Jean-Claude Juncker’s boast about the euro is an insulting fantasy

CapX, January 4, 2019

History may or may not repeat itself, but hubris certainly does. In April 2008, as the euro approached its tenth birthday, Joaquín Almunia, the EU’s then Commissioner for Economic and Monetary Affairs, recalled how its construction had been accompanied by “dissenting voices”. “One economist” had jeered that it was “at best, an act of uncertain merit”. Another had denounced it as a “great mistake”. Fools! Almunia bragged that “the euro [had] proved an economic success”.  Within 18 months Greece was in crisis.

Earlier this week Jean-Claude Juncker marked the euro’s 20th anniversary of with words seemingly so far removed from reality that not even sciatica could explain them away: “The euro has become a symbol of unity, sovereignty and stability. It has delivered prosperity and protection to our citizens…”

Goebbels once wrote that “the English follow the principle that when one lies, one should lie big, and stick to it. They keep up their lies, even at the risk of looking ridiculous”. However, he would not have expected the English to mock those who they were trying to convince.

Juncker, no Englishman, but known to some as “the master of lies”, has rarely shown much concern about appearing ridiculous. Nevertheless, boasting that that the euro has delivered prosperity insults almost every member state other than Germany, particularly those hit hardest by the bursting of bubbles wholly or partly inflated by the single currency. Most may have crawled out of the A&E (or in Ireland’s case done rather more than that), but memories of what they went through are fresh. And in some instances, they aren’t even memories. Youth unemployment in Greece has only recently fallen below 40 per cent. GDP per capita in Italy (where the euro’s corrosive effect is real, but more difficult to assess) stands roughly where it did in 1999.

On the other hand, Juncker’s claim that a currency which has brought chaos and division in its wake is a symbol of “unity” and “stability” may seem equally absurd, but seen from Brussels, it makes good sense. To appreciate why, note the reference to “sovereignty” as another of the qualities symbolised by the euro. A country that relinquishes its own currency gives up some of its sovereignty, but Juncker was focused on where that sovereignty had been transferred. And that was to “Europe”. Having its own currency represented a major advance in the EU’s step-by-step assumption of sovereignty, and with it, the attributes of a state.

Now adopt that same Brussels perspective to understand what Juncker meant by unity. Despite sharp disagreements, those running the Eurozone stuck together through the crisis, trashing treaty obligations, promises to voters, a referendum result, the integrity of the European Central Bank, economic logic and basic democratic norms to keep the currency union intact. They succeeded in a display of unity that also delivered Juncker’s notion of stability — a Eurozone that weathered the storm — as well as a strong indication that it will continue to overcome the challenges that come its way.

Part of the reason for that, is that once in the euro, there is no easy exit. “Ever closer union” are perhaps the three most important words in the EU’s definition of itself: They imply that there is no reverse gear. Nowhere is this more the case than, as its creators intended, with the single currency, described in 2012 by one top German civil servant as “a machine from hell that we cannot turn off” — words to remember amid current talk of widespread support for the euro.

But back to hubris. Like so much central planning, the euro was born of arrogance, over-confidence, conceit and ideological obsession. Cramming a large number of diverse economies into a necessarily Procrustean currency union made little economic sense—the savings flowing from the removal of foreign exchange risk were somewhere between minimal and illusory. It was also an invitation to disaster, made riskier still by the absence of any degree of fiscal union, something which might have provided a safety net, but would not have been politically acceptable in many of the countries signing up for the new currency.

One example of hubris overlapped with another. Some of those in charge of putting the euro together were aware of its innate flaws but expected that they would eventually lead to—as the phrase in Brussels goes— a “beneficial crisis”. This would be the catalyst for forcing through the fiscal union that had always been the logical counterpoint of monetary union and would also constitute a giant leap forward towards ever closer union. The hubris lay in believing that such a crisis would be manageable in the manner that Brussels hoped.

It wasn’t. Even allowing for its starting point, Juncker’s perception of unity is based on turning a blind eye to some highly inconvenient truths. Made even more destructive by its intertwining with the financial crisis, the storm that tore into the Eurozone essentially divided the currency union’s member states into two antagonistic camps, creditor nations in the north and debtor nations in the south.

The north’s distrust of the south, and the south’s resentment of the north, along with economic distress and the realisation that Brussels and its allies bore much of the blame for this mess (but had no interest in changing direction) also boosted political parties once confined to the fringe or triggered the formation of new parties that would once have found a home there. Those forces were given additional impetus by an unrelated issue— mounting unease over immigration and its longer-term implications. What’s more, many continental eurosceptics have been transformed from naysayers opposed to further integration into a force that actively wants to reverse the direction of ‘ever closer union’. Populist governments (of very different hues) have come to power in Greece and Italy.

Germany and other ‘northern’ states are now even more firmly set against fiscal union, rightly regarded as a device to milk their taxpayers in perpetuity. In the Eurozone’s south, meanwhile, there is increased resistance to Germany’s insistence on enforcing its sometimes counter-productive brand of fiscal discipline on everyone else. It’s significant that, with Emmanuel Macron’s own plans for fiscal union floating face-down in the Spree and gilets jaunes roaming France’s streets, his government will now be breaching (just a one-off, of course) the EU’s budgetary rules.

All that said, betting against the survival of the euro is unwise. The political will to keep this vampire currency going should, as the last ten years have shown, not be underestimated and populist parties are just as conscious as their more orthodox rivals of the general public’s fear of ‘something worse’.

But European growth prospects are deteriorating despite years of the ECB doing “what it takes”. The economies (and balance sheets) of many of the Eurozone’s weaker member-states continue to suffer from the after-effects of the last crisis and remain confined to the straitjacket of a one-size-fits-all currency:  They will not be well placed to cope with a fresh slowdown. It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that another Eurozone drama may well be approaching, with political consequences that are likely to be much trickier than last time around.

One way to head off some of the worse of what might lie ahead would be by splitting the single currency into ‘northern’ and ‘southern’ euros which would better reflect the economic realities of the domestic economies they serve. This would be far from straightforward, but it beats sticking with a status quo that offers much of the Eurozone little more than stagnation at best, and catastrophe at worst.

But such a split runs against the idea of the irreversibility of ever closer union. It’s never going to happen.

Her Inner Brezhnev

National Review, November 15, 2018

There was a time when Angela Merkel, like many young East Germans, would don a special shirt (blue rather than brown; different dictatorship) and parade for the Party, sometimes (not everything had changed) by torchlight. On occasion, she and her Free German Youth comrades would have marched behind banners carrying the portrait of Leonid Brezhnev, the Soviet leader whose extended (1964–82) rule has more than longevity in common with her own.

No, no, Merkel is not a Communist. Nor does she order the invasion of other countries; she merely bullies them. She may have participated in the overthrow of Italy’s unruly and unacceptably euroskeptic Silvio Berlusconi, but no tanks were deployed, just “suggestions” made menacing by Italian fears of what the bond-market vigilantes might do.

Look deeper, however, and unsettling similarities come into view. That Brezhnev was no democrat is hardly a surprise. That Merkel, the bien-pensant “leader of the free world,” has repeatedly demonstrated her disdain for democratic propriety is, by contrast, disappointing. Perhaps it is a legacy of her East German upbringing, but, whatever the cause, it has poisoned both the politics of the country she leads and those of the EU, the misbegotten union that Germany dominates with a mixture of passive aggression, money, and size.

In the early 2000s, Brussels, compelled as always by the imperative of “ever closer union,” midwifed an ambitious draft constitution only to see it felled by French and Dutch referendums. When voters get a direct say on deeper European integration, they have a way of saying no.

