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Oliver Wiseman9-11 minutes
For the past four years, the story goes, Britain and America have
been on remarkably similar political journeys. The twin revolutions of
the Brexit referendum and the rise of Donald Trump played out in a
dizzying succession of bitter, acrimonious clashes, less between right
and left than between populist nationalists and elite globalists. Those
transatlantic echoes have grown harder to hear since Britain formally
left the European Union in January, ending a yearslong, bad-blooded row
over whether to give effect to the 2016 Brexit vote.
Now, the coronavirus pandemic has silenced those echoes, suggesting that the countries’ fates are no longer intertwined—or perhaps never were, at least not quite in the way we thought.
If Covid-19 has been a physical examination for the body politic of both countries, it is the one whose prime minister is currently hospitalized by the virus that has a far cleaner bill of health. Whereas the pandemic has underscored the depths of America’s polarization and partisanship in the age of Trump, with an indiscriminate outside threat failing to yield much political unity, the virus has proved the sturdiness of the most trusted institutions in Britain, where distinctions between Leave and Remain, left and right, have faded as the health crisis has deepened.
Now, the coronavirus pandemic has silenced those echoes, suggesting that the countries’ fates are no longer intertwined—or perhaps never were, at least not quite in the way we thought.
If Covid-19 has been a physical examination for the body politic of both countries, it is the one whose prime minister is currently hospitalized by the virus that has a far cleaner bill of health. Whereas the pandemic has underscored the depths of America’s polarization and partisanship in the age of Trump, with an indiscriminate outside threat failing to yield much political unity, the virus has proved the sturdiness of the most trusted institutions in Britain, where distinctions between Leave and Remain, left and right, have faded as the health crisis has deepened.
The past
week has made obvious just how quickly the two countries’ stories are
diverging. On Sunday night, Queen Elizabeth II addressed the nation: a
sign of the seriousness of the situation, and a reminder of the strength
and solidarity that Britain is still capable of. “Together we are
tackling this disease, and I want to reassure you that if we remain
united and resolute, then we shall overcome it,” the 93-year-old monarch
told the country. She invoked her experience of the home front during
World War II and Britain’s national character, saying “the attributes of
self-discipline, of quiet good-humored resolve and of fellow-feeling
still characterize this country.” The contrast with President Trump’s
daily news briefings is so stark that it feels unkind to point it out.
Hours
later, Britain learned that its prime minister, Boris Johnson, had been
admitted to the hospital, more than a week after he had tested positive
for Covid-19. By Monday, his health had deteriorated further, and he
was moved to an intensive care unit and given oxygen. It was shocking
news for a country braced for the worst of the coronavirus outbreak.
With
Johnson now out of the ICU and, judging by the latest indications from
the British government, on the road to recovery in St. Thomas’ Hospital,
across the river from Westminster, the health of the country and the
health of its political leader feel connected. Grim though it has been
to contemplate the worst-case scenario, it is also a sobering reminder
that politics is fundamentally about public service by and for real
people, not the performative act it has felt like in recent years.
Political foes and ordinarily hostile public figures have been
unambiguous in their concern for Johnson. You had to search the wildest
fringes of political debate to find anything remotely nasty or
mean-spirited. (One suspects you wouldn’t need to look as hard were
Trump to fall seriously ill.)
This good will isn’t just a product of the virus: It coincides with
the departure last weekend of Jeremy Corbyn as leader of the Labour
Party. The leader of the opposition is an essential figure in the
everyday functioning of the British constitution. Since 2015, that
position has been occupied by someone who has spent his career battling
to undermine many of the country’s most important institutions and who
stood by while the poison of anti-Semitism spread in his party. Labour’s
new leader, Sir Keir Starmer,
a litigator and former chief prosecutor who has worked within the
machine his predecessor raged against, has already added ballast to
British public life at a time when it is sorely needed.
Many world leaders have seen the rally-around-the-flag boost to their polling numbers that you might expect in a time of acute crisis, but no one’s approval rating has risen more dramatically than Johnson’s. According to polling by Morning Consult (conducted before his hospitalization), approval for the prime minister jumped by nearly 30 points in 10 days late last month, even as he executed a clumsy shift in the UK’s response to the pandemic, briefly flirting with less stringent measures before imposing a lockdown resembling those across Europe. Support among the British people for the coronavirus measures currently in place is remarkably high, with 94 percent in favor and just 3 percent opposed, according YouGov. Other YouGov polling has found that, even among Labour voters, a majority think the Conservative government is handling the outbreak either fairly well or very well.
Many world leaders have seen the rally-around-the-flag boost to their polling numbers that you might expect in a time of acute crisis, but no one’s approval rating has risen more dramatically than Johnson’s. According to polling by Morning Consult (conducted before his hospitalization), approval for the prime minister jumped by nearly 30 points in 10 days late last month, even as he executed a clumsy shift in the UK’s response to the pandemic, briefly flirting with less stringent measures before imposing a lockdown resembling those across Europe. Support among the British people for the coronavirus measures currently in place is remarkably high, with 94 percent in favor and just 3 percent opposed, according YouGov. Other YouGov polling has found that, even among Labour voters, a majority think the Conservative government is handling the outbreak either fairly well or very well.
