When we think about what makes a nation, definitions can vary, but generally, it boils down to a large group of people connected by shared culture, history, and language. For us in Wales, these ties are incredibly precious and fiercely protected. Gwyn Alf Williams, one of our most provocative historians, once remarked that Wales has always lived under the looming threat of extinction, and that the endurance of Welsh identity is indeed a “minor miracle” in the grand scheme of history.
To those who know Wales only through brief holidays, the Six Nations tournament, or our football star Gareth Bale, this might seem like an odd perspective. After all, the Welsh identity is proudly and loudly displayed wherever you encounter it. But this isn’t just about pride; it’s a matter of necessity. Here, with a population of over 3 million, bordered by a country of 57 million, there’s an ongoing risk of being overshadowed or absorbed. Remarkably, Wales didn’t have a capital city until Cardiff was designated as such in 1955. This very sense of vulnerability is echoed in the stirring chorus of “Yma o Hyd,” sung heartily at Welsh international football matches: “Ry’n ni yma o hyd / Er gwaetha pawb a phopeth.” It encapsulates the sentiment: “We are still here, in spite of everyone and everything.”
In 1997, Wales voted in favor of devolution, leading to the creation of the Welsh assembly in 1999, which was officially renamed the Welsh parliament (Senedd Cymru) in 2020. The drive behind this was to ensure that Wales and its cultural integrity would be safeguarded and grow under our control. Yet, the reality of devolution has been disappointing. The system often feels like a double-edged sword, with the UK government distancing itself from responsibility for Wales while successive Welsh administrations have struggled to bring about meaningful progress or wield the necessary fiscal tools.
Take, for instance, the dire state of cultural funding in Wales. A recent Senedd committee report painted a grim picture: Wales ranks second to last among selected European nations regarding per capita spending on cultural services, exceeding only Greece. Even within the broader UK context, our cultural budget is paltry. Wales spends just £69.68 per person on cultural services compared to the UK average of £91.12. To offer some global perspective, Spain spends approximately £113, Ireland £149, Belgium £209, and France £237. Iceland leads with a whopping £691.60. The story is similarly bleak in sports, where Wales allocates merely £5 to £6 per person, while Ireland invests £27.50.
This hasn’t always been the case. Over the past decade, Welsh cultural funding has witnessed severe reductions. From 2014/15 to 2024/25, budgets for institutions like the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Wales have plummeted by 34% in real terms. Sport Wales saw a 9% cut, the Books Council of Wales experienced a 20% decrease in total income, and the Arts Council of Wales endured a real-term funding reduction of 29%. These cutbacks deeply affect daily life across Wales. Just last weekend, the National Museum Cardiff temporarily closed due to the building’s dilapidated condition, despite assurances from the Welsh culture secretary mere months prior.
National Youth Arts Wales, responsible for nurturing talents like Michael Sheen, Matthew Rhys, Ruth Jones, and Rakie Ayola, has decried the “shameful” state of funding for youth arts. So grave is the situation that Sheen recently supported the launch of the Welsh National Theatre after the National Theatre Wales faced a £1.6m reduction in core funding from the Arts Council of Wales.
The cuts go beyond depriving individuals of artistic enrichment; they strike at the heart of what defines a nation – its shared culture and language. Declining support for the arts undermines one of the primary means of promoting the Welsh language, hence contributing to a larger cultural erosion.
The narrative surrounding the National Museum Cardiff is illustrative of this problem. Built in 1912 as part of a significant nation-building effort, it signified Wales’s distinct identity. At the time, laws addressing “England and Wales” didn’t reflect the latter; it was all “England” until the 1950s. Having a museum was crucial for a nation seeking to distinguish itself from being merely an adjunct to England. Now, 25 years into devolution, the edifice is crumbling from financial neglect.
The accountability for this disheartening scenario is shared. Since the imposition of Tory austerity measures in 2010, successive Welsh Labour governments have juggled priorities, redirecting funds to a strained healthcare system grappling with an aging, dispersed population. However, the Welsh Labour government cannot entirely deflect blame. Their stewardship of Welsh culture has been lacking, marred by financial constraints yet also by a lack of vision and effective management.
Recently, I shared insights from an internal report leaked from the “cultural division” of the Welsh government. The report critiqued the absence of effective performance management, allowing underachievement to persist unaddressed. It pointed to a void in strategic planning and an inability to align ministerial expectations realistically. It’s a concerning reflection of the department tasked with nurturing Welsh culture.
The erosion of Welsh culture is a serious threat to our national identity. The arts are foundational, not optional luxuries. Without urgent intervention, the vibrant cultural tapestry of Wales risks being diminished, silencing the “land of song” that we so cherish.
