The Government is grief stricken. It is incoherent with it. Caught between the lurgy and the economy it faces both ways and makes both worse.
Only six months ago, they were basking in the sunshine while staring at an entirely benign political landscape. Labour had been ransacked in their heartlands, and the Conservatives had created a new class coalition, transforming the basis of our politics. They knew that had the Brexit Party not saved up to 40 Labour seats, the victory would have been far bigger. There was room to grow and Brexit was their guiding light and lodestar which would not stop giving, dominating the political scene for the next year.
Brexit was the fault-line that destroyed the Left and created a one-nation Conservatism that would push Labour back to its progressive comfort zone in the big cities, sealing it off from the small towns and working class heartlands forever. The Conservatives would be in power for a generation and when Keir Starmer was elected leader, it sealed the deal. A Remainian lawyer could never heal the wounds.
In the boundless glow of uncontested rule, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand appeared over Wuhan, but the Tories paid it scant attention. It was of no concern to a distant island like ours. It would blow over. The decimation of Bergamo didn’t have much effect either — though the EU seemed to fall apart immediately, re-asserting borders, suspending free movement and breaking all the rules on state aid.
But, then, the hard rain that Dominic Cummings prophesied falling on the Civil Service started to fall on the Government instead. It was not only the chlorinated chickens that were coming home to roost. Their casual contempt for experts morphed into a meek acquiescence to scientific advice, even when it was contested. Our industrial capacity to produce medicines, or even facemasks, had been transferred to China long ago. We could build hospitals, but they never saw a patient. Testing, tracing — no capacity for that. The rain started before the honeymoon was over; it hasn’t stopped falling since.
And the landscape became muddy, miserable and murky. And the man in the mask sitting alone on the frontbench opposite, the man who they thought would be defined forever by leading the Labour resistance to Brexit, and gifting them the election: that man was slowly coming into focus.
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