Britain is broken, can it be healed?

Mary Dejevsky looks back over a tumultuous year. Brexit had already divided the country, but in 2020 the coronavirus and the end of the transition period made those divisions harder to ignore

Farage addresses pro-Brexit supporters at the Leave Means Leave party at Parliament Square on 31 January 2020 (Getty)

It was late evening of 31 January 2020, and there seemed just a chance, a remote chance, of a reluctant coming together. The fissure exposed by the Brexit vote – a fissure that had by now spread cracks all over the once reasonably United Kingdom – might yet be capable of being, if not bridged, then respectably papered over.

I was in London’s Parliament Square that night – as were fewer people than you might have expected at what will be seen forever as a historic juncture: the UK’s official departure from the European Union. And some of us, at least – as I overheard from the Americans immediately behind me – were there for the history rather than the rejoicing, which was unexpectedly muted.

Nigel Farage, by now of the Brexit Party, though with a reasonable claim to have been masterminded the whole Eurosceptic project, had hoped for a sparkling Leave Means Leave jamboree to see out the UK’s 47 years of EU  membership. One by one, though, most of the grandiose plans had been stripped away by a central government concerned not to inflame passions further and by a city government whose voters had massively supported Remain.

What was left was the minting of a commemorative 50 pence piece – presented with due ceremony to the prime minister, Boris Johnson; a single line of Union flags on Parliament Square – a paltry display, compared with the forest provided for, say, Commonwealth Day; and an hour or so’s rather squawky sound and light show, with speeches.

As the hour approached – and in a last laugh for Europe, that hour was midnight in Brussels, so 11pm in London – a spectral clock was projected on Downing Street for the countdown. There were recorded bongs from Big Ben (permission to free the real bell from its scaffolding had been refused, even though the cost had been crowdfunded), and Johnson gave a somewhat perfunctory television address, which was not, it is worth noting, carried live on all channels.

There were no church bells and no fireworks (too divisive, too dangerous). And after 10 minutes or so past 11, the Leavers quietly furled their flags and dispersed – for a last drink, for their lodgings, or the last train home. Triumphalism this was not.  

It was rather the last dismal act, or so it seemed, of the drama that had begun on 23 June, 2016, when the UK had voted by 52 to 48 per cent to leave the European Union, casting the country’s whole political process into a vortex that that swirled between mayhem and stalemate.

Compared with everything else, this last act had been accomplished with relative dispatch. Johnson had gambled on a December election, and won. Won, not by the fractional margin that might have been foreshadowed in the crowds that had waved competing flags outside Parliament for months, but by a majority bigger than any since the days of Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair.

On 23 January, the European Union (Withdrawal Agreement) Act received Royal Assent, and Johnson had – as his campaign slogan promised – “got Brexit done”, just in time for the extended 31 January deadline. The low-key “festivities” in Parliament Square were the anticlimactic marking of the moment.  

By now, relatively few seemed in a mood to celebrate. And this is where the sliver of hope came in. If even the arch-Brexiteers were both satisfied that they had won and prepared to forgo a full-on national celebration, perhaps the UK was finally in a position to move on, somewhat grumpily, together. Perhaps everyone could make the most of Brexit in a characteristically British down-to-earth, can-do way.

We had a cheery new Prime Minister at the helm, who had an 80-plus parliamentary majority behind him and a party that could no longer be dismissed as reflecting only the English shires, given the inroads it had made into Labour’s so-called Red Wall. With the North-South, Left-Right divide now fraying at the edges, there was a sense of a new beginning. Even Scottish nationalism seemed unusually on the back foot, now that its hero, Alex Salmond, was facing trial on sexual assault charges. Even the vacuous phrase “Global Britain” seemed a little more plausible than it once did.  

It is tantalising to ask what might have been different, had the prime minister been fit and hands-on throughout

Then the virus struck. We could, and did, dismiss the outbreak in Wuhan, the province-wide lockdown and the hospitals built overnight, as unique to China. We could even dismiss it, when it hit northern Italy, despite the desperate alarms rung by Italian medics, because, well, this was Italy and their health system, like their governments, were bound to be worse than ours (except that they aren’t).

