Public Comment

There is lots of angst among the Brits these days as they agonize over the terms of their messy divorce with the European Union. Prime Minister, Teresa May, managed to gain a postponement until the end of October which she hopes will give her time to negotiate better terms. Much like the tribal warfare in the US between pro and anti-Trumpeters, England is beset between the Leavers and Remainders. Meanwhile there is a side show in Ireland where they have to decide on how to separate Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland with what the French call “le Backstop”. The Brits have got themselves in a pickle with their divide and rule strategy separating the small island between Protestant North and Catholic south. Both sides support a soft backstop rather a separating wall which could reignite the paramilitary war over the status of Northern Ireland. It’s a major stumbling block on the path to a smooth and orderly Brexit.

These squabbles bring back memories of my early life in pre-Brexit England.

I grew up in Birmingham, England amidst the horrors of World War II. Birmingham was the center of what is commonly known as the “black country” a group of cities in the “Midlands” notorious for their smoke stack industries, a favorite target for German war planes during the Second World War. 

I was 5 years old when Britain declared war on Germany. What followed were unrelenting bombing raids with German bombers dropping their payloads on terrified Brits on a daily basis. Birmingham and other major manufacturing cities were especially targeted. The bombs were preceded by flares lighting up the night sky to expose heavily camouflaged factory buildings. Air raid wardens patrolled neighborhoods to ensure complete blackouts. Double summer time was enacted to save electricity. Gas mask drills were enforced in all schools to protect us from possible German gas attacks. 

Throughout those terrible years British radio comedians kept us entertained with much needed form of escapism and maintained our morale against terrible circumstances. Fuel and food were strictly rationed which was especially challenging during Britain’s bleak winters. To add to our woes we were targeted for adhering to the symbols of our faith as Sikhs, most prominently the turban. My father had a very difficult time establishing a medical practice in a blue color neighborhood of Birmingham. We had to endure racial slurs which often morphed into fist fights. I was the youngest of 3 husky brothers who often came to my rescue during nasty physical altercations with local bullies. Jobs, hotel accommodations for non-whites Brits were scarce. All non-Brits were identified as “colored” a derogatory term that has since been banned in England. Overt racism was rampant. 

Following college graduation I visited India, the country of my heritage, where I witnessed abject poverty, offering me a wider perspective on life and its many challenges. Fast forward to 1967 when I arrived with my wife and two children to the US to seek a better life. It was an idyllic time. All the basic necessities of life were affordable from gas prices at 29 cents per gallon and home prices in the range $35,000-$50,000. How times have changed.