A Field Note on Saying Goodbye, Again

Saying goodbye to the UK again.

And this time, the feeling is different.

There is a sense of a country on a slight, gentle slope of decline, but with the danger of a much more rapid descent just beneath the surface.

For the first time since the 1980s, I felt a definite undercurrent. The sort of racism I experienced as a teenager, now cloaked in new flags. Flags, co-opted by some, as a signal not of pride, but of something else, something exclusionary.

At the same time, the character and composition of neighbourhoods I once knew have changed at a speed that feels impossible for people and institutions to adapt to. There is a tangible friction in the air.

And scam warnings are everywhere. On billboards, in train stations, on the radio. A constant, low-level hum of mistrust that gives everything a feeling of the Wild West.

This is not everyone's experience.

But it has been mine, on this visit.

And so, I am sad to say goodbye, but also safe in the knowledge that the real mission here is partly accomplished. My parents are on the path to their new home, a safer place, closer to my sister.

I cannot stay any longer. My part in the physical move is done, though it should complete in the next two weeks or so.

And I will watch, and hope, from a distance.