British politics is no laughing matter, except that if we did not laugh then the entire nation could be reduced to tears. The antics of Boris Johnson’s government are so ridiculous now they resemble the Ealing comedies of the 1950s, low budget films in which incompetent people did silly things. The Boris Johnson Years comedy may be in its last act but the gaffes and distractions have become seriously damaging. They are no longer amusing.
One distraction is Mr Johnson’s insistence that he is building “Global Britain”. Since Britain has been a global power from its creation in 1603, this is a desperate boast. The truth is that the Johnson Years “Global Britain” will be remembered for a botched Brexit, a botched withdrawal from Afghanistan, in which dogs were airlifted out and Afghans abandoned, and an arrogant style that has offended our closest neighbours in Ireland, France, most of the EU, plus – as we have noted – in different ways, Russia, Iran, China, the Biden administration in Washington and developing countries, who were once promised more British aid. That aid has been cut.
Now an even more peculiar distraction has emerged. Five Johnson advisers have quit Downing Street. This may signal the beginning of the end of The Johnson Years comedy, but it comes as his government launched, what he claims to be, his most important domestic policy. The catchy slogan is “Levelling Up”, a long-overdue attempt after 12 years of Conservative governments to do something about poverty. The target is towns, especially in the north and midlands of England, where people feel “left behind”.
Since no new money is involved, this worthy objective may prove to be just another slogan in search of a policy, although the co-author of the strategy, Andy Haldane, does not lack ambition. He compared the Johnson promise to transform cities such as Wolverhampton, Middlesborough and Bradford to the success of Florence during the Italian Renaissance. Haldane explained that Florence had a “secret sauce” of economic success in a period famous for the city playing host to Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Boccaccio and Brunelleschi. Well, maybe.
But when I visited Bradford a few months ago, I was told very firmly that what residents really wanted wasn’t a “secret sauce”, but a real life better train service. The only comparison with the Italian Renaissance is that Westminster these days is like the faction fighting between the Borgias and Medicis, or Shakespeare’s Montagues and Capulets.
The feuds and ambitions of those around Boris Johnson to succeed him are taking up a lot of space in British newspapers. Will it be the Foreign Secretary Liz Truss? She enlivened the British political comedy of the past few days by suggesting that reinforcing Nato troops in the Baltic meant sending soldiers through the Black Sea. The Black Sea is 700 miles to the south of the Baltic. The Russian foreign ministry ridiculed Ms Truss. Mr Johnson’s potential successors publicly remain mostly loyal while privately plotting, yet, for the first time I can recall ever in British political history, serious newspapers now repeatedly call the prime minister of our country a serial liar. The left-of-centre Guardian published “The Truth-o-meter” asking “How many lies has Boris Johnson told this week?” It showed pictures of the prime minister with the elongated liar’s nose of Pinocchio, the fictional character from a children's novel.
Mr Johnson himself has added to the British political comedy by making speeches alluding to or quoting not Shakespeare, Churchill or Disraeli but Kermit the Frog, The Lion King and Peppa Pig. I am not making this up.
An ally of Mr Johnson excuses his behaviour in attending parties forbidden by his own coronavirus lockdown rules by saying Mr Johnson was “ambushed by cake”. And one of Johnson’s defenders from the right-of-centre Daily Telegraph newspaper told a TV audience that he liked Mr Johnson because he was similar to the “con man” played by George Clooney in Oceans Eleven, and it would be exciting to see what “con” the prime minister attempted next. (I don’t think so).
The Westminster political script includes too many other examples of this comedic business, but the serious point is that people in British public life can survive being disliked, even loathed. They cannot survive being ridiculed. Margaret Thatcher was hated, quite literally, by some British people for her tough line against trade unions, notably striking coal miners and Irish republican terrorists. Tony Blair’s part in the invasion of Iraq led to street demonstrations of hundreds of thousands of protesters, and some still speak very harshly of him. Even so, the former British prime ministers were never laughed at, and generally respected even by those who disliked their policies. Boris Johnson is different.
Once upon a time, some liked his wit and humour. Now the joke is old and the comedy stale. If some kind of British Renaissance is possible, then renewal can only happen when the old order – or in this case, the Johnson dis-order – is swept away. I’m not joking.