So there was considerable surprise, when the coronavirus finally made its landing on our shores, and it turned out not only that almost every institution was poorly prepared for such an eventuality, but that the infection tended to expose and then magnify every flaw in our system – of which there were plenty.  

They ranged from a failure to anticipate an epidemic that was not flu, to dependency for protective equipment on, of all countries, China, to numbers of venilators and intensive care beds that were proportionately lower than almost anywhere else in Europe. There was a carelessness, too, in the response. By early April, a number of top Civil Servants and half the Cabinet had fallen ill; and the Prime Minister himself was in intensive care. 

It is tantalising to ask what might have been different, had the prime minister been fit and hands-on throughout; had the government machine been in a state to rise to one of the biggest challenges any government has had to face in peacetime; had “our NHS” been better prepared. But it is both too late and too early to contemplate all the “ifs”.  

By the end of the year, the mortality rate had exceeded those of most other European countries, with the elderly and those known to be the most vulnerable left without the health secretary’s promised “protective ring”. What had once seemed unduly pessimistic words from the national medical director, Professor Stephen Powis – “if we can keep deaths below 20,000, we will have done very well” – now seemed absurdly optimistic, as the toll (from those dying of Covid) passed 70,000.

Hands up who had an illegal haircut? Who could now say that the UK would never, ever produce a homegrown Stasi?

And the pandemic has not just taken lives and livelihoods, though the number of deaths is a country-wide tragedy. The pandemic touched practically every country in the world to some degree, and its progress facilitated international comparisons in something like real time, and the UK did not emerge well. Both the UK’s self-image and its international reputation have been damaged, and the national psyche has suffered a seismic shock. Although Downing Street stopped publishing the international comparisons when they became too embarrassing, it was now glaringly apparent – perhaps to many for the first time in their lives – that that the UK was not “top dog” in many of the fields that currently mattered most.

Boris Johnson and his ministers might have paraded the UK as a leading light or a potential “world-beater”, but the evidence said otherwise. We had to beg and barter for protective equipment and ventilators. Our hospitals had to be radically reconfigured to cope, leaving non-Covid illnesses untreated. Stratospheric sums were spent trying to plug the holes. Lines of responsibility seemed confused, even as ministers turned in desperation to their private-sector cronies. Government competence, social equity and standards of public health were all tested – and found wanting.

Nor, contrary to Second World War mythology, were Britons above the weaknesses we condemned in others. We panic-bought – more, in fact, than in many other European countries – revealing a fundamental mistrust in government’s ability to provide. And we informed on our neighbours – oh yes, we did – and broke new, inconvenient laws. Hands up who had an illegal hair-cut? Who could now say that the UK would never, ever produce a home-grown Stasi?

As for containing the virus, we were outshone by others. In Europe, Germany functioned notably well – from its science-trained Chancellor, Angela Merkel, to the workings of the health services in the country’s federated states. Greece and some of the former eastern bloc states performed much better than many, including supercilious Britons, might have forecast. Italy, too, overcame the apocalyptic scenes in Bergamo, showing a spirit of national solidarity to shame the rest.

Otherwise, the laurels went largely to Asia, and to New Zealand, though the reasons for their relative success were debated. Was it because at least some of these countries had already faced down smaller epidemics, such as Sars and Mers? Or that their societies tolerated degrees of control that Europe would not? Or that strong, even authoritarian, leaders could be more effective in a crisis. Might women leaders from Germany to New Zealand provide a clue?

Yes, there were heroes in the UK, and some sectors excelled. Basics, such as food provision and local services held up well. The Treasury devised schemes for financial support that – to general surprise – largely worked, as did the hitherto much-maligned benefits system of Universal Credit. The military provided a reassuring and reliable presence, building instant “Nightingale” hospitals and distributing medical supplies. Scientists reorganised their research programmes and labs to fast-track research on vaccines and treatments.

