We are not friends, we are acquaintances

Jide Ehizele considers the shallow bonds of a plural Britain.

British society presents itself as tolerant, welcoming, and integrated — a narrative I understand and broadly agree with, especially for those of us who live in London. Without a shadow of doubt, Britain has been a relative multi-ethnic success. 

Few countries manage diversity with the same visibility and integration. This isn’t to downplay the growing challenges of pluralism or the strains on liberalism when faced with widely divergent ethical frameworks, but it is worth acknowledging.

Events like Diwali on the Square, Notting Hill Carnival, and Chinese New Year, as well as multicultural offices and the ubiquity of chicken tikka masala (one of our national dishes), signal inclusivity. Yet do these signs of diversity reflect a true understanding of one another?

As I’ve grown older and observed society more closely, I’ve come to feel that much of British society displays performative tolerance rather than genuine relational knowledge.

While we all belong to the global human tribe and share in human dignity, we are not blank slates. Each social and cultural group operates from distinct moral logics, cultural instincts, and traditions. I see this play out in my own home borough of Lewisham — not explicitly by race, though there is some correlation, but by metaphysical worldview.

Lewisham North, for example, is shaped by two distinct cultural tribes. The presence of Goldsmiths University brings radical progressive and hipster communities, while African Pentecostal churches anchor a vibrant faith-based network. 

African Pentecostals often operate through churches, faith networks, and community institutions. Radical progressives, by contrast, circulate through academic, artistic, or activist spaces. 

Their lives intersect in public spaces, such as shops or public transport, producing occasional interactions, but rarely in shared civic or cultural projects. The result is social proximity without genuine engagement — a dynamic reflected in local council policies and messaging, which often echo progressive priorities. In Deptford, an area within Lewisham, you will find that two moral worlds coexist within the same postcode.

Goodwill certainly exists between the different groups, but it often feels transactional rather than rooted in trust — a fragile form of cohesion. This fragility has consequences. Many Black families, for instance, turn to faith schools where moral and intellectual formation aligns with their more traditional household upbringing, a choice that can create parallel tracks of development. 

Children from the same neighbourhood may grow up with very different ethical frameworks and little real understanding of one another. Left unaddressed, this risks something resembling the soft segregation seen elsewhere — not the outright hostility of Belfast, but a subtler drift toward moral worlds that barely overlap. Some would argue we are already witnessing signs of this in post-industrial communities up North, where secular and Islamic civic life operate in near-parallel.

But I ask myself — why does Britain find itself in this predicament? My own life experience has shown me that British people are often willing to get to know others without judgement. An underrated aspect of English culture is the instinct to ‘give one a fair chance’. So I don’t think the challenge is rooted in hostility. Rather, there are external factors at play. 

Urban life is fast-paced. Everyone is on the go. How many times have we hurried past charity workers at train stations without even stopping to hear them out? That is city life: every second feels accounted for. Add to this the rise of individualism and technology. Casual conversation can feel awkward if there’s no ‘reason’ for it.

Relationships are no longer seen as central to human flourishing, but optional.

More than ever, we spend time on social media, order through delivery apps, and stream films at home — all of which reduce our interactions with the outside world. And so we are left with the occasional greeting to the Nigerian security guard at the local Tesco. We have grown comfortable with surface-level civility, without venturing into the harder work of deep understanding — which almost always requires stepping outside our comfort zones.

We must move beyond acquaintanceship if we are serious about building something deeper than the performative. That requires listening, curiosity, and intentionality in learning about the groups that make up our communities. The onus is on each one of us. Integration is not only structural or symbolic — it is relational. Shared cultural touchstones are born from participation in one another’s lives, and these become the foundation for genuine bonds.

My church life has taught me the power of deep engagement. It does not happen by accident. It begins with intention — with consistency in communication, openness to difference, and a willingness to strive towards commonality.

As a nation we often talk about integration, but what is the truest marker of it? As a Christian, I find it in the model of the disciples — sharing meals, living life together. The highest act of intimacy is to invite someone into your home. So, I leave readers with a question: how many of you are prepared for your surface-level interactions to eventually lead to such an invitation?

This is what the church embodies every day. Strangers with little in common commit to becoming brothers and sisters in Christ.

“We are not friends, we are acquaintances.” That is how diverse and increasingly plural Britain often feels. But this does not have to be the permanent state of our relationships. Friendships can and do grow from acquaintanceships.

Our society can become richer, more cohesive, and genuinely integrated if we are willing to engage deeply.

However, the common good must be central. A shared life of society in which everyone can flourish, as we act together in different ways that all contribute towards that goal (a prosperous and resolute Britain). The question is whether we are all prepared to make the personal sacrifices such a transformation requires.

This article was first published on Jide Ehizele’s Substack page, Southeast London Psalms. For the original article, see here. It is republished in Adamah Media with the author’s permission.

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