In the past, chaos brought down governments. Why
not this one?
Andy
Beckett
Boris Johnson’s personal brand chimes with the unruly
spirit of the age. But his politics of disorder may run out of steam
Eleanor
Shakespeare
Illustration: Eleanor Shakespeare
Fri 17 Sep
2021 07.00 BST
Voters
punish governments that lose control. That has been one of the ruling
assumptions of British politics and political commentary since the 1970s. In
that infamous decade, Tory and Labour governments alike fell largely because
they allowed everyday life to be seriously disrupted – first during the 1974
three-day week, then during the 1978-9 “winter of discontent”.
Boris
Johnson has presided over more disruption than any prime minister for decades:
in education, agriculture, construction, the courts, manufacturing, exports and
imports, the hospitality industry, retail and, above all, public health policy.
He has rarely been able to present himself as in control of events. And unlike
the crises of the 1970s – which led to almost no loss of life – his premiership
has seen tens of thousands of unnecessary deaths.
The
pandemic has been partly responsible for the chaos, of course, and has given
the government a great alibi. But Johnson’s own policies, including the hardest
possible Brexit, and his careless governing style have greatly contributed to
the disorder. Yet, as this week’s sweeping reshuffle suggested, his prime
ministerial confidence seems undented.
So why has
all the chaos not left his administration seriously damaged? One explanation is
that Johnson has made chaos his brand, from his artfully ruffled hair to his
deliberately rambling speeches. He embodies the idea that success can be
achieved by messy spontaneity – however rehearsed his spontaneity actually is –
rather than careful planning. To many English people who believe that their country
has always been a rebel in a rule-bound Europe, this version of Johnson is very
appealing.
Similarly,
many of his policies are meant to be disruptive. Brexit, culture wars and
“levelling up” are intended to upset the status quo – or at least to appear
that way. In an anti-establishment age, with Johnson’s the third Tory
government in a row, creating turbulence may be the only way to make Conservatism
seem fresh and exciting. It also distracts from the fact that the right’s
closeness to many powerful English institutions and interests, from the press
to big property developers, remains complacently intact.
But the
public’s apparent tolerance for chaos may also have deeper causes. Since at
least the 2008 financial crisis, daily life and its wider backdrop have become
more disorderly for many people. Erratic employment, extreme weather, political
shocks, the constant flux of life online: even for some privileged Britons, a
degree of turbulence has become the modern condition. By contrast, the crises
of the 70s occurred in a country that had been relatively stable since the end
of the second world war. When this calm was disturbed, many voters were alarmed
and angry. They believed that it was the job of government, through the
paternalistic institutions of the welfare state, to keep them safe and help
give their lives a pattern.
One of the
dubious achievements of Conservatism since has been to erode those
expectations. From Margaret Thatcher onwards, Tory prime ministers have rarely
shrunk the state, despite many promises to do so, but they have shrunk Britons’
confidence about what the state can do. So when the state fails – as it has done
so regularly and spectacularly under Johnson – the government’s poll ratings
may dip, but they do not collapse.
There is
also a political edge to how Johnson’s chaos is distributed. Benefits
claimants, key workers and the young are more exposed than property owners and
pensioners. As Thatcher did, Johnson and his ministers talk about Britons
taking more responsibility for their lives while quietly making sure that the
social groups inclined to vote Tory are cushioned by state subsidies and tax
advantages. For these groups, the government offers not chaos but continuity:
endlessly rising house prices, old-fashioned English nationalism,
near-perpetual Conservative rule.
Given all
these political tranquillisers, is there any way that a widespread sense of
public outrage at the state of the country could be awakened? For his first
year and a half as Labour leader, Keir Starmer has been attacking Johnson for
his “incompetence” and lack of “grip”. Starmer has delivered detailed critiques
of Tory U-turns. He has expressed outrage at government calamities. But nothing
has really resonated. Increasingly, he has sounded exasperated and baffled, at
both Johnson’s lack of interest in cohesive government and many voters’
apparent contentment.
Starmer’s
frustration has spread to his colleagues. After the latest Tory U-turn on
vaccine passports last weekend his deputy, Angela Rayner, said: “This is the
culmination of a summer of chaos from ministers and they urgently need to get a
grip before winter.” Rarely has an important political truth sounded so tired
and robotic.
One of
Labour’s problems is that it does not have access to the same machinery as the
Conservatives for turning attack lines into widely believed narratives. The
idea that the “winter of discontent” was purely about weak Labour government
and overmighty trade unions – rather than workers reacting against low wages
and high inflation – has been sustained by generations of rightwing journalists
and historians, as well as by Tory politicians. Labour simply does not have as
many storytellers on its side.
In
opposition, both Harold Wilson in the early 1960s and Tony Blair in the
mid-1990s managed to convince a decisive number of voters that Conservative
governments were no longer coping with the country’s problems. But Blair and
Wilson were helped by the fact that a lot of Britons were already coming to
that conclusion, paying closer attention than they are now to Tory policy malfunctions
and scandals. Starmer has neither his predecessors’ way with words nor their
fortunate timing.
That the
Conservatives seem more focused on internal power struggles and personnel
matters than on effectively governing the country suggests great confidence.
But they will not be chaos-proof for ever. One of the lessons of early
21st-century western politics is that parties can seem impregnable, and then
suddenly be in freefall. So much has happened since Johnson became prime
minister, it’s often forgotten that his government has existed for barely two
years. It has not kept up its gravity-defying act for that long. And this
month, heading towards winter with the virus spreading again, the economy
slowing and increasingly acrimonious battles over the public finances, the
government is already starting to sag in the polls. The reshuffle is an
acknowledgement that it has problems.
Yet whether
Starmer can pin all the disasters since 2019 on the Tories, and how that
affects the next election, are not the only issues that matter. An equally
important question is how this lethally incompetent government is remembered in
decades to come, and what influence that has on more distant elections, on the
long-term reputation of the Conservative party and on the national story that
Britain tells itself. For a long time, the Tories won the war over the meaning
of the 70s. The wars over the Johnson years have only just begun.
Andy
Beckett is a Guardian columnist.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário