The parallels between Boris Johnson and Jeremy Corbyn

How did the Conservatives become Corbynites asks Bagehot in The Economist





Switch the names, change a few dates and squint a little, and the potted biographies of Boris Johnson and Jeremy Corbyn look very similar. After bohemian childhoods in the English countryside and stints at private schools, each makes his home in Islington, cycles a lot and marries thrice (to a much younger spouse on the third occasion). A career in politics is spent on the fringes of their respective parties, communicating with their most loyal fans via columns in the Daily Telegraph (for Mr Johnson) and the Morning Star (for Mr Corbyn). 

Then, abruptly, each finds himself thrust into the leadership by party members frustrated about their wishes being ignored. In the case of Labour’s selectocracy, the desire was for unashamed socialism. Their Conservative cousins yearned for a proper Brexit. As leaders, both are written off by commentators and rivals alike before enjoying a surprise triumph in an election. In the 2017 general election Mr Corbyn was expected to be steamrollered by Theresa May, Mr Johnson’s predecessor as prime minister; instead the Conservatives lost their majority. Two years later Mr Johnson did pulverise Mr Corbyn, winning the Conservatives’ largest majority since the days of Margaret Thatcher.

If Mr Johnson’s ascent has been oddly similar to Mr Corbyn’s rise, so too may be his demise. James Johnson (no relation), a pollster who worked for Mrs May, argues Mr Johnson is the Conservative Corbyn: an unpopular leader, dragging towards defeat a party that is split between those deluded enough to support him and those too impotent to stop him. The problems that beset Labour during the Corbyn years are now swallowing the Conservatives.

It starts with the manner of their elections to the leadership. Just like Mr Corbyn, Mr Johnson is not a creature of the parliamentary party. Mr Corbyn derived his authority from Labour members. In 2016 he lost a confidence vote among his mps, yet shamelessly stayed on. Mr Johnson claims his legitimacy from the 14m people who voted Conservative at the election in 2019. The fact that 41% of Conservative mps opposed him in a confidence vote in June can therefore be dismissed. That creates a surreal situation in which two-thirds of the House of Commons would rather the prime minister was gone. Constitutionally, it is a mess. But Mr Johnson cares little about such disorder.

Delusion has sunk in among Mr Johnson’s remaining acolytes. In the wake of two dire by-election defeats on June 23rd, Tory flunkeys were reduced to arguing that the Conservatives won more votes across both seats, akin to a relegated football manager pointing out his team’s sturdy goal difference. Such derangement has echoes of Labour figures in 2019 who, in the wake of their worst result since 1935, claimed that the party had “won the argument”.

The ineptitude of his internal enemies was the main reason Mr Corbyn stayed in power. When a leadership challenge was launched Mr Corbyn’s opponents alighted on Owen Smith, then the mp for Pontypridd, as a candidate. His most notable moment in the campaign came when he accidentally implied he had a 29-inch penis. He lost. Mr Johnson is similarly blessed when it comes to his enemies. Conservative plotters lumbered into a poorly timed leadership contest at the start of June, a few weeks before Mr Johnson’s electoral popularity was found badly wanting in the by-elections. Organising another crack at him will take time.

In each case, some mps stay loyal because they have no prospects under another leader. Some of the 2019 intake of Conservative mps are lucky to be employed, never mind in Parliament. Mr Corbyn introduced the world to Richard Burgon, an mp whose hidden talents remained just that during a brief foray onto the front bench. Nadine Dorries, the culture secretary and Mr Johnson’s staunchest ally, may be the most successful novelist in cabinet since Disraeli, but the comparisons end there.

Mr Corbyn and Mr Johnson also share an ability to drive opponents to near insanity. Mr Johnson seems sometimes to be regarded as the first politician ever to tell fibs in office, when he is just the latest to do so. When home secretary, for example, Mrs May launched a salvo at the concept of human rights after someone could not be deported “because—and I am not making this up—he had a pet cat”. (Reader, she was making it up.) Likewise, Mr Corbyn threw out a range of often reasonable, if offbeat, policies such as increased provision of free school meals or free broadband, which generated disproportionately angry reactions. Rage at their faults blinded opponents to the qualities of both men; it is impossible to understand an enemy if you cannot appreciate his appeal.
Jeremy Johnson

Yet the critics are also right to be furious. Mr Corbyn did, eventually, lead his party to electoral destruction. The Labour leader was, notoriously, the dimmest member of the party’s left-wing rump, with noxious views on everything from anti-Semitism to Russia. Voters sniffed that out. Likewise, Mr Johnson is manifestly unsuited to the job of prime minister. Brexit, which Mr Johnson did more than any other politician to bring about, has been a slow-moving disaster, throttling the British economy just as its critics warned.

Such vindication, however, is worth little on its own. And as any Labour mp can confirm, changing leader—even an unpopular one—does not solve everything. Under his aegis Mr Corbyn’s critics argued the party would be 20 points ahead of the then wobbling Conservatives with any other leader. It is now three years since Mr Corbyn stepped down as leader. Despite the backdrop of an unpopular prime minister, police investigations into Downing Street and rocketing inflation, Labour cannot even sustain a double-digit lead in the polls. Allies of Sir Keir Starmer, Mr Corbyn’s successor as party leader, blame “long Corbyn” for this slack performance. At the dispatch box Mr Johnson brings up Mr Corbyn whenever he can. When the time comes, Labour will happily repay the favour. Long Boris may linger, too.

Nigel Farage speaks

 

Boris Johnson is Britain's most honest politician

Bagehot in The Economist

 

Boris Johnson lies often and easily. It is the hallmark of his career. He was fired from his first job, at the Times, for fabricating a quote. As a condition of becoming editor of the Spectator he promised not to stand as an mp, and then promptly did just that. As a shadow minister, he was fired by Michael Howard for lying about an affair. (He later divorced after a few more.) While mayor of London, he said numerous times that he would not stand in the 2015 election, only to turn up as a candidate in Uxbridge. 

Lying about attending a garden party at Downing Street in May 2020, at the height of lockdown, is just the latest in a very long list. When public anger grew, mps protested with all the sincerity of Captain Renault entering a gambling den in Casablanca. Douglas Ross, a Scottish mp who voted for the prime minister in the Conservative leadership election, labelled the prime minister’s position “untenable” and demanded he quit. Why did such defenders of truth once back a man they knew to be an enthusiastic liar? Because Mr Johnson is, in his own way, a man of his word.

When he was drumming up support for his bid for party leader, his pitch was simple: back me, keep your seat, defeat Jeremy Corbyn and do Brexit. And it all came true. Mr Corbyn was crushed and the biggest Conservative majority in three decades followed. In that election Mr Johnson promised two big things and did both. The nhs would be showered with cash, which it has been. And he would do a deal with the eu, which he did.

It was not a good deal, but it was quick and it was clear. Coming after a negotiation with the eu that lacked both speed and simplicity, it is little surprise that voters jumped at it. Mr Johnson’s predecessor, Theresa May, had obfuscated, attempting legalistic contortions to avoid Brexit’s brutal simplicities. Labour’s Brexit position was, in the words of one shadow cabinet minister, “bollocks”. Mr Johnson’s deal hobbles British business for little or no gain, beyond a point of principle. But it is, no more and no less, what he said he would do.

Political lying was not invented by Mr Johnson in the Brexit campaign, comforting though that idea might be. Indeed, the misleading claims of the Leave campaign sometimes revealed awkward truths. When it pointed out that Turkey was in the long process of joining the eu, for example, Remainers cried foul because other countries were likely to block its accession. Yet David Cameron could have promised to veto Turkish membership of the eu, and did not. Turkey joining the club was a long-standing British policy.

In politics, integrity is almost inevitably followed by hypocrisy. Politicians with firm moral centres can crack. Gordon Brown was feted as a son of the manse while hurling handsets at people’s heads. Tony Blair runs an institute dedicated to openness while accepting money from despots. Sir Keir Starmer stood for Labour leader by pitching himself as Mr Corbyn in a suit, and then ditched the leftiest proposals once he had won. Mr Johnson, by contrast, does not even pretend to be a family man, despite having a few of them. He has not pretended to be anything but a power-hungry cynic either. A lack of integrity becomes a form of integrity.

