Boris Johnson’s Party Problem

T here are quite a few underlying reasons — political, personal, and ideological — why British prime minister Boris Johnson may now be forced out of office, but that the trigger for his potential downfall has been a series of “parties” (what constitutes a party is now a contentious topic) appears to have surprised some on this side of the Atlantic. To them, it seems, well, a touch weird that a prime minister with a healthy majority could lose his job because his staffers occasionally enjoyed drinks at their workplace (or in the garden outside) — and that he had attended, albeit briefly, one of these get-togethers — even if it was at a time when tough Covid lockdown controls had heavily restricted social gatherings. That Johnson might not have been entirely accurate in his evolving statements about what had occurred, what he knew, and so on, well . . . #ShouldersShrugged.

That it is far easier to depose a British prime minister than it is to unseat an American president explains part of that surprise: Parliamentary and presidential systems operate on a very different basis, and the internal procedures of the Conservative Party, in particular, contain their own capacity for mayhem. It is also the case that, as mentioned above, if Johnson goes, much, much more than those parties or “work events” — or evasions about them — will be to blame.

Nevertheless, these revelations are, in themselves, peculiarly dangerous for the prime minister because of the importance that Brits attach to everyone “doing their bit” during a national emergency. This is, of course, not a uniquely British characteristic, but it has been a significant part of the U.K.’s self-image since the world wars. While this comes with a healthy dollop of myth, as most national self-images do, it is still unwise for figures in the public eye to risk running afoul of it, particularly when they are seen as “privileged.”

This is something of which the British royal family (or its more successful members) has been keenly aware since the First World War. For a while, until a merciful injury intervened, George V forswore alcohol, and meals at his residences were on the austere side until the conflict was over. During the world war after “the war to end all wars,” the royals were subject to rationing. Even if its effect on them was somewhat less rigorous than portrayed, it contributed to a widespread and not wholly unjustified belief that they were sharing in the nation’s hardships.

Britain’s regulations on where people could go — and in what number — during much of the pandemic have been absurdly draconian and absurdly enforced. This led to alarming police overreach, grotesque prosecutions, and, in many instances, great misery, of which painful memories — even if Brits broadly favored the lockdowns — are all too fresh.

If true, it’s telling that when the prime minister’s team reportedly suggested easing the rules for Prince Philip’s funeral, the offer was turned down. The Queen, who remembers the war years well, apparently wanted to set an example rather than benefit from special treatment. It’s a credible story, which makes it even more unfortunate that not one but two leaving parties — or, as the Daily Telegraph carefully described them, “events to mark the departure of two colleagues” — were held at 10 Downing Street the night before the funeral.

Johnson was not present (which may be why, according to one eyewitness, a “Downing Street figure” felt free to have “a go on a swing” belonging to the prime minister’s infant son “and broke it”), and we cannot be sure whether accounts of these bacchanalia (“A laptop had been placed on a photocopier and music was blaring out”) have been exaggerated, but an apology has been made to the Queen nevertheless. What had gone on was “deeply regrettable.” These parties/events to mark the departure of two colleagues took place, the Daily Telegraph notes, when “the Government’s own guidance read: “You must not socialise indoors except with your household or support bubble. You can meet outdoors, including in gardens, in groups of six people or two households.”

The Telegraph also reported that:

Any defence will likely rely on the argument that the gatherings were for work rather than socialising — a claim that is now being scrutinised by Sue Gray, the civil servant looking into an ever-expanding list of lockdown-breaking party claims.

The newspaper also includes a handy chart of “government parties” held during the 2020 lockdowns (note that the parties/events to mark the departure of two colleagues held before Prince Philip’s funeral were in 2021). They include a Christmas quiz and “Dom’s leaving do,” a distinctly threadbare Babylon, made notable only by its timing.

The Tories have collapsed in the polls. This has alarmed Conservative MPs, worried about how they will fare at the next general election (which is currently not due, it should be borne in mind, until May 2024). In response, the government has launched Operation Red Meat, a plethora of measures designed to appeal to restless backbenchers — a strategy that should not be confused with talk of a supposed (and now denied) “pork pie plot.”

We’ll have to see what happens next, but as this saga unfolds, I cannot help thinking of British prime minister Harold Macmillan’s answer when asked what would determine the course of his time in office. Famously he replied, “Events, dear boy, events.”

That Johnson’s premiership might be brought down by (social) events would not have surprised him at all.