex does start to slow down at our age, but physical intimacy shouldn't. We still curl up on the sofa together, as we have done for ever. There's just one thing we avoid completely as it would mean instant divorce – DIY.

Rod: When I went into work the day after I'd met Howard, a colleague said I seemed different, extra-happy. I was. We met in September and by December we were looking to buy a flat together. I think my family thought it was a bit soon, but we're still in the same flat, 36 years later.

In the 80s, being openly gay on the street was not something you felt particularly secure doing. We've never walked around holding hands. If we were 21 now we'd do it, but you can't just start doing that in your 60s. Getting our civil partnership was a political statement, but as the date got closer, it felt very romantic.

I think relationships need rules. Work must never dominate your life. We never go to sleep on an argument. I am a terrible procrastinator, and Howard is an over-organiser, but you have to learn to love the other person for who they are, and not be frustrated by what you want them to be. It's no good being perpetually disappointed. Our other absolute rule is that we never, ever eat dinner in front of the television. We haven't done it once in 36 years.

Together for 40 years

 Setsuo Kato and Jill Fanshawe Kato: ' We’ve both had admirers over the years, but we have got strong self-discipline.’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Jill Fanshawe Kato, 68, and Setsuo Kato, 72, met in London in the early 70s and married in Tokyo in 1974. They spent two years living in Japan before moving back to the UK and settling in north London. Setsuo is a freelance photojournalist; Jill is a potter.

Jill: I had visited Japan in my 20s and found it a very chauvinistic place. But I'd got quite far with my Japanese and wanted to carry on learning, so I joined an evening class in Holborn. Setsuo turned up one night to interview students for an article that he was writing.

Luckily for us, our families were very supportive. We had a traditional Japanese wedding in Tokyo. I wore a pink kimono with kanzashi hair ornaments.

I think after all these years together, I have started looking a bit Japanese. I've always used kohl round my eyes, and I like to wear Japanese textiles. I suppose it's attitude and behaviour, too. I'm from Devon, but British people can never tell where I'm from.

We never had children – perhaps that is the thing that has kept us together, and given us greater independence. We've both had admirers over the years, but we have got strong self-discipline. You need to be kind to each other, remember the value of what you have.

There should always be an unknown area of your partner. There is a lot of mystery about Setsuo. We would never go to the loo in front of each other; there is privacy and respect between us. We've lived in this house for more than 30 years, but Setsuo has never once gone into my studio at the top of the house. We are probably still finding things out about each other, even now.

Setsuo: Japanese men who travelled to London in those days were not mainstream – we were adventurous types. It wasn't as if you just hopped on a plane. I'd caught a Russian boat from Yokohama, and took the Siberian railway all the way to London.

I have lived here a long time, but I always consider myself Japanese. I am not very good at being physically affectionate. I am a bit better at it than most Japanese men, but I don't talk about my feelings. I don't lose my temper.

Jill and I give each other huge freedom. Jill will often go abroad for a month or two to work, and I enjoy a social life more than her – I zoom off and come back as I wish. We've always said we face the world back to back.

I think you have to be patient. When life is down, people think changing partners will help – but I'm not convinced anyone is better off in the long run. It would just be awful to have to start again.

We are like two trees that have grown together; our roots are entwined.

Together for 59 years

 Patrick and Doreen Skilling: ‘ We married at the Savoy, way above our station.' Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Doreen, 89, and Patrick Skilling, 86, married in 1955. They lived in Notting Hill for 50 years; Patrick was an advertising executive and Doreen designed wallpaper for Biba. In the 70s, the couple gave up their jobs to run a furniture stall together in Portobello Market. Doreen was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2006 and they now live together at the Sunrise care home in Beaconsfield.

Patrick: A colleague had been trying to take Doreen out. He said to me, "Take this bird out, will you? I can't handle her." So I took her for a drink. I was wildly impressed. We dated for five years and were married in the Queen's Chapel at the Savoy. It was way above our station, but Doreen somehow managed it.

We always thought we would have children, but by the time we realised it probably wasn't going to happen, it was too late. We weren't sad about it at the time – it wasn't something we even talked about – but now I think it may have been the greatest tragedy of our lives. When I see Doreen cuddling a doll now, I wonder whether it may have affected her more than she let on, that there might be a deeper sense of loss.

