Still looking for Billy Elliot

In March 2024, the Sunak government announced a review of the Arts Council, only to see it suspended with the snap general election. When and if this review resurfaces, it must confront a changed reality. The world has moved on, and any meaningful reflection must acknowledge the uncomfortable truths that have emerged.

We now live in an era where the far-right has learned to weaponise white resentment with a dangerously distilled form of racism: Islamophobia. This refined prejudice has long been institutionally overlooked, and its presence now looms over the review process. More broadly, the culture wars that took centre-stage this summer- fuelled by division and polarisation- —ere righty challenged by Lisa Nandy MP, the UK Secretary of State for Media, Arts, and Culture. Her bold stance on these divisive tactics signals a shift that future reviews can’t afford to ignore.

The Arts Council, established by Royal Charter in 1946, has long served as the government’s arm in distributing funding to the arts, especially through its 985 National Portfolio Organisations (NPOs). These institutions provide a lifeline for cultural development, but as history has shown, institutional strategies can often be slow to adapt to the times. Landmark events, like the murders of Stephen Lawrence and George Floyd, have forced society to confront uncomfortable truths. In their wake, it has become clear that public bodies, while well-intentioned, often face challenges such as limited funding, insufficient reach, and difficulty in fully addressing the most pressing issues of our time. The Arts Council has not been immune to these challenges.

The August 2024 riots offer a poignant convergence. Two communities- white working-class and British Muslims- who have long been subjects of ‘civilising’ projects by educational and cultural institutions, found themselves at the centre of a public reckoning. Both communities have been treated as problems to solve, with little genuine effort to understand their cultural nuances. The State of the Arts Report by the Campaign for the Arts has shed light on the class disconnect, but the institutional barriers faced by Muslim creatives have yet to be fully addressed. An additional oft-forgotten nuance is that the communities can directly intersect. Some people are white, working-class, British and Muslim. 

There’s a deeper problem within the Arts and Culture sector, one that seeks out more Billy Elliots but overlooks the Luqman Alis—artists who represent a different but equally valuable experience. Muslim creatives are often pushed into corners, expected to present idealised versions of their community in contrast to the typically grim portrayals that saturate the media. Muslim communities often feel this burden—locked in a “good Muslim, bad Muslim” dichotomy that leaves little room for self-expression or growth. Neither approach does justice to the complexity of Muslim lives in Britain. Every social, political, or economic encounter is coloured by this reductive lens.

Culture holds incredible power. It can humanise or dehumanise, amplify or diminish. It is in the cultural space where narratives are formed, and where communities can find themselves constantly on the back foot, defending their very existence. There is both light and shadow, brilliance and imperfection, in these narratives. Art, in its truest form, should embrace this balance rather than fall into the trap of binary thinking.

The Equi report on ‘British Muslims and Arts and Culture’ touches on a critical issue—one that is not just about addressing the past but also shaping the present and future. Today, British Muslims are undergoing a significant transition, moving from cultural consumers to cultural producers within a global marketplace. This shift demands new conversations and collaborations, ones that can help scale and accelerate the development of what should be a distinctive British culture.

The late Roy Jenkins MP, in 1976 spoke of a Britain defined by “equal opportunity, accompanied by cultural diversity,” not a flattening of identities through assimilation. His vision is more relevant than ever. We must all play our part in unlocking the potential of Britain’s diversity and creative energy. But this requires us to confront a reality in which racism has been distilled into an ongoing moral panic about Islam and Muslims. If we are to scale up the ambitions of a new generation of cultural producers, we need narratives that rehumanise.

Paulo Freire once said that oppressive behaviour dehumanises both the oppressor and the oppressed. In our current cultural moment, this dynamic is at play, and we cannot afford to stand by. We know that when communities are stakeholders, they cost less and contribute more. To harness this potential, we need more than one story—one that connects us to our shared values, not just our fears.

Unfortunately, the story being told too often centres around Prevent, a framework that has placed Muslim creatives in a vulnerable position. The pull towards funding for community cohesion, Prevent, and deradicalisation initiatives can toxify and devalue their artistic intent, limiting the scope and reach of their work. This approach stifles growth and compromises reputation. It’s a problem Muslims understand all too well, and one that White communities who aren’t Muslim have largely been spared from. The damage this causes must not be ignored.
Our new government has a profound opportunity before it: to reshape our cultural and political climate, realising the kind of country we have long imagined. By embracing the transformational power of dialogue that responds to both the bright and the shadow sides of our society, policymakers can leverage arts and culture in ways that bring people together. To get there, we need to get the beginnings right, and that means listening to what’s being asked in the Equi report. The future of our national narrative depends on it.