That should have been the end of the matter, but Merkel used Germany’s tenure of the EU’s rotating presidency (it’s complicated) to cobble together the Lisbon Treaty, a sly pact that reproduced the spurned constitution in every material respect but was structured in such a way that pesky referendums could be dodged everywhere other than reliably awkward Ireland. No matter: The Irish rejected the treaty in one referendum but, engulfed by the financial crisis, were cajoled into changing their minds.

The treaty became law, but, not for the last time, Merkel had underestimated the consequences of paying so little attention to popular feeling. Lisbon, which helped pave the way for Brexit, reinforced many Europeans’ anxiety that the EU was slipping into post-democracy, a perception later bolstered by Merkel’s role in the euro’s long ordeal and, more recently, by her efforts to bludgeon other EU countries into accepting more of the migrants and refugees she so carelessly welcomed in 2015.

Some of Merkel’s actions in the latter two instances were a straightforward defense of German national interests. But her insistence on Lisbon was another reminder that, at some level, this supposedly pragmatic politician clearly believes that European integration is on the right side of history, a phrase, Robert Conquest wrote, with “a Marxist twang.” If so, she is not alone, but it is reasonable to ask whether in Merkel’s case this dubious proposition has been made easier to swallow by formative years spent in a land where Marxism was a part of the ideology of the state.

Merkel’s authoritarianism has taken an even more disturbing turn at home. Her instinctive dislike of dissent — the dark side of consensus politicians — curdled into something more sinister in the wake of that 2015 decision to throw open Germany’s doors. With mainstream media hymning the chancellor’s Wilkommenskultur, Germans uneasy about the influx into their country had nowhere to go but online, sometimes via the gutter, often not.

Infuriated, Merkel began by bullying social-media companies to clamp down on what she regarded as hate speech. When they did not, in her view, do enough, she looked to her parliamentary colleagues for assistance. The result, prompted also by scaremongering over “fake news,” the switched-on censor’s excuse du jour, was Germany’s social-media law — the notorious Netzwerkdurchsetzungsgesetz. It represents an attack on free speech so draconian (for example, if a social-media company fails to take down “manifestly unlawful . . . hate speech” or “fake news” within 24 hours of a complaint, it can be fined up to 50 million euros) that it has provided useful cover for Russian legislators looking to shut down undesirable talk online, a development that would have amused old Leonid.

When Mikhail Gorbachev launched his program to overhaul the Soviet Union, he attacked Brezhnev’s “era of stagnation,” a label encompassing political as well as economic inertia. While Brezhnev was appealing to a far smaller “electorate” — the party elite — than Merkel has done, the key to the length of their tenures was (obvious differences aside) sticking with consensus and maintaining stability. As a strategy, it worked, but the stagnation that ensued contributed to the Soviet collapse. As for Germany, it is too soon to say.

By ending the experimentation of the Khrushchev years, Brezhnev shrank the political and intellectual space within which the regime could safely operate. When his moment came, Gorbachev saw a relaxation of party control as inseparable from a desperately needed economic reset, but, after Brezhnev, it was too late to change direction. If the opening for reform within the system had ever existed, it had closed.

Germany is not, of course, lurching toward a Soviet-style implosion. That said, Merkel’s capture of the middle ground, inspired by both personal conviction and strategic savvy, is showing signs of backfiring in ways that, if events oblige, as they well may, will undermine the centrist order over which she has presided for so long. The middle ground ought to be a battlefield of ideas. That is not how it has been under Merkel. By moving her center-right CDU so far leftward, Merkel has occupied much of the territory that the SPD, the leading party of the center Left, once called its own. The SPD’s displacement was accelerated by its participation in coalition governments with Merkel between 2005 and 2009, as well as since 2013. As partners go, she has proved to be something of a black widow. Between 2013 and 2017, the SPD’s support fell by over a fifth, to 20.2 percent, half its level in 1999, and it is still falling. The SPD now trails the Greens, who are hipper, socially liberal, migrant-friendly, NATO-not-so-friendly, eurofundamentalist, but — and this is a major but — environmental issues apart, relatively centrist on economics.

Upheaval has come to the Right, too. Merkel’s agreement to the bailout of the euro zone’s casualties drove some classical liberals, skeptical about both the single currency and the steps being taken to preserve it, to set up “the professors’ party,” the Alternative for Germany (AfD) — its very name a protest against Merkel’s stifling consensus — in 2013. The AfD saw some early success but shifted into a higher gear, losing much of its former leadership in the process, when it also became a vehicle for social conservatives and immigration skeptics who felt that there was no longer a place for them in the CDU or the CSU (the CDU’s considerably more conservative Bavarian counterpart). This was particularly so after Merkel flung open those doors — and clamped down on those who dared to demur.

The AfD’s transformation has given it a rougher-edged nationalist following. After a string of provincial successes, the party made it into the federal parliament in 2017, cutting into the vote won by the CDU and the CSU. In this October’s elections in Bavaria, home of the CSU, it took 10.6 percent. When consensus hardens into an orthodoxy enforced by establishment parties, voters, when worried enough, ignored enough, and silenced enough, look elsewhere.

Brezhnev’s era of stagnation was also an era of squandered opportunity. The USSR’s vast oil reserves could have made a substantial contribution to funding the reorganization of its economy. But, isolated within an increasingly archaic consensus, the Soviet leadership renounced even modest reform, preferring to anesthetize the population with (very) modest prosperity. The windfall was frittered away on massive defense spending, hugely generous subsidies of allies and satrapies, and a futile attempt to prop up a command-and-control system that could not meet the demands of a modern economy. The reckoning was not long in coming.

Whatever the criticisms that can be made of Merkel, splurging on the defense budget is not one of them. Her slide to the left may not have involved an embrace of the neutralism that runs through so much of German politics (Merkel is no fan of Putin and pushed for sanctions in 2014), but she has been reluctant to challenge either neutralism’s consequences — the armed forces have been so badly neglected that their combat-readiness has been called into question — or its assumptions. To be sure, Merkel has undertaken to increase defense spending (currently 1.2 percent of GDP), but only to 1.5 percent of GDP (still far below NATO’s 2 percent target) and only by 2024. Throw in the prospect of increased dependence on Russian gas once the Nord Stream 2 pipeline is operational, and after 13 years of governments headed by the alleged leader of the free world, it is uncertain how effective and reliable an ally Germany really can be.

On a brighter note, the German economy is booming, rich, and the envy of most of the world. Nevertheless, it’s worth remembering that in the 1990s Germany was, by its standards, struggling. Quite what changed is fiercely debated. Explanations include labor-market reforms and tax cuts (the latter, tellingly, opposed by Angela Merkel, then the CDU’s new leader) introduced by the Social Democrats under Chancellor Gerhard Schröder in the early 2000s; the boost to Germany’s crucial export sector from a concealed devaluation (the switch from the deutsche mark to the euro); the easing of some of the strains associated with German unification; and, since the 1990s, the manner in which more-decentralized wage-bargaining has increased flexibility (and, with it, restraint) over pay. This turnaround gave Merkel the latitude to coast, but, given her own less-than-market-friendly views and her determination to command the center ground, she was never likely to build on the Schröder reforms. And she has not. Sometimes, such as by the introduction (in 2015) of a uniform minimum wage across the country, she has even subverted them. Business remains heavily regulated, a hurdle that goes some way toward explaining the relatively low levels of capital investment by German companies in their own country. That investment shortfall has, in turn, contributed to faltering productivity growth.

High taxation is another disincentive, and not only to investment. The writer of a recent article for the business daily Handelsblatt detailed how Germany had failed to keep pace with corporate tax cuts elsewhere. He blamed the complacency bred by the economy’s current strength, but that is only part of the story. Germany’s prevailing consensus has scant room for aggressive tax-cutting, something that Merkel has done nothing to change.

Meanwhile, a blend of panic after the Fukushima nuclear disaster in Japan (which triggered a German decision to speed up the planned phase-out of nuclear power) and an enormous and hugely expensive program of investment in renewable energy prompted by panic over climate change (another critical element in the politics of Germany’s middle ground) has meant a dramatic hike in energy costs for industry and, even more so, consumers, while — central planning being what it is — failing to yield the promised environmental return.

So long as Germany prospers, none of this may matter, but a cyclical downturn, perhaps exacerbated by trade tensions, could well be approaching. That may cause difficulty in the immediate future — and it will not help the absorption of all those migrants into the work force — but longer-term concerns are beginning to surface, too. The old Soviet economic model was unable to cope with the changed world of the second half of the 20th century, and there are signs that its (admittedly immeasurably more flexible) German counterpart might not be doing what it takes to keep up with the evolving digital economy. This is so with basic infrastructure — according to a 2016 OECD report, under 2 percent of German broadband connections were fiber-optic — but also, more subtly, with the adaptation of business practices or, for that matter, products that lie ahead: With autonomous vehicles coming down the pike, will Germany’s automakers soon be facing off against Google?

That will be a problem for someone other than Merkel to contemplate. After the disappointing general election was followed by setbacks for the CSU in Bavaria and the CDU in Hesse, Merkel stepped down as the CDU’s leader. She will continue, she says, as chancellor until the next election. Maybe, maybe not — but there’s a suspicion that she sees hanging on in office as the best way of securing the CDU leadership for Annegret Kramp-Karrenbauer, the party’s general secretary, a Merkel 2.0.

If “AKK” should win, the CDU will show that it has learned nothing from the failures of the Merkel years. Stagnation is like that.

Blue wave? More like a blue trickle

TheArticle, November 7, 2018

New York City, July 2018 © Andrew Stuttaford

“Treason,” it has been famously said, “is a matter of dates”. The same, rather more obviously, is true of political surprises. At the beginning of the year, there was excited talk of “a blue wave” that would sweep the Democrats into power in the House of Representatives and, despite unfavourable political geography (Democrats were defending many more Senate seats than Republicans, including a good number in states won by Trump in 2016), quite possibly the Senate too. A new president’s party typically struggles in the first Midterm elections held after his victory. And when that president was polling so poorly as Donald Trump, well…

By October, those hopes had largely evaporated. The prevailing conventional wisdom was that the Republicans would hold the Senate and lose the House, but not dramatically so. As it was, the GOP has actually managed to add to its current 51-49 majority, an impressive achievement under the circumstances. To be sure, Republicans have lost the House by a little more than the most recent expectations, but by quite a bit less than the carnage of Democrats’ January dreams or, say, the humiliation inflicted on the Democrats in 2010, two years after Obama first took up residence in the White House.

Even a blue trickle will prove sufficient to bring down that non-existent wall. However, the President will, come 2020, be able to blame the failure to fortify the border on Democratic obstruction rather than Republican hesitation, one element in a wider perk of defeat that Trump, better at running against than for, will exploit to the full. A Democratic House will make for a tremendous target, especially if, as seems likely, the Democrats continue to swing to the left. Making Trump’s task easier still will be the fact that this iteration of the left is driven more by the politics of identity—terrain where Trump has considerable skills of his own— than by those of economic grievance.

Today, of course, marks both of the start of the 2020 election season and a surge in complaints that it is too early to start discussing 2020. All I will say for now is that the GOP will, absent “events”, be fighting the 2020 election as unambiguously the party of Trump. The President’s appeal to a changing base both saved yesterday (more or less) for the Republicans, but his spiel –and the baggage that comes with it—drove yet more moderate voters on the coasts and in the more affluent suburbs into the Democratic camp. This is a self-reinforcing process. As ‘purple’ parts of the country turn blue, they throw out the GOP lawmakers most likely to push back against the President, leaving the remainder even more closely bound to the man from Trump Tower. There is a great deal of division in this nation, and it is not going to narrow.

Nevertheless, part of Trump’s persona is as a deal-maker. As he contemplates a newly hostile House of Representatives, he may well try to see if he can win its agreement to the increased infrastructure spending he has always wanted, but without the tax increases that would infuriate the Congressional GOP. He might get that—even if, with government debt coming into ever more uncomfortable focus, another splurge would not delight the bond market—but it won’t buy him enough Democratic goodwill to head off the flurry of investigations that will be coming his way from congressional committees now under Democratic control. Trump’s reactions to siege by subpoena will not be edifying, and they won’t help either him or his party. And if those investigations come up with anything, well…

Meanwhile Special Counsel Mueller plods on, gathering evidence, securing pleas, and, doubtless, fully aware that the decision to impeach is ultimately political, not legal. With the Democrats in charge of the House (the institution that would initiate impeachment) the politics have just changed, and not to Trump’s advantage.

No one ever said his presidency would be dull.

Midterm madness — or Trump’s last stand?

standpoint, October 29, 2018 (November Issue)

La Guardia Airport, New York City, May 2017 © Andrew Stuttaford

There are journalistic assignments that should be refused, not as a matter of principle but out of basic common sense. Making predictions about American politics in the age of Trump is one of them. That Donald Trump won the Republican nomination was surprising. That he ended up in the White House was — well, a strong enough what-the-hell adjective does not exist (I did not expect Trump to prevail and nor, quite possibly, did he). However, the chequered nature of that win, a two per cent loss in the popular vote (the widest margin of “defeat” for a victorious candidate since 1876) but a passable, if far from overwhelming, majority in the only vote that counts — the Electoral College — was a necessary reminder that federalism matters more and elite opinion less than is sometimes assumed.

Remembering that is a good beginning to understanding why, despite Trump ratcheting up a record of gaffes, blunders and peculiarity unthinkable in any other president, earlier talk of a Democratic “wave” in the   midterm elections on November 6 has evaporated.

While that might merit a celebratory presidential Diet Coke, the Republicans still face a tricky day on the sixth. Despite a healthy economy (GDP grew at an annualised 4.2 per cent in the second quarter, the unemployment rate dropped to 3.7 per cent in September and in the same month consumer confidence reached an 18-year high), almost all the “generic” polling has the generic Democrat comfortably ahead of the generic Republican. Even without Trump in the Oval Office this was coming. An incumbent president’s party almost always struggles in the midterms. Like a British by-election, except for far higher stakes (all the seats in the House of Representatives will be up for grabs, as will 35 Senate seats and numerous state-level offices), midterms are often used by the voters who show up (turnout is typically around 40 per cent, compared with 60 per cent in a presidential election year) to shake a fist at those in charge.

There are incumbent presidents, and then there is Donald J. Trump, whose approval rating has been dismal for most of his time in office. As I write (late October) it is ticking up and now stands somewhere in the mid-40s, weak for a strong economy and at a roughly similar level to Barack Obama’s polling eight years ago. But that was in the aftermath of the financial crisis and shortly before game-changing midterms in which the Democrats suffered a loss of more than 60 seats and control of the House, as well as a brutal reduction in their Senate majority. The Republicans’ chances will be hurt by too much Trump in some areas — upscale suburbs and their remaining redoubts on the east and west coasts in particular — but they could, in a paradox that may mean trouble for them beyond 2018, be hurt by not enough Trump elsewhere, specifically in the rust belt, where voters who moved from Obama (or no vote) to Trump made enough of a difference in their states to tip the 2016 election the GOP’s way.

