Diaspora and English Cricket

In 1648, the Peace of Westphalia came into effect. As well as calling a halt to decades of war in Europe, the treaties signed as part of the Peace paved the way for a reimagining of national identity on the continent. Westphalia resulted in the subsequent pre-eminence of the ‘nation-state,’ a sovereign entity which is essentially a combination of geopolitical and cultural components. Nation-states are now the most common form of statehood, but one of the few remaining non-Westphalian states is the United Kingdom, an amalgamation of four different nations. Yet, a great curiosity in relation to the UK’s homogeneity is the sporting independence of its constituents. An example of this is the England cricket team, itself a body which has always looked beyond the geographical entity it represents in order to ensure its international competitiveness. Now, in an era when the predominance of nation-states is being challenged by the emergence of ‘diaspora’ as an ethnic and cultural marker, as well as trans-national groupings like the European Union, English cricket goes some way to illustrating the often mercurial nature of nationality. 

In recent years, much has been made of the presence of a large number of foreign-born players within the English cricketing setup. This, though, is nothing new. ‘England’ as a cricketing entity has always been more of a multinational collective than the representative of the English territorial nation. As far back as 1879, when Irishman Leland Hone made his début against Australia, England were casting their selective net beyond the island of Great Britain. Five years after Hone, another Irishman, Tim O’Brien, débuted for England against the same opposition. Since then, hardly a decade has passed without at least one ‘commonwealth cricketer’ being chosen to play for England. From the mighty Ranji to the Nawab of Pataudi, Basil D’Oliveira, Tony Greig, Gladstone Small, Graeme Hick, and current Ashes squad members Boyd Rankin and Gary Ballance, English cricket has rarely been without a ‘non-native’ Englishman in its ranks.

Now, with many academics and analysts beginning to question the validity of the Westphalian nation-state in an era when the notion of nationality has become as blurrily ambiguous as the application of DRS, England’s enrolment of ‘post-colonial’ cricketers is all the more apt. It’s something that’s often lost on English people that there is in fact such a thing as an ‘English diaspora’. Think about it: when your old uncle Alf went off to live in the south of France and completely disregard the local language, he became more than just an expat; he became part of the diaspora, as did any descendants he might have. Neighbouring Ireland is as noted for its vast emigrant community as its cricketing giant-killing, but what differentiates them from the countless Englishmen and women who pitched up alongside them in New York, Cape Town, Sydney and elsewhere? The UK seems significantly less in touch with the notion of having a diaspora than most other countries, despite the fact that one its prime sporting institutions – the England cricket team – is intricately tied to it. Conceivably, this is a consequence of the unusual, vaguely collective view of statehood amongst the UK’s constituent nations. As part of the UK, it’s perhaps a little odd for English people to consider the idea of a large English diaspora. Yet, it exists, whether widely acknowledged or not. And it has done for a long time.

Diasporas alter the boundaries of national citizenship, creating a more global concept of the word ‘nation’. Most clearly seen in the Balkan region, where various governments are actively seeking to embrace members of their foreign diaspora when it comes to policy-making, this kind of national identity is centred on the idea of nationality based on ethno-cultural belonging, something which transcends territorial borders. Although for many the term ‘ethno-cultural’ might seem to be a phrase tainted with the lurking spectre of racial prejudice, its meaning in this context is emphatically not prejudicial. Rather, such a concept merely promotes the idea that the descendant of an Englishman or woman of any background who might happen to be born and bred in Rangoon, Durban, or Tenochtitlan – wherever – is as much part of ‘England’ as someone born on English soil. The principle is inclusion, not exclusion.

The British Empire of the past is a tailor-made example of how the global, ethno-cultural nation works in practice, albeit within the slightly skewed perspective of imperialism. Hordes of English people were scattered to all corners of the planet, yet many retained a distinct sense of their ‘Englishness.’ Effectively, the colonial English were – and their descendants still are – part of a vast and widespread English diaspora, which has survived – and even expanded in some places – to this day. As a result, for more than a century English cricket has been recruiting widely from what is basically an extended English nation stretching far beyond the territorial limits of England. It’s partly for this reason that, long after the dissolution of the British Empire, England continues to draw cricketing resources from its former colonies and beyond. Thus, it stands to reason that players like Kevin Pietersen and Jonathan Trott, though born in South Africa, form a bona fide part of a wider English diaspora thanks to their shared English ancestry. Is their right to choose England somehow different in comparison to players such as Bob Woolmer or Colin Cowdrey? Whether their decisions were influenced by career-pragmatism or cultural attachment is immaterial, the historical, broad-ranging nature of British nationality makes them as much part of England as Alistair Cook or Ian Bell. 

There are grey areas, sure. But that’s kind of the point; this is not a straightforward issue. Nationality and citizenship are subjects often wrongly simplified to a mere question of birthright. In truth, things are far more complicated than that. Asking people to define their nationality is not a simple matter, and shouldn’t be treated as such. Heritage, birthplace, naturalisation, ethno-cultural considerations, and a multitude of other factors are all flushing currents part of the vaguely chaotic maelstrom that is national identity.

To throw a spanner in the works for a second in order to get a bit of perspective, what if the player flow were to move in the opposite direction? England, and the indeed the entirety of the UK, is home to many people with origins in Britain’s former colonies – and from elsewhere, of course. This includes numerous talented sportspeople who, through their ancestry, might be eligible to play cricket for a country other than England. By way of example, the recent events at Edgbaston, when India’s sizeable diaspora made itself felt, serve to highlight the complexity of cultural identity amongst British Asians. In the past, representing England offered Asian cricketers a chance to rise above the relative cricketing mediocrity of their own countries – something which is certainly not the case today. Whilst Ranji and the Nawab were pioneers in their time, Asian-born players and players of Asian descent have been an integral part of English cricket ever since. However, unlike in the eras of the aforementioned legends of the game, playing for England does not necessarily represent the pinnacle of achievement in cricket. Thus, with the seemingly ever-increasing strength of Asian cricket, and taking into account everything that has been written here about extended nationhood, will English cricketers of Asian descent be tempted to seek a career with a country other than that of their birth? And what would be the perception of them? Leaving aside certain nuances, there’d be no real difference between this and Kevin Pietersen turning out with the three lions on his cap. 

A quick interlude: naturalisation is something that hasn’t really been examined so far – and it won’t be looked at in any great detail; sorry about that. It’s a different issue, and not really the remit of this article, which is an exploration of the idea of diaspora and nationality rather than citizenship. Anyway, with regard to naturalisation, if one fulfils the requirements, one is eligible, doesn’t matter if you’re from Calgary or Calcutta. It’s really that simple. 

The truth is, ‘England’ is more than just England, and by extension the England cricket team represents more than just England. Britain’s old empire looms over English cricket, but there’s more to be taken from this fact than an ugly hangover from imperialism. The current crop of players is both a logical consequence of the colonial diaspora and a reflection of the shifting, malleable concept of nationality.  Society is changing, along with the perception of what it means to belong to a nation or a country; it’s not enough anymore to think within the convenient boundaries of a territorial border. Diaspora is becoming more and more important given the increased movement of large swathes of the human population, and England’s cricketers illustrate this in an overt, evident way that not much else can. Whether they know it or not, players such as Trott and Pietersen are pioneers in a redefinition of nationality that sees an increased emphasis placed on inclusion. As is so often the case, sport mirrors a wider trend. The world evolves, and so too must sport. There’s no longer a place for anything other than a nuanced, intuitive, and essentially greyer approach to nationality, and the English cricket team seems to reflect this. It’s hard to argue that they’re not better off for this fact.