And the UK is fortunate in the resilience of its people. Initially at least, there was extraordinary responsibility and stoicism. Neighbours looked out for each other; there was a rush to volunteer. The NHS – as a service and a force of dedicated individuals – became a focus of new national cohesion, with weekly doorstep applause. For a while it was possible to believe that the pandemic had almost done the country, and the government, a favour by banishing the Brexit divide.  

But that harmony did not last. Not only was it soon clear that the UK was way down the league of those countries waging the fight against the virus, so that “world leadership” claims rang hollow, but divisions resurfaced – old and new. While the pandemic never became as politicised as it was in the United States, where even mask-wearing became a weapon, objections to lockdowns and quarantine grew. And the lines uncannily mirrored those of Brexit, with Remainers tending to favour ever tougher measures, while Brexiteers presented themselves as champions of – British – liberty.  

From abroad, this country looks weaker, poorer, less stable, less well-governed and less credible as an international player

By the summer, Brexit itself was back on the agenda, as deadlines came and went for the trade agreement that would seal the divorce from the European Union. But our own Union was now under stress, as the debilitating effects of coronavirus and Brexit reinforced one another to raise questions about the very survival of the UK.  

In principle, disease – which knows no national borders – invites remedies that cross borders, too. But under the disparate agreements that gave Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales a degree of self-government, health – as in many federal countries – was one of the responsibilities devolved. Central government thus lacked the power to impose its will, while the leaders of the devolved governments had a chance to differentiate themselves from Westminster and show what they could do.

As a result, first ministers and governments in Scotland and Wales have gained in authority and credibility – even if they have not necessarily coped any better than England. Their separation from Westminister has also exposed the anomaly that England has no devolved government, so that the UK’s health secretary is essentially health secretary for England alone. Covid has thus served to deepen the cracks opened by Brexit.

A nascent Welsh independence movement has been strengthened, and Northern Ireland’s links with the Republic have been reinforced

Scotland’s Remain-minded government is now mulling a new independence referendum, depending on elections to the Scottish Parliament next year. A nascent Welsh independence movement has been strengthened, and Northern Ireland’s links with the Republic have been reinforced, both by cross-border health cooperation during the pandemic and by Johnson’s decision to accept a post-Brexit customs border down the Irish Sea. The prospect that the UK could break up is more real than it has been perhaps since the declaration of the Irish Republic in 1919.  

The pandemic has also prompted challenges to central government from within England, with elected city mayors using their mandate to resist measures imposed by the centre or bargain for more assistance. The balance of power between the regions and the centre may thus be changing – a change not without irony, given that the regions are asserting themselves against a prime minister who himself tussled with central government when Mayor of London.  

None of this leaves the UK in a comfortable place as 2020 becomes 2021. At home, the country will emerge from the pandemic with a mortality rate among the highest in the industrialised world, one of the highest falls in GDP, and social divisions – whether between rich and poor, the most and least educated, the centre and the regions – among the sharpest in Europe.

From abroad, this country looks weaker, poorer, less stable, less well-governed and less credible as an international player. It is a fall in standing exacerbated by at least three unsuccessful foreign wars (in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya), a financial crisis that hit London, as a global centre, especially hard in both wealth and reputation, and the departure from the European Union, which leaves the UK diplomatically and economically exposed at the very time it could do with the protection of a wider group. The UK’s influence in the world is diminished.

At which point it has to be asked whether there might nonetheless be ways to salvage something from the wreckage, and even draw some benefit from the experience, and perhaps the self-realisation, of 2020. There were hints in the low-key celebrations of 31 January that at least some of the fight had gone out of the conflict over Brexit, although bitterness remains. 

Eleven months later, the lacklustre parliamentary debates on the Trade and Cooperation Bill (otherwise known as the Christmas Eve Agreement, or simply the “deal”) seemed to confirm that. The fact that there is a deal at all, though, albeit a “thin” and belated one, means that the atmosphere between London and Brussels will be better than it might otherwise have been and that there are  incentives on both sides to make the new arrangements work. 