The Great Revolt  by journalist Salena Zito and Republican strategist Brad Todd may be something of a rose-tinted (although fascinating) study of some of those who switched sides, but the results cited in the book are what they are. Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, a traditionally coal-mining area, gave Obama (also its choice in 2008) a 5-percentage point edge in 2012, but went to Trump by 20 points four years later. Tiny Lake County, Michigan is the poorest county in that state. It preferred Obama in 2008 and 2012 (on the latter occasion by five points), but handed Trump a 23-point lead in 2016. There were plenty more swings like that, and they were enough — just — to deliver Pennsylvania (by a little over 40,000 votes) and Michigan (by a little under 12,000 votes) to Trump in 2016.

At their heart, those swings to Trump were a protest by embattled “left-behinds” trying to preserve what was left of their status in a rapidly changing nation led by a political and media class that insulted, demeaned and demonised them. The pushback was not confined to the rust belt. The New York Times’s Nate Cohn noted last year, “Almost one in four of President Obama’s 2012 white working-class supporters defected from the Democrats in 2016, either supporting Mr Trump or voting for a third-party candidate.” These voters saw themselves at the wrong end of globalisation (they were), on the wrong side of the many-layered social, cultural and economic revolution being pushed by America’s coastal elites (they are), and they really, really did not like Hillary Clinton (who in turn dubbed them “deplorable”). But however much they had fallen out with the Democrats, they suspected that the Republicans were just a different side of a corrupt Washington establishment with no interest in their plight. To them, Trump was an outsider, a disruptor. Billionaire or not, he appeared to sympathise and they heard his dog-whistle too. They handed him a mandate to try something different (and they were prepared to lend some votes to those riding on his coattails as well).

Those new voters ought to be pleased enough with their choice. No small part of Trump’s appeal was his pledge to fix the bad trade deals that had supposedly cost so many American jobs. Since taking office, he has revised the free trade agreement with South Korea, and secured Canada and Mexico’s agreement to replace Nafta with the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA), in each case in ways designed to boost American manufacturing employment. As it is, some 400,000 new manufacturing jobs were created in the first 21 months of the Trump administration, far ahead of the pace in the last Obama years. Trump has also taken the tariff fight to the EU (for now there is a ceasefire), and, much more significantly, China. And when it comes to the red, white and blue, these voters should appreciate the difference between an Obama too ready to apologise for his country and a Trump rarely prepared to apologise for anything. Trump’s tough stance on immigration will not hurt him with this constituency either.

For all that, the polls suggest that quite a few rust belt bolters will return to the Democratic fold. Unions, determined to bring their numbers back in line, have stepped up their campaigning. Much of the economic recovery is still passing the left-behind by. Trump may be on the stump, but he is not on the ballot. Voting for just another Republican stiff does not deliver that same insurgent thrill.

Trump is a one-off. He was able to break through because he had the bucks, dreary competition and a powerful place in popular culture. However, he could not have managed it without an audience ready for the message that, thanks to the internet, he was able to communicate directly — with sly skill and without the intermediation of America’s nauseatingly pharisaical media. Say what you will about former Trump consigliere Steve Bannon, he grasped that the “three-legged stool” — strong defence, social conservatism and free market economics — that Ronald Reagan saw as essential for a GOP victory, was broken.

Republicans will not go as far down the populist and nationalist route as Bannon (who was also keen to defy the GOP’s tax taboo by raising taxes on the very richest) would advocate, but as former Trump speechwriter and transition adviser Frank Buckley pointed out his recent book, The Republican Workers Party, most Americans skew further to the left economically than many Republicans realised. Buckley maintains there is a “sweet spot” for the candidate “who won’t touch Social Security and who promises to nominate a judge in the mould of [the late conservative Supreme Court Justice] Antonin Scalia. Donald Trump, in other words”. Trade apart, the more “leftist” side to Trump (which has, to be fair, always been there) has not been, to put it mildly, very visible since he took office. However, regardless of the direction in which Trump may turn in the next two years, the best shot at a successful GOP future lies not with a Reagan 2.0, but in a formula that blends patriotic populism with, economically and socially, a robust American variant of Christian Democracy. It will not be a smooth ride.

Republican failure to repeat Trump’s rust belt miracle will not mean a Democratic landslide: Trump’s appeal to blue-collar whites has not disappeared, and his wider base within the GOP has remained remarkably resilient through the tweetstorms. While Trump’s approval ratings are low, and have always been low, they come with a very sturdy floor, albeit one that rests, to make a nonsense of architectural metaphors, on just one column — Republican voters. America’s political divisions have sharpened. The once respectable degree of approval a president could expect from supporters of the other party has been shrinking since the Eisenhower era. According to Gallup, both Ike and JFK enjoyed approval ratings from across the aisle averaging a little under 50 per cent. Bill Clinton, by contrast, could (the Pew Research Center found) only manage 27 per cent, a figure of which Obama (14 per cent) could only dream. Trump? Seven per cent.

Republicans, however, have stood by their man. On average, 84 per cent of them approve of the job Trump is doing, a rating roughly in line with that received by earlier presidents from their own team. Even if we ignore the effect of a strong economy (and we should not), and even if we ignore the way that America’s growing political polarisation is pushing Republicans to downplay or turn a blind eye to their leader’s obvious flaws (we should not), this is less surprising than it may seem. Stylistically Trump may have next to nothing in common with previous Republican presidents (or presidents full stop), but this former Democrat’s administration has broken with his (current) party’s orthodoxy by less than some imagined.

This year saw a massive tax cut (that it ignored the concerns of budget hawks was not, sadly, anything new). There has been significant regulatory rollback, both by repealing existing regulations and, no less importantly, by not introducing new ones. According to calculations by the Brookings Institution, 69 “major rules” (as defined by the Office of Management and Budget) were introduced in the first year of the Obama administration, but only 30 in Trump’s initial 12 months, a slowdown that should continue regardless of the midterm results. Sometimes it takes a crony capitalist to understand the value of getting government out of the way.

Then there are the courts. With the law increasingly politicised, the appointment of judges — as the fight over Brett Kavanaugh’s nomination to the Supreme Court demonstrates — has become an increasingly bitter battlefield. Trump has placed two conservative judges onto the Supreme Court, offering Republicans the prospect of the clear right-of-centre tilt that they have been awaiting for years. He has also pushed through a record number of appointments further down the judicial pecking order. Neither achievement would have been possible without GOP control of the Senate. The Kavanaugh collision will have reminded any GOP voters who needed reminding that there is a lot at stake on November 6.

While Trump’s views on trade make some Republicans wince, there has been little (overall — as always with this president there have been some alarming moments) in his broader foreign policy to disturb them. Abandoning both the neocons’ expensive (in many senses) universalism and the ostentatious humility and “leading from behind” of the Obama years, in favour of a colder “Jacksonian” calculation of the national interest, has played well with the GOP’s rank-and-file. Trump has eased off his nuttier talk about Nato, and he appears to have bullied some of the Atlantic Alliance’s deadbeats into agreeing to cough up a bit more. Meanwhile, the US is boosting its own military budget, much of it with an eye on deterring China and, yes, Russia. For all Trump’s unsettling, even flirtatious attitudes to some of the world’s hard men, an America that is “great again” is not going to be pushed around, a theme that rarely plays poorly on the right.

