Reform MP is wrong about adverts being too diverse

There’s not that much about the divided poverty-scarred overheating world of the 2020s that feels solidly better than the 1990s, but the version of ourselves we see on screen is a big improvement.

Reform MP Sarah Pochin’s racist attack on black and Asian actors in TV adverts earlier this week suggests she’d like to go back to that time, not so long ago, when minorities of all kinds were invisible or confined to fleeting appearances and tv was embarrassingly white.

Thankfully it’s not up to her. The way stories are told on telly has changed dramatically in 30 years, for the better. That’s partly due to the better representation of minority groups and people whose stories used to be overlooked, but it’s also the greater appetite programme-makers have to explore the complexity of characters. Today’s telly is more accurate, authentic and honest than ever before, and that makes it 10 times more interesting.

Menopausal women have been one of the winners in this change, and are the subject of Riot Women, currently airing on BBC One. The latest drama by Sally Wainwright (Happy Valley, Last Tango in Halifax, Gentleman Jack) follows a group of fifty- and sixty-somethings starting a punk band. 

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The premise might sound a little hackneyed, but this is Sally Wainwright: the real meat of the story is the women’s lives, which are a messy teenage bedroom of challenges strewn every which way: marriage breakdown, depression, low self-esteem, past trauma, unappreciative children and parents with dementia. Misogyny too – there’s lots and lots of that, from the microaggressions of a grown-up son towards his mother, via a police chief’s apathy about workplace sexual assault, to misogyny in its most dark, harrowing forms. Racism piles on top of sexism with horrifying results for one character. Riot Women depicts a sort of continuum of derision, an escalator of discrimination and violence, all counter-balanced by the women’s humour, companionship and resilience (what choice do they have?). 

There are British Asian characters and lesbians and a sweet trans character as the long-suffering daughter of the local pub owner, whose gender identity is incidental to the story. This is drama, sure, but drama rooted in real, chaotic, complex, glorious life. 

“Propaganda! BBC leftie brainwashing!!” you can hear the naysayers wailing, as they probably do every time they switch on the telly. But of course the opposite is true. Modern television reflects back at us a far more realistic version of Britain than we used to get (with a few honourable exceptions from the annals of TV history). It’s still the case that most characters on our TV screens are white and straight and able-bodied; what’s changed is that it’s no longer the crushing all-dominant archetype. 

The past really is another country. Take that huge hit of the 1990s Cold Feet, following the lives of three Manchester couples. While the stories of marital strife and unfulfilled housewifedom rang true, the invisible boundaries applied to prime-time telly seem to have been in place. Black characters and gay characters were there none, until the 2016 reboot.

That was not unusual. You have to rack your brains to think of minorities on Friends or Frasier. The first prominent black character in Friends, Ross’s girlfriend Charlie, didn’t appear until series nine in 2003.

We watched the 1993 film Jurassic Park the other day, the not-so-wee one finally being old enough to see it without nightmares. What a movie. The animatronics are remarkably un-rubbish, 30 years on. A rampaging T-Rex destroying a bamboo toilet cubicle and plucking lawyer Don Gennaro straight off the lav is the best despatch of a minor character outside of the Bond franchise.

But that’s not the only thing that stands out. Jurassic Park has only one prominent black actor, in the brief supporting role of Ray Arnold. He makes it memorable, but what an underuse of Samuel L. Jackson.

And Dr Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern). Oh jeez! She wears a permagrin and speaks in that soft, indulgent, passive tone – half phone sex, half earth mother – that all actresses must have had written into their contracts back then. She get harassed by Jeff Goldblum’s slimy mathematician Ian Malcolm but there’s no comeuppance for him. In the 1990s mainstream female characters were rarely allowed to be forthright or sarcastic or unsmiling because that would mean they were A Bitch.

No wonder, looking back, that the 1996 BBC series This Life was such a massive hit. Following the lives of a group of young lawyers in south London, it introduced the most charismatic Scot since William Wallace, the brilliant, sassy, foul-mouthed chaotic cocaine-fuelled Anna (Daniela Nardini). The diverse ensemble cast also included gay Welshman Warren, whose poignant story of closeted love with Ferdy (Ramon Tikaram) was unusual for the time.

Things have moved on a long way since. On-screen representation of minority groups is much stronger than it used to be, particularly on the BBC, though research suggests the representation of minorities off-screen among creative teams hasn’t kept pace. More accurate representation just makes sense. What broadcasters and filmmakers have come to understand is that this is about more than fairness: it’s good business. There’s sound evidence that more diverse dramas garner higher ratings. A UCLA study found films with more diverse casts did much better globally than those with low diversity.

But maintaining diversity on screen is not guaranteed. The American example is chastening. For the first time, there are signs in Hollywood that rising racial representation on screen and off, has gone into reverse. The UCLA study of the 104 top-grossing English language films of 2024, found that fewer lead actor roles were people of colour than in previous years. This comes amid a political backlash against diversity, equality and inclusion policies (DEI), spearheaded by Donald Trump.

Whatever Trump says, Reform follows. But for all its supposed talent for connecting with people’s disaffection, there’s no sign that the British public agree.

Black characters, Asian characters, gay, lesbian and trans, disabled and neurodivergent, and older people, particularly women, are all now better and more truthfully represented. Finally, 90 years after the BBC was launched, we’re seeing a version of British life reflected back at us that everyone can relate to. 

With ratings buoyant, the message from the public is clear: we’re not going back.

Rebecca McQuillan is a journalist specialising in politics and Scottish affairs. She can be found on Bluesky at @becmcq.bsky.social and on X at @BecMcQ