Mending the UK and its standing abroad must start at home, with improving the functioning of the state. Now that Covid has shown up the deficiencies of so many governments, including ours, competence has become even more of a national asset. The UK needs to build on what worked, not just at its own, ministerial, level, but at the grassroots, with the strength of public resilience, the grassroots volunteer effort and the newly collaborative approach to scientific research. Johnson’s “levelling up” agenda, properly funded and managed, could also be a showcase for reversing past mistakes and narrowing some of the divides that helped fuel support for Brexit.

When Britain was an imperial power, alienating others mattered less than it does now. It is high time to ditch the arrogance

The devolved countries and the regions have gained clout. If this results, in the end, in the break-up of the Union, so be it, and let it happen gracefully. Whatever the future shape of the country, a plus might be that those who depart and those who stay may be more content than they were before, more inclined to trust their government, more confident in their identity and readier to help make their country work. That could also apply to England, were it to find itself alone.  

That, though, is to run ahead. Regardless of the fate of the Union, the past year should also have taught a country that holds itself generally in high regard, that a little modesty would not come amiss. The boasts of the Education Secretary, Gavin Williamson, about the UK having “a better country than every single one of them” (France, Belgium and the US), after the first Britons were vaccinated against Covid-19, illustrates exactly what makes the UK so difficult a country for some to get along with. When it was an imperial power, alienating others mattered less than it does now. It is high time to ditch the arrogance.

Post-Brexit and post-Covid, the UK must get used to seeing itself, and being seen, as a smaller country that takes its place with others. The EU gave it a ready-made regional support group that enjoys world economic clout, even if the group’s diplomatic and military weight as yet fail to match. Left to itself,  the UK will have to decide where its priorities lie and where best to deploy the status and connections it retains. Permanent membership of the UN Security Council, a nuclear capability (though not quite as independent a capability as is often believed), a member of Nato and the Commonwealth - these are not nothing. But at a time when regional networks make sense for all but the biggest and most powerful, the UK’s institutional allegiances might smack more of the past than the future.

Some of these questions are supposed to be answered in the “integrated review” of foreign and defence policy that has now been delayed by the pandemic. But it was already clear from the advance skirmishing that there are competing visions for the UK’s future: on the one hand, as a power with worldwide military and diplomatic ambitions (“Global Britain”) that would still rule some waves far from home, and on the other as a country that remains and orientated towards Europe, with France and Germany as its chief allies (an E3), with no further aspirations “east of Suez”. Extraordinary, though it seems, this fundamental debate from half a century ago, remains unresolved.

Two of the mainstays of UK policy over recent decades have come to naught: chiefly its membership of the European project, but also its hopes for a “golden age” with China. The “special relationship” with the US will not necessarily gain new momentum under Joe Biden’s presidency, and the announcement that Boris Johnson will visit India in the New Year spells the end of the wooing of China. We have reached, it could be argued, the final stage in the UK’s post-war decline, with Covid only accelerating the trend.

If the UK is now forced to see itself more clearly as others see it – as a medium sized country with dysfunctional politics, an outsized financial sector that needs cutting down to size, and a health system that is below average in outcomes for Europe – then it might just be capable of the radical rethink that will be needed to overcome the Leave and Remain divide.

As chair of two setpiece events next year – the G7 and the UN Climate Change conference, COP26 – the UK has a chance to play to its strength as a convenor of global gatherings, while exploring a more modern and collaborative approach.

There is a view that, tired and disconsolate in the job, Johnson may decide to bow out, before his term expires. But it is worth remembering: the last time the UK cut a successful figure on the global stage was the cheerful, inclusive and well-organised London Olympics of 2012, and who was the mayor and guiding spirit at the time? However distant a prospect it seems now, it is too early to write Boris Johnson out of the script for the next chapter in the UK’s national and international story.