The Economist May 21st 2022 Britain 55UKSA!UKSA!UKSA!
W
hen in thehome of a Westminster politico, why not play a
game of Bookshelf Bingo? Head to their study and tick off
what you see. Robert Caro’s “The Power Broker”, an account of Rob
ert Moses’s postwar reshaping of New York, earns a point, as does
any volume of Mr Caro’s weighty biography of Lyndon Johnson,
the former president. Any of “The Big Sort”, “Bowling Alone” and
“The Coddling of the American Mind” also count. “Team of Rivals”,
an account of Abraham Lincoln’s cabinet, is a must, as are all of Ba
rack Obama’s memoirs. A dusty dvdboxset of “The West Wing”
completes the set and you win. House!
British politics is obsessed with America. mps, wonks and jour
nalists gorge on American history and follow its politics in fine
detail. They also ape its language. Local elections, when council
voters decide who has the privilege of collecting bins and cutting
services to pay for social care, are sometimes called “midterms”.
Parts of Britain are occasionally labelled “flyover country”, even if
90% of the population lives within a fourhour drive of North
ampton. Commentators ape the 1980s political slogan of “Let Rea
gan be Reagan” (mainly because it was repeated in “The West
Wing”). Readers have been treated to “Let Gordon be Gordon”, “Let
Boris be Boris” and, worst of all, “Let Theresa be Theresa”. The ob
session leads to dull conversation. But it also leads to bad policy.
Britain’s economic debate exists somewhere in the midAtlan
tic. British policymakers sometimes appear to think that inflation
emerged from overgenerous government spending, as in Ameri
ca, rather than a supply shock, as their European peers accept. In
America, a country the size of a continent, concepts such as “left
behind” regions make sense. When economic tides shift, it is pos
sible to be high and dry in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of
miles from opportunity. In Britain it is seen as a socioeconomic
catastrophe that someone in Wigan may have to commute 20odd
miles to a job in Manchester.
Arguments over public policy are complicated by comparisons
with America. Debates about the future of the National Health Ser
vice are polluted by the extreme and weird example across the
ocean. The plethora of publicly funded healthcare options in Eu
rope is largely ignored. Liz Truss, now the foreign secretary, once
campaigned against occupational licensing. It is a worthy aim, but
the problem barely exists in Britain. In America a hairdresser faces
at least 1,000 hours of training before being granted a licence; in
Britain a fresh Kurdish arrival can set up shop and shear people for
£8 ($10), communicating only with hand gestures. Worrying about
occupational licensing in Britain is akin to an American senator
having strident views on foxhunting with hounds.
The same happens across the political spectrum. British cam
paigners alighted on a minimumwage demand of £15 for little
reason other than that American ones had demanded a $15 wage.
“Abolish ice” (the American border force) became a slogan among
leftwing Democrats calling for a less cruel immigration system;
“Abolish the Home Office” was swiftly adopted in Britain. “Defund
the Police” made little sense even in America, where law enforce
ment can call on enough munitions for a Latin American coup, let
alone in Britain, where the police are largely unarmed. Fewer re
sources are the last thing the service needs.
Even Britain’s idiomatic constitution is viewed through an
American lens. Michael Gove, the minister responsible for devo
lution and an American history buff, has suggested calling the
heads of new regions “governors”. America’s complicated separa
tion of powers is invoked without regard for Britain’s centralised
system of government. This leads to the absurd spectacle of liberal
critics demanding that Boris Johnson should be impeached, when
the benefit of a parliamentary democracy is that mps can hoof a
prime minister from power whenever they like.
Selfperception is distorted by the mirror of America. When
the Archbishop of Canterbury recently criticised the government’s
asylum policy, one mpcomplained that Britain separated church
and state long ago. Wrong. When it comes to religion Britain,
which gives bishops seats in its upper chamber and whose head of
state sits atop the established church, is constitutionally closer to
Iran. A sturdy right to free speech, à la First Amendment, is taken
for granted when Britain is actually one of the few democratic
countries where it is possible to be jailed for being “grossly offen
sive”—in effect, for being rude.Okay by me in America
It is on social issues that America looms largest. A common lan
guage allows American ideas to inject themselves into the British
discourse with alarming speed. Twitter, a Silicon Valley service to
which Westminster has a chronic addiction, is an intravenous
drip for doctrine. “Woke”, originally an American term, now regu
larly crops up in the House of Commons. Concern about ideologi
cal excesses on American campuses is reflected onto British ones,
where they are less present.
Already delicate debates, such as on race relations, are con
fused by America’s extreme experience. Some of this is harmless.
American vernacular, such as “people of colour”, is now common
in the British debate. Some of it is harmful. Britain’s history of race
is a tangled tale of empire and voluntary postwar immigration,
which is quite different from America’s. Yet the stories are often
mushed together, blurring an understanding of Britain’s past.
Comparisons between countries are healthy, but America is
not the only benchmark. British politicians and policymakers can
learn from nearer neighbours, too. France, a postimperial power
with the same level of population and wealth, offers an obvious
analogue. Yet although the typical inhabitant of sw1 could regale
someone withthelifestory of a 1950s planner from New York, he
probably thinksGeorges Pompidou was a painter. Bookshelf bingo
needs new rules.nBagehot
An obsession with America pollutes British politics