Polling by J.L. Partners for the Times
(of London) also found a huge boost in support for the pillars of
British civic life. Seventy-four percent of respondents said they felt
more positive about the National Health Service, the UK’s public health
care system, than they did before the coronavirus outbreak. The poll
also found that Brits feel more positive about the Queen, the government
and their “local community” than they did before the virus.
It is difficult to attribute these numbers to a materially superior
public health response to the crisis in Britain. The government was slow
to put in place social distancing measures and has failed to meet its
testing targets. A postmortem into the lost days at the beginning of the
outbreak is underway in the media, and a formal inquiry into the
apparent flirtation with a “herd immunity” strategy now seems likely.
But this debate largely is being conducted in the serious, good-faith
terms that the moment demands.
The picture is very different in the United States. America’s “little platoons” have come out in force in response to the crisis, some governors have been praised for their response, and Congress eventually managed to agree on a massive bailout package. Yet, Covid-19 broadly has failed to break the strictures of national political partisanship or overcome the lack of trust that defines the relationship between America’s citizens and institutions.
Even after Trump’s about-face on the seriousness of the crisis last month, a party split is clear in Americans’ concern about the virus. According to Pew, 78 percent of Democrats see the pandemic as a major threat to the health of the U.S. population as a whole, compared with 52 percent of Republicans. The state-level response, by and large, has broken along party lines, with Republican governors more reluctant to impose stay-at-home orders. A Monmouth poll published Wednesday found that Americans trust Dr. Anthony Fauci, director National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, far more than other government leaders, during the Covid-19 outbreak. The same poll also found that a majority of Americans think the federal response to the crisis has not gone far enough. While Trump experienced an initial boost to his numbers, it was much smaller than in other countries, and his approval ratings appear to be settling back to where they were pre-crisis.
Britain has advantages over America that make the outbreak of unity less surprising. Apolitical institutions like the monarchy are proving their worth in a time of crisis; the home front and Blitz spirit are powerful forces in the country’s collective memory. Britain’s free-at-the-point-of-use health care system has proved a rallying point during the crisis. These institutions have glued Britain’s political tribes together in trying times.
Some will look at the diverging moods in Britain and America and point to the fact that, while the United Kingdom formally left the EU at the end of January, turning the page on the most tortuous chapter of the Brexit process, Trump remains president and remains divisive—and still could win a second term. America is in the middle of an election year, which heightens divisions. It’s also possible that the darkest days of the pandemic could prove to be something of a temporary truce in Britain.
Still, the emerging UK-U.S. gap exposed by Covid-19 should force a reassessment of Trump-Brexit parallels. While Britain worked itself into a furious lather over the decision to leave the EU, the lasting damage on the country doesn’t look as severe as many have claimed. In America, by contrast, hyperpartisanship predates this president and will surely outlast him. For all that the pandemic has been another disorienting episode of the Trump Show, it has been a reminder that America’s problems are about more than just one man.
The picture is very different in the United States. America’s “little platoons” have come out in force in response to the crisis, some governors have been praised for their response, and Congress eventually managed to agree on a massive bailout package. Yet, Covid-19 broadly has failed to break the strictures of national political partisanship or overcome the lack of trust that defines the relationship between America’s citizens and institutions.
Even after Trump’s about-face on the seriousness of the crisis last month, a party split is clear in Americans’ concern about the virus. According to Pew, 78 percent of Democrats see the pandemic as a major threat to the health of the U.S. population as a whole, compared with 52 percent of Republicans. The state-level response, by and large, has broken along party lines, with Republican governors more reluctant to impose stay-at-home orders. A Monmouth poll published Wednesday found that Americans trust Dr. Anthony Fauci, director National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, far more than other government leaders, during the Covid-19 outbreak. The same poll also found that a majority of Americans think the federal response to the crisis has not gone far enough. While Trump experienced an initial boost to his numbers, it was much smaller than in other countries, and his approval ratings appear to be settling back to where they were pre-crisis.
Britain has advantages over America that make the outbreak of unity less surprising. Apolitical institutions like the monarchy are proving their worth in a time of crisis; the home front and Blitz spirit are powerful forces in the country’s collective memory. Britain’s free-at-the-point-of-use health care system has proved a rallying point during the crisis. These institutions have glued Britain’s political tribes together in trying times.
Some will look at the diverging moods in Britain and America and point to the fact that, while the United Kingdom formally left the EU at the end of January, turning the page on the most tortuous chapter of the Brexit process, Trump remains president and remains divisive—and still could win a second term. America is in the middle of an election year, which heightens divisions. It’s also possible that the darkest days of the pandemic could prove to be something of a temporary truce in Britain.
Still, the emerging UK-U.S. gap exposed by Covid-19 should force a reassessment of Trump-Brexit parallels. While Britain worked itself into a furious lather over the decision to leave the EU, the lasting damage on the country doesn’t look as severe as many have claimed. In America, by contrast, hyperpartisanship predates this president and will surely outlast him. For all that the pandemic has been another disorienting episode of the Trump Show, it has been a reminder that America’s problems are about more than just one man.
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