Contrasts
Politics, institutions and the danger of turning government
into a game
Westminster: an institution which, for all its faults, has
survived rather well.
Houses
of Parliament, ca. 1890 — Library of Congress; no known restrictions on
publication.
In these turbulent times, I naturally come
to think of the contrast between the historic government performances of the UK
and the USA. No contest! The UK is infinitely superior. The famous and
distinguished names tumble out – Canning, Wellington, Melbourne, Peel,
Palmerston, Gladstone, Disraeli, Salisbury, Balfour, Asquith, Lloyd George,
Baldwin, Churchill – all highly educated leaders, ruling a vast empire with
political nous.
The US field a second eleven. After due
tribute to Washington and Lincoln, crookedness creeps in with Grant and a
get-rich culture suffuses the Gilded Age. Eccentricity distorts the regime of
Theodore Roosevelt and corruption is prevalent in 1920-30 America. Thus forward
to the 1950s – FDR had a good war, belatedly; Ike was too old to do much more
than golf; Nixon was crooked and Vietnam cast a long shadow.
And yet perhaps this is too easy.
America has produced some remarkable
leaders and its political system has genuine strengths. The Founding Fathers
were determined to prevent tyranny and constructed a system of checks and
balances which, in principle, is a magnificent protection against excessive
power.
The Capitol: designed to restrain power. The difficulty comes
when restraint becomes paralysis.
United
States Capitol, ca. 1880 — Wellcome Collection.
But there is a catch.
The checks and balances can become checks without balances. Once
politicians discover that the machinery designed to restrain government can
also be used to prevent government, the whole thing becomes a game.
The American government shutdown is the
perfect example. In 2013, disagreement between Congress and President Obama
produced a 16-day shutdown. In 2018-19, the argument over President Trump's
proposed border wall produced another, lasting 35 days – the longest in
American history.
Think about it. The most powerful
government in the world cannot agree to fund itself.
And both sides can claim a political
victory.
This is the problem with politics becoming
a game. In a game the object is to beat the other side. In government the
object ought to be to achieve something.
Government on hold: when political victory matters more than
political government.
National
Archives closure during the 2018–19 U.S. government shutdown; AP/Jose Luis
Magana.
America has always had a talent for
political agitators who understand the power of the direct appeal. Huey Long,
the “Kingfish”, was a remarkable populist: economically radical, personally
authoritarian and extraordinarily effective at bypassing the political
establishment. Charles Lindbergh was different, but equally revealing. His fame
as an aviator gave him a political authority which he used to lead the
isolationist America First movement before Pearl Harbour.
The common factor was the transformation of
personality into political power.
Huey Long: politics as personality, performance and a direct
appeal to the crowd.
Huey
P. Long, 1935 — Harris & Ewing / Library of Congress; no known restrictions
on publication.
This has become vastly more pronounced in
our own time. Politics is increasingly conducted for an audience rather than
through institutions. The politician becomes a performer; the party becomes a
brand; outrage becomes a political weapon.
Everything is scored.
Everything has winners and losers.
Everything becomes a competition.
There is little room for dignity.
Britain is certainly not immune.
Westminster has become increasingly Americanised and our politicians are now
just as conscious of television clips, headlines and social media. But the
older British tradition contained something which I think is worth preserving:
a sense that government was a serious business.
Our constitution is untidy, irrational and
full of anomalies. But it encourages compromise. We have historically expected
our political leaders to know something about history, government and the
country they were trying to govern.
They did not always succeed.
They did not always behave honourably.
But many understood that they were part of
something larger than themselves.
That is perhaps the crucial distinction.
Politics requires a conception of the long
term. A country is not a corporation and a prime minister is not a chief
executive concerned with the next quarter's figures. Nations have histories,
traditions and obligations. They existed before today's politicians and, one
hopes, will exist after them.
Lindbergh: the national hero becomes the political spokesman.
Charles
Lindbergh, 1927 — Harris & Ewing / Library of Congress via Wikimedia
Commons; public domain.
Churchill understood this instinctively.
His great speeches worked because they appealed to national memory and to
something beyond immediate political advantage.
I fear that this sense has been badly
weakened.
We have become very good at discussing
rights and much less good at discussing duties. We talk about identity but less
about citizenship. We demand government while increasingly distrusting the
authority needed to govern.
And so I return to my original contrast.
Perhaps “Britain first, America second” is
unfair. America has produced great statesmen; Britain has produced fools.
But I still prefer a political culture in
which the politician sees himself as a temporary custodian of the state rather
than a contestant in a permanent game.
The audience wants excitement.
Government requires judgement.
The audience wants winners.
Government requires compromise.
The audience forgets yesterday.
The state has to live with it.
We need politicians who understand that
government is not a game.
We need people who have read a book or two.
And above all, we need some sense that the
country is ours only temporarily.
We inherit it.
We govern it, if we are lucky.
And then we hand it on.
It is an old-fashioned idea.
Which may be precisely why it is worth
recovering.
Churchill: politics as national purpose rather than personal
performance.
Winston
Churchill at the ruins of Coventry Cathedral, 1941; historical government
photograph.
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