What do we think of Rishi Sunak as he stares into the electoral abyss? What do we think he would do to save himself and perhaps the Tories? What do we think he wouldn’t do? Before you answer those questions, consider the revelation that the prime minister, the man who said he would again conduct British politics on a decent, competent level after years of disarray and chaos, held private talks in December 2022 and more in July with Dominic Cummings.
The purpose, says Cummings – former chief adviser and svengali to the circus show that was Boris Johnson’s chaotically and fatally incompetent government – was to plot a return to frontline politics, this time as the clandestine master/servant to Sunak in the run-up to the election. Not so, No 10 told the Sunday Telegraph. It was just “a broad discussion about politics and campaigning, no job was offered.” And for reasons that are also disputed, nothing came of it.
But still, Dominic Cummings? Really? Is that a decent, logical choice, as adviser or sage? Is he any kind of path to salvation? Is it possible to consider his evidence to the Covid inquiry, his admitted starring role in the No 10 horror production of fecklessness and misogyny that facilitated such loss of life during the deadly pandemic, plus his appalling disregard, with his jaunt to Barnard Castle, of the Covid rules his own government had set, and not perceive him as comprehensively damaged goods? Only, perhaps, when the judgment is made by a prime minister colloquially known during that crisis as Dr Death; a man who knows that his stewardship at that time – not least his reckless “eat out to help out” initiative – was also beyond lamentable.
Did Sunak think the public would ever put up with this? Probably, because he has also brought back David Cameron, the man whose arrogance and ineptitude set the ball rolling for Brexit, and who scarpered to chillax in his lavish garden office shed when that disaster came to pass. Cameron is assessed by the normally understated Economist as “one of the worst” prime ministers these islands have ever had. Yet he is now the Rt Hon Lord Cameron, secretary of state for foreign, commonwealth and development affairs.
Sunak pushes the envelope and takes these liberties because he assumes a resignation and a docility on the part of his fellow citizens – and he’s right to. We mutter, but the moment passes and the new, perverse default position reasserts itself.
If you buy a certain tabloid newspaper at the weekend, you can read the ramblings of former prime minister Johnson, whose premiership gave us Partygate, poor administration verging on maladministration, and something akin to corporate manslaughter over Covid. Another shoo-in for the list of “worst prime ministers”, he is paid a great deal of money – £1m a year, reportedly – for flowery keyboard tosh about wokery, wisdom related to immigration fixes of which he apparently had no clue during his time in office, and aliens.
And yet he is still judged to be a person that people want to listen to, perhaps to be led by again, if we are to believe reports that some Tories – even now – see Johnson and Nigel Farage as their electoral dream ticket.
We are ennobling people with ermine and enhanced status because they helped Liz Truss to devastate the national economy in less time than the lifespan of that lettuce against which her period in office was painfully measured. And is she taking liberties? Of course she is. Consider her justification for the cramming of her honours list with people of like mind. “I am delighted these champions for the conservative causes of freedom, limited government and a proud and sovereign Britain have been suitably honoured,” she said. She had neither the wit nor inclination to brand it as a reward for services to the nation. Instead, she was nakedly honest about throwing baubles, not just to Tories, but to her specific kind of Tories. And we mutter and tut, about her and that system, and life goes on.
Sanguinity is one of our best traits as a people, and long may we abhor the rush of blood, but still I think we have a problem with memory and righteous rage retention. It is understandable. Grudges can only be held for so long and it’s good to forgive and forget, not least because civilised humans must be able to move society forward without the debilitating weight of undue baggage. The pain of slight, disappointment and loss can’t stay front and centre. A measure of amnesia is vital to progress.
But responsibility matters, competence matters, failure matters. And surely it matters that those who egregiously fail us all aren’t allowed to trundle on in public life – like macabre embodiments of the disastrous, always unsullied cartoon figure Mr Magoo – emerging from the wreckage they created without reckoning or cost to careers and reputations. Once upon a time the failed and disgraced were expected to pay penance by leaving the spotlight, acknowledging those failures and shortcomings with pursuit of an uncelebrated, quiet life. Now they seek millions from speaking tours, immediate returns to prominence and comfy jobs as foreign secretary.
What to do about this? In all ways, be decent. Respect our values, our laws, our democracy and the political process. But do wise up; don’t look at these people and pretend nothing very much happened.
One of my very favourite films is Network, the 1976 classic in which Peter Finch as an unstable TV anchorman nevertheless speaks truth, exhorting the viewing public to understand the iniquities of their lives and the perfidy of their leaders, and to shed their passivity. “Things have got to change,” he says. “But first, you’ve gotta get mad!”
Get mad, stay mad. Look at what they’ve done. Truly, there’s enough to be mad about.
Hugh Muir is the Guardian’s executive editor, Opinion
