The bright side of a transatlantic rift - FT中文网
登录×
电子邮件/用户名
密码
记住我
请输入邮箱和密码进行绑定操作:
请输入手机号码,通过短信验证(目前仅支持中国大陆地区的手机号):
请您阅读我们的用户注册协议隐私权保护政策,点击下方按钮即视为您接受。
FT商学院

The bright side of a transatlantic rift

Culturally, it’s not the worst thing if Europe and America have less to do with each other

In the US, in common speech, the word “Asian” has tended to mean East or Southeast Asian. In the UK, the same word more often refers to the Indian subcontinent. Look, I don’t decide these things. It has to do with historic patterns of migration: who went where. It is also liable to change. But it shows that America’s exposure to the world’s largest continent is nothing like Britain’s. 

That is the least of the differences. The forebears of a Black Briton probably arrived in the country after 1945, willingly. Those of a Black American might have come centuries ago, forcibly. In America, the settlers’ treatment of people who were already there is recent enough to be a raw topic. As harsh as the Emperor Claudius no doubt was, the displacement of “native” Britons has lost some of its salience over the intervening millennia. 

“Woke”, if that means a focus on group identities, has turned out to be a bad fit in the US. But at least it was dreamt up with the US in mind. What possessed people in Britain to think it made sense in their different (which isn’t to say better) context? Or in Europe’s? I’d toast the apparent demise of this dogma but even the crusade against it in Britain has a US flavour — faintly religious, very online — which will unnerve the public in no time. 

There is but one consolation in what Donald Trump has done of late. Strategically, the transatlantic rift is a disaster. Culturally, it might not be the worst thing if America and Europe have a bit less to do with each other. Their educated elites in particular should start seeing other people. 

Looking back, the relationship was at its healthiest in the cold war, when the political enmeshment was almost airtight but there was much less pretence of sameness

The undue obsession isn’t all one way. How did JD Vance become so exercised about free speech in Britain that he raised it in a televised Oval Office setting? If we fall short of First Amendment standards, that is because we don’t have a First Amendment, because we are a different country. As with Elon Musk’s dabblings in Germany, the conceit here — born of the internet, I think — is that the north Atlantic is a common cultural space.  

Still, the fault lies mostly with Europe. The US is not “culturally imperialist”. It has CNN but no public mission to shape world news, at least not one to match the BBC, France 24, Deutsche Welle and Al Jazeera. It has no Melville Institute to go against those named after Goethe and Cervantes. Its grip on film, academia and postwar painting was never a conscious, top-down project, even if the CIA was more of a cultural actor in the cold war than was known at the time.  

No, it is a European choice to live vicariously through America. (Not just a British one, unless I am misremembering those George Floyd protests in France.) I myself am always setting the continent’s feeble economic growth rate against America’s, as though it were the natural comparator. Given their respective ages and histories, is it? Even if Europe is the Norma Desmond of continents, drunk on the past, how could it not be?  

Looking back, the relationship was at its healthiest in the cold war, when the political enmeshment was almost airtight but there was much less pretence of cultural sameness. A staple of 20th-century Toryism was mild distaste for the US, which often informed a corresponding fancy for the European project. (Jeremy Clarkson, a subtler conservative than his schtick implies, is an echo of that world.) This sentiment crossed over at times into witless anti-Americanism. But it helped to inoculate the continent against laughably out-of-context ideas and practices. As a child in the height of the Atlantic bond, I never heard “upspeak”, that tic by which grown men and women in modern Britain adopt the vocal cadence of 13-year-olds in Pasadena. What we have lived through is the inverse of the cold war: political estrangement alongside deepening cultural mimicry. 

Perhaps the Trump shock will bring a cooling off on all fronts. Last weekend, in a startling speech as Canada’s Liberal leader, Mark Carney cast the US as Other, in its approach to language and the absorption of immigrants and other cultural fundamentals. Whether to regret his belligerence, or wish our prime minister would say the same, it is hard in these times to know.

janan.ganesh@ft.com

Find out about our latest stories first — follow FT Weekend on Instagram and X, and sign up to receive the FT Weekend newsletter every Saturday morning

版权声明:本文版权归FT中文网所有,未经允许任何单位或个人不得转载,复制或以任何其他方式使用本文全部或部分,侵权必究。

特斯拉能自己造芯片吗?

与火星殖民或神经植入等项目相比,建设芯片制造厂更扎根于现有的工业实践。但历史表明此类冒险举措尤其容易导致价值破坏。

Lex专栏:Moltbook的AI代理像人类一样耍心机、开玩笑和吐槽

就像对人一样,需要设定规则并记录出入,这也凸显了管理者始终不可或缺。

特朗普对日本企业界5500亿美元“敲诈”内幕

东京方面与美国总统达成了迄今为止最大的一笔交易。这些投资最终能否落地?

美国电费飙升的政治代价

为AI热潮提供动力的数据中心正给电网带来压力,并推高电价,这可能对特朗普不利。

OpenAI的“ChatGPT优先”战略引发高层离职

估值5000亿美元的OpenAI正把资源从长期研究转向改进其旗舰聊天机器人。

泰国如何沦为“亚洲病夫”

泰国曾是以两位数经济增长著称的“亚洲虎”,如今其消费、制造业和旅游业这三大支柱都在走下坡路。
设置字号×
最小
较小
默认
较大
最大
分享×