I’m not a huge fan of the traditional debate but I recently agreed to do one for the New Statesman at the Cambridge Literary Festival. The motion was: “This house believes private schools should be abolished.” I was on the opposing side which I knew would be a hard sell – especially to a Cambridge audience – and, alas, our side lost. For me, this is a debate about education for all rather than the way it’s often pitched, as a battle between rich and poor. Private schools serve a wide range of children with huge benefits to society as a whole, but they are easy targets in a culture war where both children and their parents are derided for holding on to entitlement rather than having a conscience.
We have all kinds of inequalities in British society that keep people apart and reduce life chances for many, but most neither start nor stop with private schools. Perhaps if we invested more in levelling up educational standards, resources and discipline in the state sector, and did everything to help all young people realise their potential, we might stop using private schools as a political football.
When salvation comes
I’ve just spent a few fun days at Abu Dhabi’s Culture Summit. Many of the discussions and keynotes explored the rapidly growing impact of AI. I know very little about AI, but I do wonder what people mean when they claim that generative AI will be our salvation: what is this technology supposed to be saving us from? There was a general sense at the summit that AI will have all the answers, but I wondered if the idea of this “posthuman” future shouldn’t make us pause, even tremble a little. My question is: if AI superintelligence can outperform humans in everything it does, what is the added value of being human? If humanity can be so easily copied, then in the world of culture and the arts authenticity will cease to matter, and we will go from being creators to intellectual-property holders.
I don’t disagree that AI is transformative, but as I listened to the speakers in Abu Dhabi, I wondered whether the value of being human is that our creativity comes from our desires and vulnerabilities, from our need to feel emotional and intellectual fulfilment. Unlike AI, we create because we have to.
A chapter ends
After 13 years, I’m leaving Edinburgh University this summer. I can’t decide what to do with the books in my office. Ideally, I would bring them all home,but I can’t, and, sentimental attachment aside, I want other people to be able to read them. So, I’ve decided to sell a few hundred of my collection to a European bookseller.
In a world of increasing digitisation, there’s a certain romance in holding on to real books. I have never had a Kindle because opening and flicking through pages is uniquely comforting in moments of solitude. There’s a quiet pride in building up a library over the years and simply staring at the shelves, which reflect so much of your life. Saying goodbye to my books will feel like saying goodbye to a part of me. But if owning books is a privilege, being able to share them with others is no less of a joy.
Family feuds
Whatever you think of Prince Harry’s recent BBC interview in which he admitted to wanting reconciliation with his family, we all know healing such a rift is hard. You can feel close to your brothers and sisters one day and barely speak to them the next. And the longer the silence and avoidance goes on, the harder it is to reach out.
Most of us struggle to get past the hurt or betrayal. But I also think that, rather than worrying about forgiveness, sometimes there’s a value in not minimising the offence but choosing to protect yourself. Yes, I know life is short and family feuds are often pointless, but in my experience, rushing to forgive someone who won’t accept some accountability never really mends a broken relationship.
“My most beautiful masterpiece”
At what age does going to the garden centre become the number one activity on a sunny bank holiday weekend? Perhaps somewhere around our early fifties? Claude Monet said: “My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.” The quiet pleasure of pottering in our garden, enjoying the freshly cut grass and the gorgeous colours of spring flowers maybe the midlife love story we all need.
Mona Siddiqui is a broadcaster and professor of Islamic and interreligious studies at the University of Edinburgh
[See also: Faith is a half-formed thing]
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This article appears in the 07 May 2025 issue of the New Statesman, The Peace Delusion