I was earning good money in advertising, smoking and drinking too much. I'm sorry to say I failed her many times; falling into the pitfalls that husbands do. But Doreen was always very patient. We decided I'd leave my job and we'd become business partners. So we took a stall in Portobello Market, and started selling antiques and junk furniture. It revitalised our married life. We had time to talk.

Ten years ago, I started to notice Doreen was having problems with numbers. She couldn't sort out the change. It was two years before we got a diagnosis, that she had Alzheimer's. She has never really understood what is happening to her. The change in her was slow and almost imperceptible. But I wept for her. It was so dreadful that such a lovely person should face such a thing.

All along I'd assumed we'd stay at home. But after six years, she developed problems I just couldn't cope with. She moved into a home, and for two months I visited her every day. It was obvious from day one that I should live there, too. I wanted to continue being important in her life. Selling our house was like losing another partner. You mourn for these things, as if they were human; the conservatory full of plants we'd tended together, all her paintings.

Doreen lives on a secure wing, and I have a separate room. She doesn't communicate at all now. She sits around looking lovely. I envy her tranquillity. I go up every day. She doesn't know it's me – Pat, her husband – but I think she thinks I'm a friendly face. That's good enough for me. I just cherish what's left.

Now I must fill my days. I walk, garden, do my stamp albums. I don't want to sit slumped on a chair, like everyone else here. And Doreen, she'll just fade away. She won't be afraid of it. But I'll be shattered. Inertia will probably keep me here after she's gone. I am 86, and it's just too daunting to find a new house. But you live day by day. It's hard to live any other way.

Together for 73 years

 Fred and Gladys Croft: ‘ It will come some day, life without each other. We don’t like to think about it’ Photograph: Bohdan Cap for the Guardian

Gladys, 100, and Fred Croft, 96, met at a dance in New Malden, south-west London, in 1931. Gladys was a factory worker; Fred an engineer who then joined the air force. They married in 1940, before Fred was posted abroad. After the war, Fred worked for the NHS, and the couple settled in the London suburbs. They have a daughter, Audrey, 69, and a grandson, Iain, 41. They live in couples' accommodation in the Acacia Mews care home in St Albans.

Gladys: My mother died of an asthma attack when I was 18, and my father remarried and went off with his new family. He paid our rent, but we never saw him again. My youngest sister was only eight, so we had to bring ourselves up – five sisters in a small flat in Raynes Park.

I would go out with the girls I worked with at the weekend. We'd always have a good laugh. That's where I saw Fred for the first time, at a dance. I loved dancing back then.

We got married just before he left for the war and I wore a wedding dress that three of my sisters had already worn. We didn't have many guests, just my sisters and Fred's mum, who had made a fruitcake.

I didn't want children during the war, because so many fathers didn't come back, you see. You can't think the worst, but my sister's husband was killed in the war – terribly sad.

Audrey was born in May 1946. It was too late to have any more children, because I was so old – 32. We decided that we wouldn't have any more.

We've had some wonderful holidays. Fred would often surprise me by booking a hotel for the weekend. We both love seeing places – Denmark, Spain, Ireland – but we'd never take a package tour. We liked to do it ourselves, see a lot of things.

We don't get flustered; I think that's the secret. Fred is very easy-going. He'll go into the garden and I'll leave him be. He has been a good husband, and I think I've been a good wife.

We haven't had difficult times or problems like many other people have – we've had good health, nice holidays, and we've worked hard. We've done everything together, and always had each other. We've never been lonely. I have never been unhappy in all my life. You have to make your own pleasures, don't you?

Fred: There's nothing magical about it, really. We've just lived a normal life. If you've got problems, you sort them out. We have arguments, but we've never had a row. Not a proper one.

Yes, there are things we would have liked to have, but if we couldn't afford it, we didn't buy it. We never bought a house. Borrowing money makes for trouble. I've met two people in my life with plenty of money and they've never been happy. Money causes terrible worries for people.

The things you saw in the war, they shaped you. These days, youngsters don't seem satisfied with life. They think nothing of getting married three times. Our grandson, Iain, is divorced. I think you've got to try to be happy with what you have. Don't always be looking elsewhere. Don't aim for the moon.

I've always let Gladys do what she pleased. If she wanted to go out with the girls, she just went. I didn't worry. But I've always included her in my interests, that's the thing. I love boats, and we had wonderful barge holidays together for 30 years.

It'll come some day, life without each other. We don't like to think about it. Gladys gets panic attacks. I can't stand up on my own any more, so I can't help her. It's terrible to watch. I wouldn't want to be without her.