When it comes to policy, the greatest difference between the Trump administration and its GOP predecessors may be over immigration. Divisions within the Congressional Republican party over this topic have meant that the only route to tighter control has been through administrative action. Bureaucracies — consider the Home Office — are not known for their light touch. The harshest aspects of the administration’s approach (most notably the deservedly notorious and highly unpopular “family separation” policy at the border) — have proved highly contentious. But the Democrats’ increasingly sharp shift on immigration (as in so many other matters, ever further to the left) has meant that those favouring a tougher approach to immigration — and that is most rank and file Republicans, even before a several-thousand-strong “caravan” of migrants started to move north from Central America in mid-October — have nowhere else to turn.

But will they turn out to vote? Traditionally Republicans have been more willing to make their way to midterm voting stations than have their opponents. For a while, it had looked as if this would not be the case in 2018. Enraged by Trump, Democrats have been turning out in more force than usual for “off-year” (elections held in an odd-numbered year) and “special” (by) elections. In themselves the results, whether slimmer victory margins or outright losses, particularly at the state level, do not make pleasant reading for the Republicans, but the pickup in Democratic turnout may be a dark omen, made darker still by signs that fewer Republicans were bothering to vote.

It may be, however, that the brawl over the Kavanaugh nomination — a brawl so nasty that, even despite America’s short attention span, it is unlikely to have been forgotten by election day — has brightened the picture for the GOP. Although the Kavanaugh drama widened a huge gender gap even further in the Democrats’ direction (according to a mid-October NBC News/Wall Street Journal poll of likely voters, women favoured the Democrats by a 57-32 margin, while the GOP’s lead with men was 52-38), it seemed to have energised some previously somnolent Republicans.

A mid-October CBS survey of “battleground states” revealed a jump in the number of Republicans who were “very enthusiastic” about voting to 62 per cent (compared to 51 per cent the month before). This trend was backed by a poll revealing that roughly equal numbers (80 per cent or so) of Republicans and Democrats considered that the midterms were “very important”. In earlier surveys this year, considerably more Democrats than Republicans had felt that way. The National Republican Congressional Committee reported that low-dollar giving, a characteristic sign of grassroots enthusiasm, has also perked up. It may be telling that, in eight key states, early voting (something permitted to varying degrees in 38 states and the District of Columbia) appeared to show the Republicans ahead in seven.

The bad news for the GOP is that six out of ten Democrats were already enthused about voting (more evidence that the Republicans will not see any turnout advantage this time round). Democratic fundraising, including those weathervane low-donations, has also been running strongly all year — and still is. In the third quarter, Democrats raised more than three times as much (in total) for their campaigns in the 30 “toss-up” states than Republicans could drum up, something that could easily tip a number of those seats the Democrats’ way, and is clearly a concern for the White House.

The even worse news for the party of Trump? It looks from a CNN poll, released on October 10, as if women will turn out to vote in just as large numbers as men. That is not normally the case. It is no coincidence that there has been a surge in the number of women running for office this year, a surge, for the most part, accounted for by, you guessed it, Democrats. Then again, 53 per cent of white women — including 45 per cent of white women with college degrees — voted for Trump in 2016, suggesting that some of the gender gap may be exaggerated. Perhaps there is a reason to believe (largely) anecdotal evidence that the onslaught on Kavanaugh may have persuaded some Republican women to (once again) overcome their doubts about the pussy-grabber and stick with their party.

Latinos may also fail the Democrats. They constitute just under 13 per cent of the electorate, and heavily favour the Democrats (a widely-quoted national exit poll showing that 29 per cent of Hispanics opted for Trump in 2016 looks to have been a substantial overestimate that — familiar story — failed to reflect regional disparities). It is striking then that, despite (if that’s the right word — feelings on this issue are more nuanced than often assumed) all the controversies over immigration, a late September poll showed that 41 per cent of Latinos “approved” of Trump’s job performance (and that was not so much of an outlier as might be thought). That does not necessarily mean that they will vote for him, but it may make them less determined to come out to vote against him. With Latino turnout customarily low (27 per cent in the 2014 midterms), that matters. One of the explanations for that reluctance to vote, incidentally, is that over 40 per cent of eligible Latino voters are under 35, an age range in which far fewer Americans of any kind are interested in voting. The data miners at FiveThirtyEight, a website known for its polling analysis, have found signs, including relatively high turnout by younger voters in 2017’s off-year elections, that hint that in 2018 this will be different.

So what is going to happen? In the absence of — and with this president this is a big “absence” — some new scandal catching fire (currently the New York Times is doing its best to create some kindling out of the Trump family’s tax “planning”), an unusually unfortunate tweet, a major development in Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s investigation or, to steal Harold Macmillan’s useful word, “events” (I am writing this a few hours after news broke that pipe bombs had been sent to some leading Democrats), there’s a chance that Republicans may actually increase their 51-49 Senate majority. They start with a strong defensive position. Only 9 of the 35 contested seats are currently in GOP hands. Moreover, thanks to Vice President Pence having a casting vote, they only need to hang on to 50 seats to keep control.

What’s more, Democratic hopes that a would-be Obama 2.0, Robert “Beto” O’Rourke, a likeable and extraordinarily well-funded Irish-American congressman from El Paso with a handy Latino nickname, might defeat Texas’s Rafael “Ted” Cruz, a pantomime villain Latino senator with a handy Anglo middle name, look likely to be disappointed. So does Phil Bredesen, Taylor Swift’s pick to upset the Republicans in Tennessee. The GOP is still on the defensive in Nevada and, particularly, Arizona, but there are signs that the tide is turning its way in both states. Republicans, meanwhile, are greedily eyeing a handful of possible gains too, including Florida, Indiana, Missouri and North Dakota, the latter two both states where the Kavanaugh wars may have helped the GOP.

It looks, however, as if Republicans will lose the House. The scale of defeat will probably be modest (perhaps very modest), a good way short of those more than 60 seats lost by the Democrats in 2010, not least because any sort of landslide would need Democrats to win a lot of Republican or Republican-leaning seats, not easy at the best of times, and these are not the best of times.

But any Democratic majority, however slim, will be enough to enable the party to launch the investigations that it hopes will enmesh and eventually strangle Trump. To win control of the House the Democrats will need 218 seats. They currently have a little under 200. If they reach the magic 218, the rules of the game will change in a way that is likely to influence politics more than policy. Democrats will have proper cards of their own — rather than those that chance or the cackhandedness of the president sling their way — to play. And, in the shape of investigations (directly or indirectly) of the president launched by congressional committees they would then control, they will play them aggressively.

Quite what these investigations will turn up is anyone’s guess, as is the way in which Trump, not always at his best under pressure, will react to their mere existence, let alone to any adverse conclusions they may draw. Meanwhile Mueller’s probe drags menacingly on. He has already gathered an impressive collection of scalps, and there will be more. Whether, by encouraging a Democratic House to try its luck with impeachment, one might eventually come with orange hair may define the next two years.

In the unlikely event that the Republicans lose the Senate as well as the House, their leaders’ most likely response will be to try to distance the GOP from the president who led them to disaster. That will be no easy task with so many of the party faithful on the Trump train. And it was not just the GOPeons. A good number of the GOP elite also hitched a ride: To take one example among many, just this past summer, former Trump foe, Senator “little Marco” Rubio was proclaiming the need for “a new nationalism”. “Make America Great Again” had, I suppose, been taken.

And if Republicans hold both Senate and House, the film director Rob Reiner, one of the most vocal of Hollywood’s maddened liberal herd, has tweeted a warning of what to expect: “A fascist autocracy.”

Oh.

