Britain’s Panic Attack: The Rise of British Anxiety Disorder (B.A.D.)

 

Identity Anxiety: What Is the Magic Pill for a Nation That’s Lost Its Sense of Self?

By Sean Ash

It was 6.30 in the morning when the thought hit me. Out of nowhere, really. I wasn’t trying to be profound or political or anything like that. I was just reading about Richard Tice. Yes, that Richard Tice, Reform UK Member of Parliament for Boston and Skegness. I found myself reading that he spends time between the UK and Dubai. His partner, journalist Isabel Oakeshott, lives there now. And I couldn’t help but notice the hypocrisy. This is the same man who insists that people who live in Britain should speak English and fully integrate. And yet I wondered, does he speak Arabic when he’s in Dubai?

That question lingered. Not just as a criticism of Tice himself, but of something deeper. It made me start questioning culture. We hear it all the time. British culture is under threat. We need to protect our values. But what actually is British culture? Fish and chips? The King? A cup of tea? Sarcasm? Cricket? Or is it just a collection of memories and myths we’ve clung to for comfort?

The more I sat with it, the more I realised we’re not really arguing about culture at all. We’re arguing about identity. And behind that identity, there’s something even more potent: anxiety.

That’s when I came across the term identity anxiety. And suddenly, it all clicked. Because we’ve all felt anxiety. We know how it creeps up in our chest, how it stops us from moving forward. And we know what we do when that happens. We go to the doctor. We ask for help. We get a diagnosis. We might be given therapy, or even a little pill to help ease the symptoms.

But what do we do when the nation is the one having the panic attack? When the fear isn’t of public speaking or crowded trains, but of change, of difference, of no longer recognising your own street? What is the pill we offer for identity anxiety?

Let’s be honest. A lot of the far-right rhetoric in this country is coming from people having an anxiety attack about who they are and what Britain is becoming. When Richard Tice or Nigel Farage say things like “we need to protect our culture,” what they really mean is, “I’m scared of being irrelevant.” They remember a Britain that never truly existed, not as they imagine it anyway. A Britain that was white, Christian, English-speaking, with clear gender roles, orderly streets, and no foreign influences in sight.

But that’s nostalgia, not history. What they’re really experiencing is the same thing that happens to all of us when the world moves faster than we’re ready for: an identity crisis. And with it comes fear, anger, denial, and projection. It’s psychological. It’s emotional. It’s real.

And what makes this all the more ironic is that some of these very people who are overwhelmed by their own identity anxiety are the same ones who lash out at others for experiencing it. They mock trans people, for example, accusing them of being confused, unstable, or delusional. But here’s the difference. Many in the trans community are actually facing their identity anxiety head-on. They are acknowledging it, working through it, and seeking to move beyond it. They are doing the hard emotional work of transforming anxiety into belonging. They are not running from it. They are walking through it.

By contrast, many of those who claim to be defending British identity are not dealing with their anxiety at all. Instead of looking inward, they go outward. They point fingers. They blame immigrants, Muslims, trans people, the woke, the young, the poor, the disabled. They project their discomfort onto everyone else while refusing to admit they are the ones who are frightened of change.

And just as a doctor might diagnose an illness in order to treat it, I have come to see my role as a philosopher, as someone invested in the social sciences of human behaviour, to diagnose and help treat those who are suffering not from a physical ailment, but from a socially constructed one. I call it British Anxiety Disorder.

British Anxiety Disorder is not a medical diagnosis, but a cultural one. It is a longing for a nostalgic Britain that never truly was, a Britain of empire, of the death penalty, of harsh draconian laws and unchallenged authority. It is a form of national identity crisis dressed in the clothing of patriotism. It is the persistent belief that any deviation from a rigid, white, Christian, heterosexual national image represents decline rather than development. It is the refusal to grow, the panic at the sight of change, the sickness of believing that purity and sameness are what made Britain strong.

If we treat identity anxiety like any other anxiety, then what’s the treatment? We help them understand it. So maybe the first thing we need to do is listen, not to the hate or the scapegoating, but to the fear underneath. To ask, what are you afraid of losing?

And once that’s on the table, we can gently show that identity isn’t lost, it evolves. British culture isn’t a statue. It’s a river. It moves. It bends. It absorbs new life. That’s what keeps it alive.

We also need connection. Shared spaces where people of different backgrounds meet, talk, eat, and laugh. Most hatred wilts in the face of genuine human encounter.

We need education, not just facts but empathy. A deeper understanding of history, migration, empire, struggle, and how culture has always been a blend of influences.

We need to stop feeding the illness, and that means challenging media and politicians who stoke fear for votes.

And maybe the real magic pill? It’s not a drug. It’s belonging. When people feel like they matter, like their voice is heard and their story is respected, identity anxiety starts to fade. Because the truth is, most of us aren’t scared of others. We’re scared of being forgotten.

So if I were a doctor, I’d say this. The cure to British Anxiety Disorder isn’t isolation, purity, or nationalism. It’s curiosity, community, and compassion. It’s learning that our identity doesn’t disappear when others join. It grows. And that’s not something to fear. That’s something to celebrate.

And finally, because we are British, let’s leave it with a little humour. When Usher sang, “You’ve got it bad,” we now know exactly what he meant. He meant you’ve got British Anxiety Disorder.