The Bard's genius
Today is St George's Day and Shakespeare's birthday. Both symbolise a global and expansive sensibility and rebut those other characteristics one associates with England - twitchiness, arrogance, snobbery and supremacy. St George's mother was from Syria or Palestine, his father was Roman. Shakespeare, who married a local Warwickshire woman, wrote so perceptively and eloquently about cross- cultural and interracial relationships that no playwright since has ever come near.
I talk about those plays on BBC Radio 3 this Friday, as part of a series on the Bard and love. The times he lived in were raucous, adventurous, exploratory. Ships were sailing off to unknown places, bringing back fabulous new delights and stories. And dark strangers were arriving on these shores.
Queen Elizabeth 1 enthusiastically welcomed Muslim ambassadors and traders, loved their style. She could also be a dreadful racist - a contradiction one finds in England today. Black men were around then - slaves, performers, chancers - enough to set the Queen's teeth on edge. She tried to banish them but her people ignored her, some unable to resist black flesh.
One George Best wrote in his diary in 1578: "I myself have seen an Ethiopian, as blacke as a cole, brought into Englande, who taking a fair Englishe woman to wife begatte a sonne in all respects as blacke as the father was." Shakespeare truly understood such transgressive love, the audacity (and thoughtlessness too) of defiant couples crossing borders, provoking the rage of bitterly divided clans, nations and other hoarders of hostilities.
Eschewing blithe romanticism, he depicted moral ambivalence even in The Merchant of Venice, the one play where illicit love wins. Yes, we are with the rebellious lovers but with wild desires come warnings, unheeded warnings. In conflict zones - Bosnia, Palestine, Kashmir - they perform Romeo and Juliet, to divest themselves of inherited hate, the worst sort.
The Royal Shakespeare Company is about to stage a Shia/Sunni version from Baghdad. In one adaptation I saw a British Pakistani Juliet and Somali Romeo, both Muslims, divided by race. A troop of excitable Asian girls near me said they would be killed if they ever had black boyfriends. In Titus Andronicus, Tamora, the Goth Queen, has a secret lover, devious Aaron, a Moor. Bassiano, the Roman, scorns her: "Dost thou make your honour of his body's hue?" A child is born, a child Tamora wants murdered. Aaron snatches the baby and proclaims his blackness: "Coal-black is better than another hue, In that it scorns to bear another hue." Princess Diana's lover was the son of a merchant of Cairo, hated by the establishment. Rumours flew then that she was pregnant. If she had borne a dark baby, imagine the furore - and Dodi Al Fayed feeling the rage of Aaron. …