Don’t believe the EU – Greece’s crisis is nowhere near over

CapX, August 17, 2018

With Nemesis dodged, however ruinously, it has not taken too long for Hubris to reemerge from under the rubble.

“The Greek crisis ends here tonight,” declared the EU commissioner for Economic and Financial Affairs within minutes of the conclusion of the June meeting at which it was agreed that Greece would receive the final slice (€15 billion) of its third Eurozone bailout this August.

Even though Greece’s graduation from rehab had been sweetened by its Eurozone creditors extending the repayment date of almost €100 billion of debt (about a third of the total) by ten years, this claim of victory was both tasteless (youth unemployment currently stands at nearly 40 per cent) and premature. Greece will be left with a cash cushion of €24 billion, which should enable it to avoid having to approach the financial markets for around two years — a handy breathing space, to be sure, but one that is more likely to be a respite than the preamble to a cure.

The country’s GDP expanded by 1.35 per cent in 2017, after almost a decade of annual declines interrupted only by the annus mirabilis of 2014, the one year when it eked out a positive return, a miserly 0.74 per cent. The IMF reckons that the pace will pick up to 2 per cent in 2018 and 2.4 per cent in 2019, which is at least something, if less than hoped earlier.

Perhaps that might happen — if the global economy keeps ticking over (and the neighbourhood remains calm: let’s not talk about Turkey and Italy) — but it’s impossible to miss the subtext lurking within the IMF’s recent report on Greece. Has a slump as deep as America’s Great Depression, but more prolonged, left behind enough of a country to make its own way? And will, as the IMF clearly worries, the continued policing of Greece’s finances by its reluctant rescuers be so severe that it shrinks the scale of a desperately needed recovery?

Formal exit from the bailout regime will mean an end to the harshest of the austerity measures that went with it, but Athens will still be required to maintain an annual “primary” (i.e. before debt servicing) budgetary surplus of 3.5 per cent until 2022. The straitjacket will then be loosened — somewhat. The government will be expected to achieve an average annual primary surplus of 2.2 per cent until, well, 2060.

Adding a culturally appropriate touch of Sisyphus to this already implausible undertaking (the IMF diplomatically talks of “very optimistic assumptions”), any new funding from the markets will be priced on far less generous terms than Greece’s rescuers have been charging.

And there’s no reason to be sanguine about that existing debt. It may be cheap and the timetable for its repayment leisurely, but its sheer size (some 180 per cent of GDP) means trouble ahead. After all, this is not a drachma-denominated liability that Greece once might have printed away. And it wouldn’t be a drachma-denominated liability even if Greece readopted the currency it should never have abandoned. A reborn drachma would plummet so far that the dream of repayment would quickly be replaced with the reality of default.

Brussels’ convenient conceit is that the EU’s new and improved Greece will grow out from under this burden, an unlikely prospect made more unlikely still by overly onerous budgetary constraints and the structural problems that should have made the country ineligible for the euro in the first place.

To start with, there is the matter of ensuring the economy can keep up with the rest of the Eurozone, not easy given the country’s persistently low productivity. Back in the days of the drachma, Greece could at least devalue its way into some approximation of competitiveness. With that option off the table, the conventional alternative, a domestic squeeze — an “internal devaluation”, to use the jargon — has been tried since the early stages of Greece’s long Calvary, and it is still being tried. But whatever its merits as a device to eliminate some of the worst aspects of the Augean state, there is scant evidence that it has done very much to sharpen the country’s competitiveness.

Indeed, in some respects it may have made things worse. Destruction can be creative, but sometimes it is just destructive. GDP stands at 2003 levels and at less than 60 per cent of its 2008 peak. Disposable income has fallen by about a third since 2010 and the private sector has been devastated. The banking sector is under-capitalised (credit is still contracting).

In short, so much has been smashed up that it is difficult to see where the type of turnaround Greece needs can come from. Three hundred thousand Greeks, including many of the nation’s best and the brightest, have emigrated in the last eight years, a move made easier by their right to settle anywhere within the EU. How many will come home?

A similar question can be asked about capital, which also moves freely throughout the EU and, as between the different countries of the Eurozone, with (the danger of eurogeddon apart) no currency risk: A French euro is a Finnish euro is a Greek euro. If a euro invested in Greece cannot offer the returns available from a euro invested elsewhere in the Eurozone, the country will struggle to attract investment, whether domestically or from abroad.

Rather than promote the economic convergence of its constituent parts, a currency union could well have the opposite effect. Capital will tend to flow to its winners and away from its laggards, a process that could doom Greece to ever more peripheral status. This slide will be accelerated by the unwillingness of the Eurozone’s member-states to agree to supplement their monetary union with a fiscal union that would, as in the US, establish the automatic transfer of resources from richer to poorer states that operates as a brake on a currency union’s natural centripetal pull.    

The task of modernising the Greek economy is, to put it mildly, incomplete, and there must be some doubt as to how much further its government is prepared to go down that route. The authors of the IMF report refer politely to “reform fatigue”. “Political pressures,” it warns, “to roll back reforms may intensify ahead of the 2019 elections”. Indeed they may, not only because of the agony associated with these reforms (made even more painful by outcomes with a tendency to disappoint), but also because of the largely accurate perception that they have been imposed from outside.

A good number of the real culprits — most notably those who took Greece into a currency union for which it was not ready and then squandered the opportunity it might have represented— are home-grown, but that’s not how it appears to many voters. Under the circumstances, it will not be surprising if some politicians are tempted to suggest to them that Sisyphus should shrug.

But even if Greeks do vote to stay the course — and the best guess is that they will, if only, in many cases, because they fear the alternatives —  and even if Italy’s new government does not trigger a broader Eurozone fracas, economics will eventually reignite the Greek crisis and, probably, sooner rather than later.

One of the rare, if partial, concessions to reality in the arrangements negotiated in June was that the Eurozone’s leadership will take another look at Greece’s situation in 2032 (2032!) to see if further debt relief is required. Well, it will be — and quite some time before then, because, in the end, nothing has really changed. Greece will continue to pay a terrible price for membership in a currency union for which it was, is and will be completely unsuited, but is understandably terrified to leave.

Its creditors, meanwhile, particularly in the Eurozone’s richer north, are terrified about the damage a Grexit could do to a Eurozone built on unstable foundations that they don’t want to complete, demolish or remodel. And so, after a re-run of a drama that will be stale before it has begun, there will be a fourth Greek bailout – and that won’t change much either.

The Propagandist and the Censor

National Review, June 21, 2018

In 1936, Oswald Mosley, Britain’s Mussolini-in-waiting, released a question-and-answer book that explained what a Fascist Blighty might look like. Freedom of the press? Fleet Street would “not be free to tell lies.”

Some 80 years on, German chancellor Angela Merkel, infuriated by criticism of her immigration policy (and, rather less so, by Russian disinformation), endorsed a new law, the catchily named Netzwerkdurchsetzungsgesetz, under which social-media companies must take down posts that constitute “manifestly unlawful . . . hate speech” and “fake news” from their sites within 24 hours of a complaint. Failure to do so can result in a fine of up to 50 million euros. Fake news is criminally fake if it amounts, say, to an insult, malicious gossip, or defamation — including defamation of a religion or ideology — sufficiently serious to contravene German law.  

Combine the potential size of the fine with offenses that lend themselves to flexible interpretation (much like that “manifestly”) and it’s easy to see that Berlin intended to scare social-media companies into an approach to censorship that goes far further than the letter of the law, a ploy that appears to be working. The government wanted to shut down talk that was not necessarily illegal but — after Merkel flung open her country’s doors in the summer of 2015 — uncomfortably unorthodox. The mainstream media had enthusiastically echoed the chancellor’s Willkommenskultur narrative of kindly Germans cheerfully greeting the migrants, but establishment unanimity was not enough for the instinctively authoritarian Merkel. Her less “welcoming” compatriots had found an audience on social media. That would not do.

