By backing Cummings, Johnson has laid bare his
disdain for the British public
Martin
Kettle
The prime minister’s self-centred endorsement of his
overmighty adviser is an outrageous snub to the rest of us
Published
onSun 24 May 2020 18.04 BST
The shadow
of death still hangs over the country. The losses from the Covid-19 virus continue
to mount. The end is not yet in sight. The way we live will be altered by the
pandemic and its consequences for years to come. Amid the weight and
seriousness of life-changing and life-ending events, how can the national
conversation be dominated for three days by the bad behaviour of Dominic
Cummings during the lockdown?
The answer
is brutal but clear. It is because Cummings has so much power and has done so
much to make this country what it is today, first because of Brexit, and now
because of the mishandling of the pandemic. The furore over his rule-breaking
cannot be dismissed as a bubble issue, especially after Boris Johnson backed
him so comprehensively and divisively from the No 10 lectern today. Now,
whether Cummings ultimately goes or stays, this is a choice that affects
everyone and everything.
The poison
in Cummings’s journey to Durham is the taint of hypocrisy it injects into the
public bloodstream at precisely the time when public confidence in the handling
of the crisis is already beginning to fray. One rule for him, another for us.
It’s an absolutely lethal tag for any government project, but it’s doubly,
triply so in a pandemic. The arrogance and ineptitude are staggering.
The Johnson
government’s initial lockdown message, which Cummings was intimately involved
in formulating and promoting, could hardly have been simpler. Stay at home, it
said. That simple injunction was reinforced by exceptionally direct messaging
and public advertising. Johnson, speaking to the nation on TV, called it an
“instruction”. The ubiquitous ads said things like: “If one person breaks the
rules, we will all suffer,” and: “Breaking the rules is breaking the law.”
The public
got the message. To the evident surprise of some of the government’s advisers,
they took it seriously and overwhelmingly obeyed. Every day, ministers and
scientists confirmed the public’s discipline about sticking to the rules. The
nation’s sacrifices, some of them heartbreaking, were repeatedly extolled. What
aspect of that message would Cummings himself not have understood when his
wife, Mary Wakefield, told him that she was suffering from Covid-19 symptoms
herself?
It is
utterly clear what Cummings should have done as he considered his wife’s
disturbing news and the implications for himself and their four-year-old son.
He should have considered his options. He should then have warned the prime
minister and the cabinet secretary about potential problems. He should have
consulted with them very specifically about how to act. And he should have
taken their advice on whether it was appropriate to travel to self-isolate. As
a political animal, and someone who would know that he could be spotted and
photographed, he should have been alert. He could have proposed that a proactive
press release could have been issued to cover his back.
Whether
Cummings consulted anyone in that way is not clear. Nor is their response, if
there was one. Perhaps he didn’t bother to ask. Perhaps, with Johnson himself
sickening with Covid-19 at the same time, no one was senior enough or brave
enough to stand up to Cummings and say: “Stay in London.” If that was the case,
it says a lot about the workings of this government, none of it good. We are
entitled to know what happened, and who knew, because the public policy
implications could be so severe for the rest of us.
The
mishandling speaks volumes about Cummings’s judgment and temperament. His lack
of humility when the news broke was striking. To say: “Who cares about good
looks. It’s a question of doing the right thing. It’s not about what you guys
think,” to journalists was characteristic Cummings. As so often, a humble
apology might have killed the story. But Cummings does not do humble.
The outcome
will be devastating for the government’s attempts to carry people with them.
Public opinion has been noticeably steady through the pandemic. Most people
have proved cautious, rule-abiding, risk-averse. Even now, pressure to loosen
the restrictions only comes from a minority. It was entirely predictable that
the public’s judgments about Cummings this weekend would be overwhelmingly
negative. So it has proved. YouGov found that across every region of the UK,
and among leave voters and remain voters alike, the majorities are all
emphatically against him.
What
happens to Cummings is important. But the real question posed by the furore
goes further. Johnson’s credibility over the handling of the biggest domestic
crisis faced by any recent government is in the balance. That credibility is
vital in the next phases of the response to the pandemic, which are scheduled to
be launched this coming week – a week in which parliament is in recess, a
typical Cummings touch. But the implications extend to the Johnson government’s
authority in the post-pandemic political world, too.
That
credibility was already on the line before a word of the Cummings story broke
on Friday. Johnson’s fatefully botched broadcast at the start of May started
the recent rot. The pressure to loosen the original restrictions came
overwhelmingly from the right of the Tory party and some of the media. Johnson
– and Cummings – bent to the pressure. “Stay at home” became “Stay alert” –
though only in England – and the handling of the pandemic instantly became much
harder. New infections and deaths continued. Johnson’s ratings sagged.
Confidence in the government dipped. Backbenchers began to revolt again.
The
Cummings scandal has arrived at a vulnerable moment. Faced with the pandemic,
the government – and indeed the country – needed a team that could rise to the
demands, and grow impressively into their responsibilities. That has not
happened. Few ministers have enhanced their reputations. Several have been
found wanting. And Johnson’s own performance since coming out of intensive care
last month has been intermittent at best. Charges that he is a part-time prime
minister could be laughed off when Jeremy Corbyn made them, but are more
damaging now. The qualifications for membership of Johnson’s cabinet –
unthinking support for Brexit and unquestioning loyalty to Johnson – seem less
sufficient than ever. Few have enhanced their reputations during the crisis.
The
shallowness of the talent pool goes some way to explain Johnson’s
determination, in defiance of so much criticism, to hold on to Cummings. The
sight this weekend of elected ministers rushing to the defence of an unelected
official was humiliating, not just for them but for British politics. There
have often been controversial advisers in modern British politics: Alastair
Campbell, Damian McBride, Steve Hilton, Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill, to name
but a few. In the end, though, they all had to go. Cummings’s crisis moment
marks an extraordinary inversion.
The sight
of Tory MPs beginning to turn against Cummings, and thus to some degree,
against Johnson, is a sure sign that a political project is foundering. The
ultimate irony is that Cummings, who came to power at the head of a populist,
anti-elite uprising over Brexit, has now been shamed by an act of supreme
elitism and disdain for ordinary people. When it came to the crunch the great
despiser forgot that the moral law applies not just to all the rest of us – but
to him as well.
Bad
behaviour and rule-breaking have got Johnson a long way in life. This evening’s
free pass to Cummings suggests there is to be no going back, no learning from
mistakes, no attempt to grow wiser with new responsibilities. It is a reckless
endorsement of an overmighty adviser, a snub to elected politicians on both
sides of the Commons, a declaration of war against much of the press, a
defiance of the institutional balances within Britain’s system of democratic
government and a self-centred, self-indulgent signal to the public that the
rules no longer really matter.
• Martin
Kettle is a Guardian columnist
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