A competent administrator never lurked beneath that mop of thinning hair. Occasionally, a journalist has claimed otherwise in a breathless profile; Mr Johnson has not. Those who work closely with him cannot say they were fooled into thinking he was a loyal boss. His time as prime minister has been marked by the defenestration of aides. When trouble strikes Mr Johnson, deputy heads roll. Being a civil servant rather than a political appointee offers no protection. Those who help him out, for example by chipping in for new curtains in Number 10 to keep his new wife happy, end up enmeshed in scandal.

No one can claim they were not warned about Mr Johnson. He is in no sense a mystery. He is the subject of several biographies and for the past three decades has shared his views about the world in newspaper columns and articles. If he is ever silenced by ministerial responsibility, a high-profile relative can fill the gap with more Johnson trivia. Throughout his career he has left a trail of giggling journalistic colleagues with a cherished Boris story to be whipped out on special occasions, no matter how long ago or dull. The content of his character was known and yet people still saw fit to put him in power.

If voters are souring on Mr Johnson, they only have themselves to blame. The prime minister is not a monarch. In 2019 he won 43.6% of the vote, the biggest share since Margaret Thatcher. Mr Johnson is in Downing Street because just under half the country ticked a box next to a Conservative’s name. Voters are adults. They knew what they were voting for, and they voted for what they got.

It is common to blame the rise of Mr Johnson on “Have I Got News For You”, a bbc1 news quiz on which he was a frequent guest. Ian Hislop, one of the team captains, has a tart reply: “If we ask someone on and people like them, that is up to people.” Mr Johnson is not a boil that can be lanced, at which point Britain’s body politic will recover. British politics, its systems and culture, deteriorated to the point where an honest liar proved attractive. Mr Johnson benefited from chaos created by others.

Small lies, big truths

Those mps who helped put Mr Johnson in power must now decide whether to sack him for sins he has never hidden. Their choice will be made by calculating whether their voters still want him. Popularity was all that he promised, and he delivered it—until now. If his rise is depressing, his potential fall offers a glimmer of hope. British voters have, at last, begun to grow tired of Mr Johnson’s record of honest lies. A less cynical politics may prosper and populism become unpopular. But optimism should be tempered. mps would not hesitate to keep Mr Johnson if he, in turn, helped them keep their seats. If those who put the prime minister in power bring him down, they do so to absolve themselves.

Boris Johnson on London Attack

Tories and Boris Johnson

Nicola Jennings in The Guardian

At yacht parties in Cannes, councils have been selling our homes from under us

Property developers wining and dining town hall executives - it’s a jaunt so lavish as to be almost comic

• 
• • Aditya Chakrabortty
  • The Guardian, Tuesday 14 October 2014

The Mpim conference in Cannes has been wining and dining town hall executives for 25 years with intentions on the national silver. Photograph: Jean-Paul Pelissier/Reuters

Starting this Wednesday, 4,000 men (and, yes, they’ll mainly be men) will gather in a giant hall in London. Among them will be major property developers, billionaire investors and officials of your local council or one nearby. And what they’ll discuss will be the sale of public real estate, prime land already owned by you and me, to the private sector. The marketing people brand this a property trade show, but let’s drop the euphemisms and call it the sales fair to flog off Britain.

For the past 25 years, this conference – Mipim for short – has been held in Cannes. It’s a jaunt so lavish as to be almost comic – where big money developers invite town hall executives for secret discussions aboard private yachts, and whose regulars boast that they get through more champagne than all the liggers at the film festival.

Suitably oiled-up, local officials open talks with multinational developers to sell council housing estates and other sites. All this networking is so lucrative for the builders that they even fly over council staff. Last year, Australia’s Lend Lease paid for Southwark’s boss, Peter John, to attend Cannes. This is the same Lend Lease to which Southwark sold the giant Heygate estate at a knockdown price: 1,100 council flats in inner London to be demolished and replaced with 2,500 units, of which only 79 will be for “social rent”.