Others have taken note. Singapore, no haven of free speech, is taking aim at “deliberate online falsehoods.” Malaysia has criminalized “news, information, data and reports which is or are wholly or partly false.” (Intent seems to be irrelevant.) Russian lawmakers, immune as usual to irony, have proposed their own laws against fake news.

Brussels is on the case — of course it is — urging social-media companies to sign up for a voluntary code of conduct to combat what the European Commission refers to as “verifiably false or misleading information . . . [that is] created, presented and disseminated for economic gain or to intentionally deceive the public, and [that] may cause public harm.” That word “verifiably” has to do a great deal of heavy lifting, and, as for “misleading,” well . . .

Some of Brussels’s proposals, such as more transparency about sponsored commentary, are sensible. Others could conceivably reflect an even more cynical view of the European public’s credulousness than that displayed by the Kremlin. It takes only an elementary understanding of how politics works to grasp that the call for EU member-states “to scale up their support of quality journalism” will be used to justify lucrative handouts for journalism that toes the party line.

Another recommendation, “enhancing media literacy,” isn’t an invitation to corruption, but if the enhancement is to be anything more than a lesson or two in applied skepticism (no bad thing), instruction on how to “read” media will just as likely — thank you, Michel Foucault — enable fake news as do the opposite. Equally, turning to “an independent European network of fact-checkers” is a less-than-reassuring idea: Fact-checkers have all too frequently shown themselves prone to bias. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? was a good question 2,000 years ago, and it’s a good question now, but it’s not one that worries many of those leading the charge against fake news.

Meanwhile, France’s president, Emmanuel Macron, is pushing a law to battle fake news that includes allowing politicians to complain to a judge about the spreading of supposedly false information online during or shortly before an election. The judge has 48 hours to respond and can, under certain circumstances, block the offending item, a power that — call me a cynic — could, just possibly, be abused. Fake news, Macron told the U.S. Congress in April, is a “virus,” an attack on the spirit of democracy: “Without reason, without truth, there is no real democracy, because democracy is about true choices and rational decisions.” That prettily complimentary, pretty delusional description (take your pick) leaves open the question as to who is to decide what is true — Quis custodiet? again — and where reason is to be found. The madness of crowds is a perennial risk, but a ruling caste convinced that it has all the answers can be more harmful still.

Macron’s words contained the seed of the suggestion that if the electorate votes on a basis its betters find to be flawed, the result is not “really” democratic. To follow that logic through, should such a result be allowed to stand? Macron, it should be remembered, is one of those now steering the EU, an institution with a tradition of either condemning or ignoring electorates that have voted the “wrong” way, or, for that matter, nudging them back to the polling booth for a do-over.  

There is no reason for any complacency here in America. The First Amendment’s protections have never been absolute. While they have been extended a long way, that process can go into reverse. When intellectual fashions change, judicial precedent can be more elastic than is often assumed. And intellectual fashions have changed. The assault on free speech has long since burst out of the academy and, somewhat paradoxically, has been given extra heft by the ubiquity and indispensability of social media, private terrain where the First Amendment has very little application.

On Facebook, on Twitter, and elsewhere, the apparatchiks of Silicon Valley’s new class rule on the limits of free expression, a power they may well eventually have to share — not necessarily unhappily — with politicians who are no fonder of the wrong sort of talk than they are. Fake news could well give Washington a pretext to join in the effort to tame social-media speech. Always on the lookout for another excuse for 2016, Hillary Clinton has described fake news as a “danger that must be addressed,” and Senator Dianne Feinstein (D., Calif.) told social-media companies last fall that if they didn’t sort out the problem, “we will.”

That’s not a threat to take lightly. Social media are now an essential part of the public square. To the extent that social-media comments are policed, the approach taken — arbitrary, opaque, and (at least to a degree) biased — is, given the market power of the social-media giants, disturbing. But the alternatives are worse. What the market gives, the market can take away. What the state takes, it generally keeps. Giving the government the power directly (or indirectly, via proxies) to determine what social-media content is true — and, in some cases, to suppress that which it has decided is false — would be a menace to free speech too obvious to need explaining.

“Regular” media meanwhile would be untouched, protected, as they should be, by the First Amendment. They would also be left to promote their takes (far from monolithic, but still) on events with fewer challenges than they now face, a windfall that would be as unhealthy as it is undeserved. The First Amendment is not a guarantor of objectivity. In an age when the boundaries between reporting and opinion in newspapers, television, and radio have faded, disinformation is, to put it mildly, not confined to games played within the social-media feeds of the unwary.

When Donald Trump describes this more respectably sourced disinformation — and anything else he considers (or pretends to consider) to be disinformation — as “fake news,” he is sending a message that works on several levels. Hijacking a term that was already resonating with the public is not only a clever way of rebottling an old whine — politicians are forever grumbling about the press — but a way of making it stronger. It is not just an attack on the story, but on its source — and on what’s left of its authority. CNN? No better than Facebook.

Broadening the definition of fake news is also a subtle undermining of the argument that Trump owes his presidency to media manipulation. If anything, it carries with it the hint that he was elected despite fake news, not because of it. It may also, one day, provide a way for either Left or Right to begin the erosion of the First Amendment protections the press now enjoys. According to a Harvard-Harris poll from May of last year, two-thirds of voters believe that the mainstream media publish fake news, and that survey was by no means an outlier.

Treating the partisan dishonesty of the news media and the real (so to speak) “fake news” as, basically, the same also risks overlooking the genuine hazard that the latter may represent. For now (but only for now) its most potentially dangerous manifestation comes from the dezinformatsiya orchestrated by a Kremlin once again appreciative of how destabilizing disinformation can be — and clearly aware of how neatly such disinformation can be slipped into social media. How much influence Russian fake news (a handy scapegoat for disconcerting electoral outcomes) has really had so far can be debated, but there is no doubt that the sophistication of its targeting and the quality of its material is going to improve rapidly. The day that a computer-generated Trump makes a fake but (to the right audience) truly incendiary speech mocking, perhaps, the prophet Mohammed is not far away.

The prospect is terrifying. But so is one element in the likely response: the unleashing of censors to block this, ban that, and, presumably, fight a long Pac-Man struggle with bots as the prey. But this cyberwar would probably do more damage to what’s left of the West’s free speech than to the lies of our opponents. Fake news can be suppressed or, infinitely better, rebutted, but, as it speeds through the Web, it can travel many times around the world before the truth has time to boot up.

The Gutenberg galaxy is expanding exponentially, generating unprecedented amounts of information — true, false, and everything in between. To the extent we can trust it — Quis custodiet? — technology may help identify what is reliable and what is not (I met the other day with the CEO of a start-up using artificial intelligence to rate the reliability of those posting on social media), but technology will have to contend with psychology. Our quest for objectivity is less diligent than we like to think. We are all too ready to collaborate in our own deception. Some stories are too good not to believe, some stories are too satisfying to unpack (how many birthers were there again?), some gossip is too good not to pass on, and confirmation bias remains as seductive and reassuring as it ever was.

Skepticism will help, but too much of it — easy enough in an era when old media are regarded with suspicion and new media are difficult to process, let alone trust — can lead to a perverse gullibility. In a 1974 interview, Hannah Arendt observed that “a people that no longer can believe anything . . . is deprived not only of its capacity to act but also of its capacity to think and to judge. And with such a people you can then do what you please.”

