Even the Messiah needs to ease himself back to work gently. So rather than hold a press conference where he might be expected to face some tricky questions, Boris Johnson chose to mark his return with a quick statement outside a Downing Street decorated with children’s tributes to the NHS shortly after 9am in the morning.
Given that it’s only two weeks since he came out of intensive care, this was unsurprisingly very much a Boris-lite appearance. Literally so, for he seemed to have lost weight with his suit now being several sizes too large, his face washed out and tired and his hair in urgent need of a trim. Nor were there any of the familiar upbeat enthusiasm and ebullience to his speech. The references to Churchill all fell rather flat and his performance seemed to be geared towards reminding himself as much as the country that he was back in charge. On the upside, even an underpowered Boris is an improvement on Priti Patel or Grant Shapps.
He was here because he was here. That seemed to be the main thrust of what he had to say. He was grateful to the NHS, he was grateful to the public for by and large containing their impatience with lockdown – though the internal battle between his own cabinet on the timing of any relaxation in the guidance seems to have encouraged more people to make up their own rules – and we were making progress against the coronavirus mugger. Not exactly the best analogy to use, as the most sensible advice when faced with a bloke with a six-inch knife is to give him whatever he wants. In Boris World, a mugging is just a harmless duffing up by the Bash Street Kids.
“Many will be looking at our apparent success,” Boris continued. At which the only sound to be heard was of jaws hitting the pavement. To be fair, even he looked a bit embarrassed at that line. So far, the UK has recorded more than 20,000 coronavirus deaths in hospital and possibly as many as that again at home and in care homes. Which would already be roughly the number of civilians who died during the Blitz in the second world war, with the prospect of many thousands still to follow.
If that’s a success, I’d hate to see what failure looked like. Or perhaps, the prime minister regards it as a matter of honour to top the European mortality figures. Either way, most other countries will be looking at the UK as an object lesson in how not to handle a pandemic.
What followed was, in its way, just as startling. In claiming to have protected the NHS by flattening the levels of infection, he completely forgot to mention his government’s own negligence in failing to provide adequate supplies of personal protective equipment for NHS staff and care home workers.
Nor did he offer any explanation or apology for his failure to take the coronavirus seriously right from the start of the pandemic, a decision that may have cost many thousands of lives. Nor was there any recognition that other countries that had implemented a rigorous “test, track and trace” policy had achieved far more success in containing the coronavirus. Or that his 250,000 daily testing target had always been bollocks. As so often, it was the subtext of what Johnson didn’t say that provided by far the more informative meta narrative.
By now, Boris was beginning to develop a hunted look in his eyes. His own brush with death has provided him with just a hint of conscience previously absent throughout his political career. The eyes are a window into a very troubled soul. He can sense the stench of battery chickens staying at home to roost.
He talked of transparency when his government has done everything it could to keep Dominic Cummings’s role in the Sage meetings secret. He talked of bringing in opposition parties, though none would do so without first making clear that they would never have started from the current position. He talked of reaching the second phase without saying how many phases he expected there to be. Mainly because he just doesn’t know. Three? Four? Five? He’s flying blind.
Just wittering on about enthusiasm and determination no longer cuts it. The situation has outgrown Boris’s capacity for being serious. He knows he faces some tough choices in the next few weeks. A cabinet battle between the hawks who reckon tens of thousands more old people dying is a price worth paying to kick-start the economy and the doves who put the nation’s health as its first priority is looming. With him stuck somewhere in the middle. And Boris has never been in politics to make enemies. He’s Mr Fun Guy. All the tough decisions he has made have only ever been taken by accident. By default: the law of unintended consequences.
Now he really is going to have to take the tough calls that will define his legacy. The honeymoon period of his resurrection will be over in a matter of days. Then comes judgment day. Whatever he does, he risks losing the confidence of half the cabinet and half the country. And the tricky calls will keep on coming.
Over at the Brexit committee, Michael Gove had clearly taken far too many psychedelics, as he imagined the coronavirus could make a UK-EU deal far more likely. Hilary Benn, the committee chair, just looked bewildered. How can you possibly reach an outline of an agreement in two months, when no one has a clue what the global economy will be like in a year’s time? Nor can you blame a botched Brexit deal on the coronavirus without first spelling out your negotiating objectives. Something the government has so far refused to do. Welcome to another week in the Fantasy Factory.
