Gratitude is a toxic emotion

MOAN, moan, moan. Syrian refugee families who have been given homes on Bute had a good whinge this week, complaining that the peaceful Scottish island is “full of old people waiting to die” and that they had hoped they’d be sent to Glasgow or Manchester or somewhere a bit livelier. They had nothing to do, couldn’t find work, felt depressed. The families arrived eight months ago as part of the Home Office’s Syrian Vulnerable Person Resettlement scheme which will house 20,000 people by 2020.

The refugees have been given five years’ Humanitarian Protection status and permission to work. Life of Riley basically. Instead of strolling along the seafront of Rothesay in the drizzle they could be in Raqqa risking crucifixion or living in what’s left of Aleppo. So show a bit of blooming gratitude, can’t you?

All those well-meaning people such as Yvette Cooper and the Archbishop of Canterbury who said they’d throw open their homes to Syrian refugees must have thought that it would all turn out lovely, that their guests would be endlessly smiley and grateful. That’s the deal isn’t it? You do something for someone and they’re grateful. But, BUT, nobody wants to be in someone’s debt forever. It’s soul destroying. For the sake of argument let’s take it as read that the Bute families are genuine refugees who’d escaped mortal danger thanks to Britain. But once you’re safe and sound it’s only human nature to want to shake off the past and move on. Suddenly you’re restless again. Ambition is fuelled by discontent with your lot while gratitude requires you to be endlessly content and beholden. Nobody with any gumption wants to live on charity. One of the things I swore I would never say to my children is “Think of all the things I’ve done for you” and see their faces curdle with

OBVIOUSLY such behaviour is, um, reprehensible, but when I read about the elderly gent on the train who put a child in a headlock when he refused to take his horrid little feet off the seat: well, I have to admit I gave a whoop of delight.

resentment. Which isn’t to say they don’t show love and gratitude. They do, but being reminded of an emotional obligation is good for nobody.

We Brits often pat ourselves on the back about how generous we are to those escaping persecution and worse. It’s true but we should also remember that virtue is its own reward and not expect those we shelter to show grovelling appreciation in perpetuity.

Giving a refugee a home is not the end of the matter, a harsh truth that Europe is finally waking up to. We hear plenty about the undesirable and unproductive ones who only want to live on benefits. But genuine refugees from Syria: well, the truth is they’d rather be back home. And supporting them in their own land and getting them back there once the war is over is what our foreign aid ought to be spent on.

So having initially harrumphed at the ungrateful families on Bute, I thought again. If I was in their shoes I’d probably feel the same.