The Ingenious Gentleman Matthew Goodwin of Hertfordshire

“Another thing to strive for: reading your history should move the melancholy to laughter, increase the joy of the cheerful, not irritate the simple, fill the clever with admiration for its invention, not give the serious reason to scorn it, and allow the prudent to praise it.” Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

Somewhere in Hertfordshire, in a place called St Albans, a gentleman lived not long ago, one with high ambitions, and a burning desire to break free from the chains of class and small-town upbringing destiny bound him to.* His determination made him the first person in his family to go to university — to study the science of politics and learn the ways of power. Some claim that his name was Matthew, or James, for there is a certain amount of disagreement among the authors who write of this matter. In any event, we know that he eventually called himself Matt Goodwin, and chose the Twitter handle @GoodwinMJ, which is why the author of this story believes that he undoubtedly must have been named Matthew, as others have claimed. Like other brave defenders of the “left behind”, he too wants to stress his modest origins, so I shall add the name of his birthplace to his title, and call him Matthew Goodwin of Hertfordshire, honouring his “non-elite” status.

And so, let it be said that this aforementioned gentleman spent most of his time studying the radical right with so much devotion and enthusiasm that he forgot completely about scholarly pursuits and even the value of basic ethical decency. His fantasy filled with everything that he had heard from his extremist interlocutors, the “disillusionment” of his elderly, less educated and less skilled countrymen, the “dissatisfaction” of the insecure white working-class, the festering anger of the millions “who feel they have been cut adrift by the elite”.

One day, we don't know when but certainly sometime after 2014, he had a strange thought, which was that it seemed reasonable and necessary to him, as a service to the nation and the oppressed majority, to become a culture warrior errant, and travel the weary kingdom, righting all manner of wrongs. The truth is, he had already tried to end those wrongs, correct the injustices, and undo the evils. He repeatedly warned us, the wretched souls, to take the “revolt on the right” seriously, for “it has given a voice to groups in British society who have been written out of political debate” — those “who are more inclined to believe in an ethnic conception of British national identity, defined by birth and ancestry, and who have vivid memories of a country that once stood independent and proudly apart from Europe”. He tirelessly told us that “they see a world of life slipping away ... and are angry at the established political class for not seeming to understand their concern, or care about what is being lost”. He even placed himself in danger, for there is no profession more dangerous than that of the itinerant culture warrior:

I was no Brexiteer but, in a world where just one in ten academics backed a Brexit decision that more than half of the country supported, merely accepting the result was more than enough to make me an outcast. For the next four years, I faced a constant wave of criticism that at times bordered on harassment.

But God's will be done, Matthew Goodwin of Hertfordshire said to himself, for I shall be more highly esteemed, if I succeed in my purpose, for having confronted greater dangers than any faced by culture warriors of old. And so one morning before dawn on a gloomy day in March, he rode out into the perilous realm of the “New Elite” with great joy and delight at seeing how warmly he was welcomed by his mighty enemies.

And yet, his enemies were deceptive; they could change their appearance to hurt him and do him harm. These evil enchanters had “degrees from one of the most prestigious Oxbridge or Russell Group universities“; they possessed “liberal cosmopolitan if not radically progressive cultural values”; and they wielded “enormous power, influence and control over the country and its institutions”. It was not his obligation to determine “how were a bunch of mavericks, outsiders, renegades and populists able to outflank the elite, even if some of them, such as Boris Johnson”, clearly belonged to the “New Elite”, or “why have so many people in Britain today abandoned the political mainstream”. The warrior's only obligation was to help the afflicted, the enchained and the oppressed, those who were stigmatized “as a morally inferior underclass, consisting of uneducated thickos, racists, authoritarians, gammons and Karens”.

He knew from experience that he had visible and invisible enemies, but he did not know when, or where, or how, or in what guise they would attack him. And attack they did! Some implied that he was recycling “racist” stereotypes by saying in a vodcast that “We are on the cusp of developments with genetic coding and science that are going to be complete game changers ... the idea that there are not differences between groups is just going to be unsustainable. I mean it already is” or sharing a chart which distinguished between “White British”, “White Other” and "Nonwhite” groups to illustrate the changing ethnic composition of London, without referring to the obvious fact that “a large proportion of non-white people in London are British”. Others were surprised at his unwillingness to help those in need, especially if they were “non-White” or “non-British” — as when he said “The only way to solve the illegal migration crisis is if migrants know they'll be removed, removed quickly (to Rwanda)”. Still others pointed to the deficiencies of his professional skills, the use of shoddy statistics, incorrect data, and manipulation of sources.

These enchanters, his enemies, only wanted to cheat him of the honour of a decent combat. He wanted to publicly debate them, to do battle, for his was a righteous warfare, and it was a great service to God to remove so evil a breed, the “New Elite”, from the face of the earth. And yet, perhaps the ingenious gentleman didn't actually want to engage in any combat? For why would he send an email to openDemocracy in 2019, when a simple goatherd challenged his chivalric deeds, and threatened to sue them for defamation — a threat which was as idle as his recent attack on windmills with urban postcodes? Why did he feel the need “to submit a formal complaint about this terrible piece”, “this blatant hit job”, and not take up the challenge and punish this lowborn creature?

And if the laws of chivalry were so important, why did the culture warrior errant trespass them himself, and named names in one of Britain's most read tabloids, putting a dartboard on the back of anybody who refused to be carried away by his fantasy — one that read “Brits must fight against new elite of left leaning radicals who think there are 72 genders”? Did the honorable gentleman succumb to the vicious manners of his enchanters? Did he allow hypocrisy and vainglory to sneak into his heart? And is he prepared to bear responsibility for the harm that his reckless actions might cause?

Perhaps Matthew Goodwin of Hertfordshire is who he is, and no more should be said about it. His ventures may seem the greatest lunacy in the world, even cause for a good deal of laughter, in particular for those who recall him eating the pages of his own book on live TV. But he is not bereft of reason. If he is a fool or a madman, he is one that has the attribute of turning everyone who deals with him or talks to him into madmen and fools, for he knows he lives in an age where madness is the coin (just ask The Guardian which ran op-ed to promote his new book).

The question then is, where does the fault lie? With the mob who demands nonsense? Or those who do not know how to produce anything else?

* This article is an attempt at what is called in social media parlance a “mash-up” — a fusion of Miguel de Cervantes' epic novel Don Quixote with a critique of Matthew Goodwin's writings. I have refrained from using quotation marks or other forms of typographical emphasis to make for easier reading. Unless otherwise marked, the text is based on Edith Grossman's highly acclaimed translation of Don Quixote (with an introduction by Harold Bloom, Harper Collins, 2003).