The Cult of the 'Sixties

August 2002

Quite contrary to its intentions, the world of popular TV culture can
have startling effects on the intellect and provide novel insights into
recent history. Recently in the wee small hours of the morning, I was
watching a typical documentary eulogizing the so-called sexual
revolution of the 'sixties. It occurred to me that I was being treated
to hushed revelations of an exclusive party to which I had not been
invited, through the pure accident of being born in 1972 (a surprising
application of the hereditary principle). It is extraordinary how such
a collection of vapid drug addicts, pornographic actors and plain
nymphomaniacs can continue to inspire so much misplaced envy in the
Britain of the twenty first century.

The standard cultural hero of the 'sixties is both a 'hedonist' (and
that is a polite term) and an artist of the most spurious and shallow
kind. Allen Ginsberg with his pathetic 'in crowd' groupie mentality,
William Burroughs with his stream of gay verbal masturbation, Andy
Warhol with the imagination of a gramophone and the skill and vision of
a housepainter (one is almost inspired to put Hitler above him in the
artistic pantheon) and Roberto Massi, whose depraved sexual dalliances
led from tenth rate sixth form poetry straight to a life support
machine and a premature death from AIDS.

Massi's fate is probably the key retort to all those paunchy, sagging
baby boomers who continue to bore us with tales of their glorious
youth. The documentary in question made the startling implication that
the 'seventies came along almost from nowhere, brought presumably by
aliens and bringing with it a glitter-covered decadence quite out of
keeping with the wide-eyed idealism of their own cherished decade. Yet
any social scientist, even the self-deluding lefty ones, must concede
that the 'sixties contained within it the seeds of its own destruction.
The conflicts, hardships and cultural decay of the 'seventies were
already evident. The Hells Angels who murdered a black youth at a
Rolling Stones concert in Altamont; the murderous debauchery of the
Manson family, the deaths of Jimi Hendrix and Brian Jones - these
events signalled not the end of the 'sixties anti-establishment revolt
but its logical culmination. Commentators could look back in 1969 on a
decade that symbolically commenced with a blow for 'freedom' - the
contraceptive pill - shouted loudly in support of noble causes such as
black civil rights but in the end achieved?nothing. Martin Luther King
was a socially conservative, eloquent and humble preacher, not a
drug-addled, mumbling Californian tramp.

Perhaps it was the thoroughly middle class background of most 'hippies'
that pre-doomed the 'sixties liberationist ideal to destruction. Daddy
had provided them with the material comforts and professional
confidence to enable their 'dropping out' and it was just as easy to
ditch the day-glo pants and re-join the system. The ultimate bitter
irony in all this is that the cultural raconteurs of the 'sixties - all
those half-celebrities with dubious claims to fame such as Hunter S
Thompson and Marianne Faithful - now sit in material comfort and
cosmopolitan smugness castigating younger generations for not being
'revolutionary' enough. The activists of the 'sixties knew what they
opposed - marriage, property, war - but seemed to see a life of
unbridled hedonism as the only viable alternative. And as George Orwell
correctly observed, cultures based on hedonism cannot endure. This one
collapsed in 1969. A decade of hollow sloganeering gave way to the
depressed and depressing 'seventies, typified by Robin Askew, Jimmy
Reid, the NF and the nihilism of Punk. Psychedelia sired Johnny Rotten
just as the Pill causes thrombosis.

Despite their droning, the ageing drama queens of the hippy era
continue to enjoy the starstruck attention of Blair's boring Britain.
This state of affairs is all the more depressing as we possess
veritable treasure troves of real oral history in our elders, a
generation with a richer and prouder pedigree sadly ignored and
belittled by the 'yoof'-obcesssed trendies of the mass media. The
bitter glories of inter-war political struggles, of two world wars, of
attempting to stem the flow of rebellion in Africa - countless examples
of living history are slowly disappearing from Britain and all our
liberal media elites can do is seek drawled quotes from ageing
nonentities whose only claim to notoriety arises from guilt-free
luxurious indulgence. History is the story of humanity, and while
hippies continue to make the nonsensical claim that their sex communes
gave the human spirit its first opportunity of freedom, one must argue
that the reverse is true. As the 'sixties gave way to the 'seventies,
jealousy and the natural desire for possession took hold. The human
spirit really did win out! (Ironically the war years could even show
the 'sixties a thing or two about promiscuity: look at the countless
incidences of returning troops divorcing their wives for adultery from
1945).

What will be evident in future generations will not be the idealization
of vacuous 'sixties celebrities but a genuine regret at the
disappearance of our brave and modest elders. Behind much of the
amorality, selfish crime and senseless destruction of younger
generations lies a deep and natural human desire for meaningful
patriotic conflict, struggle and sacrifice. The true target of the envy
of Blair's Britain should be those who knocked the Axis out of North
Africa, or found themselves in fire fights with Mau Mau guerillas. Our
old folk are finding themselves persecuted by a youth-obcessed
post-'sixties popular culture. They should look their detractors, along
with Germaine Greer and the staff of Oz, in the eye and declare proudly
"Hang yourself, brave Crillon; we fought at Arques and you were not
there!"