Events such as Mipim raise the flag on the land grab that eventually leads to thousands of people being kicked out of their homes – and in many cases out of London. It is a forum that relies on invitation-only lunches, secret talks and the public being kept well away. In a shamefully undemocratic development system, this is one of the most untransparent forums of the lot.

You might think that seven years after the collapse of an economic system built on property speculation and amid a historic housing crisis, Mipim would have no place in the UK. You’d be wrong. When it opens this week it will be to a welcome address from that loveable friend of big money, Boris Johnson. Even with 344,000 households in London awaiting a council home, the mayor is cheering on their flogging off and replacement with unaffordable luxury flats. Joining him will be Conservative ministers, senior civil servants and council delegations from Glasgow through Leeds and Liverpool and down to Croydon.

Many of these councils are coming because they have no other means of raising serious cash: three decades after Thatcher’s rate caps, and four years into the most painful cuts faced by local government, they are flat broke. Some council leaders will admit as much privately. But in all cases, the strong scent of neediness comes off their planned Mipim session titles (“Croydon: the economic powerhouse of the south-east”) – and forces them into the kind of rotten deals that jeopardise the livelihoods of their residents.

On Sunday afternoon, a group of about 40 Londoners convened in a Pimlico community centre. A greater contrast with the hangars of Mipim can hardly be imagined: no lavish buffet, just a kettle and some instant coffee; no PowerPoint slides but a dungareed bloke scribbling on a flipchart. But the people here knew about the property fest: they live on the council estates about to be demolished to make way for private developers. They reeled off where they were from: Chelsea, Elephant and Castle, Haringey, Barnet. Some had already been handed their court orders and were unsure if they’d even be in London next month. One woman, who had bought her Southwark council flat as Thatcher and Blair encouraged her to, had been offered a risible sum to get out. As the group planned meetings and demonstrations before Christmas, she kept repeating: “I might be homeless by then.” The first couple of times, she even managed to smile.

These people live in public housing built with public money on public land. And soon, their homes will be someone else’s speculative asset. The British Property Federation (BPF) published a report last year which showed that of London’s newly built homes, only 39% were bought to live in. The vast majority – 61% – were taken by investors. After the meeting broke up, a resident of Churchill Gardens in Pimlico walked me around her estate and pointed out the old people’s home and lovely modernist low-rise block that was earmarked for the wrecking ball. It faced out on to the Thames; on the other side was Battersea power station, being turned by Malaysian investors into luxury flats. In this part of London, that same BPF report found, 49% of new-build homes were bought by overseas investors.

Against that backdrop even the smallest victory looks historic. Up on the northwestern perimeter of London, in West Hendon, other council residents are fighting the borough of Barnet over the redevelopment of their estate on terms that suit the developer, Barratt Developments, not locals. Just under 700 homes are to be smashed up to make way for 2,000 new units. Just under 1,500 will be sold privately: the rest will be “affordable”, which in the doublespeak of housing means unaffordable.

The council cannot say how many social-rental homes will be provided, but it is clear that whatever provision there is will be grudging. With a quick Google you’ll find a video of the chair of Barnet’s housing committee, Tom Davey, claiming that his council is providing affordable housing because people are buying them. An objector points out that only the wealthy can afford them and the young Conservative thumps the desk and says: “Those are the people we want.”

Whatever the propaganda, when I turn up at West Hendon, I meet a telecoms worker and a full-time carer. I also meet a woman in her 60s who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in years, and a man facing homelessness and suffering depression.

About a third of the estate’s residents have already been bounced from regeneration to regeneration. They have no idea where they’ll go when they’re moved out. Others are leaseholders who can’t afford to buy anywhere in London on the £165,000 offered by the council. The majority of the tenants will be moved to what was formerly a car park, surrounded by busy roads.

“A giant traffic island” is how it is described by Jasmin Parsons, who’s lived on the estate for over 30 years. From there, she and her neighbours can look at their old homes, which are now off-limits to them and their children. Their faces won’t fit the area, you see, and their bank balances certainly don’t go far enough. They’ll be barely tolerated trespassers on yet another private development.

Maybe there’s a metaphor in there for all of us.