Fake news is a challenge that the West must get right. So far, there’s little reason to expect that it will.

Incorrigble Corbyn

The National Interest, June 19, 2018

If Britain is now on a track that may see its democracy endangered, an outbreak of carelessness, complacency and quite astounding stupidity in the summer of 2015 will bear much of the blame. In the general election held in May that year, David Cameron, a Conservative who had led a coalition government for five years, won the Tories a surprising absolute majority. It was not large, but it meant he could not use the excuse of coalition to renege on his promise of a referendum on the UK’s membership of the EU.

That was a drama for later. What mattered that summer was that Labour leader Ed Miliband had stood down. His successor was a bolt from the red: Jeremy Corbyn, an extreme (in all senses of the word) representative of what Orwell called that “dreary tribe of…sandal-wearers and bearded fruit-juice drinkers who come flocking towards the smell of ‘progress’ like bluebottles to a dead cat.” Naturally, the bearded Corbyn has been spotted in sandals, and drinks very little or, possibly, no alcohol (“my secret is apple juice or coconut water”).

But back to Miliband: the most interesting thing about him is that he was ruthless enough to beat his brother David, a former foreign minister and the favorite for the job, in the previous contest for the Labour leadership. Nevertheless, he was a consequential leader in two key respects. The first was the mere fact of his election. ‘Red Ed’s’ Caining of his more Blairite brother accelerated Labour’s move away from the legacy of its electorally most successful prime minister.

The second was yet another change (there have been many) in the rules for choosing Labour’s leader. The story is too ornate to go into here, but it would be a shame not to mention that a brawl in a House of Commons bar serves as its prologue. Its conclusion was the replacement of Labour’s electoral college with a “one member, one vote” electorate. This was made up of party members, members of affiliated trade unions who registered as supporters and a new category of ‘supporting members’ who could effectively buy a vote in exchange for a payment of three pounds—the price, one Labour mp noted, of the ‘meal deal’ at one British supermarket chain. The sole recognition that the UK is a parliamentary democracy was the requirement that this ‘selectorate’ could only choose a candidate nominated by at least 15 percent of Labour’s parliamentary party—a hurdle supposed to weed out the wild men, a category into which Corbyn most certainly fell.

He was a thirty-two-year parliamentary veteran who few Labour parliamentarians seemed to like—and even fewer agreed with. Over the years, he had defied his party whips more than four hundred times. He had been the most rebellious Labour MP throughout the three Blair governments. His views may have been poisonous, but he stood by them.

When Corbyn announced he was going to run for the leadership, Britain’s bookies rated him a 100-to-1 outsider. Between them, Blairites, post-Blairites and the soft left accounted for the vast majority of the parliamentary Labour Party. Corbyn should not have been able to find that 15 percent. He had demonstrated the lack of regard he felt for parliament for decades, perhaps most notoriously by inviting two convicted Irish Republican Army (IRA) terrorists for a meeting there shortly after the murderous IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel in Brighton in 1984, an attempted assassination of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and much of her cabinet. Over three decades later, he used the Palace of Westminster to host “our friends from Hezbollah.” “Unfortunately,” the Israelis—dark stars of Corbyn’s demonology—had stopped “friends from Hamas” from making the trek to London.

As his fellow MPs knew, Corbyn, an apologist for Castro, Chavez and other tyrants, has never had much affection for parliamentary democracy. However good a constituency MP he was (very), however grandfatherly he might now look, however (usually) mild his demeanor, Corbyn’s politics were still characterized by an adolescent’s anger, an adolescent’s certainty of his own rectitude and convictions disturbingly unchanged since his brief stint at the equivalent of a community college in the early 1970s.

Sure enough, the early indications were that Corbyn would fall some way short of securing the necessary nominations, despite the arrival of a number of new Hard-Left Labour MPs into parliament (more evidence that the Blairite tide had receded). However, partly thanks to social media pressure—a vital element in Corbyn’s rise and subsequent ascendancy—some MPs ‘lent’ Corbyn their nominations. Others did likewise in the hope of earning credibility with the Left, others because they wanted to drag the debate leftwards, and still others out of misplaced charity.

Some of those lenders might have been lulled both by the passing of time—the Hard Left’s last serious attempt to take over Labour had been over thirty years ago—and a sentimental attachment to the purs et durs. The comrades might be misguided relics from (it was believed with a confidence born during the Blair years) another age, but their hearts were supposedly in the right place.

Besides, even if he made it to the finals, there was no way that Corbyn could become leader. Really? The social media activity and unmistakable signs of enthusiasm for him at the grassroots level foreshadowed what was coming—and some in the party were already beginning to fret about the unpredictability of the new electoral system. Despite that—and despite Corbyn’s record—enough Labour MPs lent Corbyn their nominations to secure him a place (just) on the ballot paper.

Margaret Beckett, a former foreign minister (and more), subsequently described those MPs who, like herself, had lent their nominations to Corbyn as “morons.” A year later, she was one of those Labour MPs who cast a vote of no confidence in Corbyn’s leadership. Too late.

When the nominations closed, there were four candidates; a keeper of Blair’s extinguished flame, someone somewhat to the left of her, someone quite a bit further left still, and, then, in the depths of left field, Corbyn. Within days, it became evident that those early stirrings on social media and within the constituencies had meant something. The delirious reception Corbyn was receiving on the stump—something that was never to fade, something his opponents could never match—was amplified on social media and echoed in the polls. Increasing numbers of people were joining the party or paying their three pounds. They were not doing so to throw their support behind the hapless Blairite (she ended up with a paltry 4.5 percent of the poll)..

Traditionally the trade unions, a force for hard-nosed restraint—it’s complicated—might have been expected to pump the brakes. Not this time. Instead, many, including Unite, the largest, (and, not only that, the largest Labour donor) stepped on the gas. Its boss, Len McCluskey, endorsed Corbyn. Back in the 1980s, McCluskey had been a supporter of Militant, a Trotskyite group looking to infiltrate the Labour Party, but he never joined them. As he told the Liverpool Echo in 2009:

I decided that Militant was too sectarian from a political standpoint to be effective. But I believe that on the chief issues they were right.

He was playing a longer, smarter game. In 2010, McCluskey was a crucial figure in Miliband’s leadership victory, but soon ‘Red Len’ was attacking ‘Red Ed’ from the left: the game had much further to go, and, so in 2015, realized McCluskey, did Jeremy Corbyn.

By the time the polls closed, there was no doubt over the result. Corbyn won with 59.5 percent of the vote. Many Labour Party staffers, Blairite or something close to it, attending the announcement wore black, in mourning, they thought, for Labour. However, it was their Labour in the coffin—not the same thing at all.

And for all the talk that it was the hundred thousand or so “three pounders” that had handed Labour to Corbyn (84 percent voted for him), Corbyn also won a clear majority of trade union votes and a comfortable plurality (49.6 percent) of party members.

Many Conservatives were delighted: Labour was finished, a suicide. They ought to have smirked less and understood more. The excitement generated by the Corbyn campaign (excitement that translated into action: over a quarter of a million people voted for him) had not only pulled in over 100,000 three pounders (perhaps twenty times what had been originally expected), but also some 180,000 people had joined the party itself, roughly doubling its size. The Conservatives had around 130,000 members at that time. That gap continued to grow. By January 2018, Labour’s membership had grown to 552,000, while by March this year the Tories had shrunk to 118,000.

To be sure, Corbyn’s surge fed on itself in a way that transformed his rallies into a phenomenon that was cultural as well as political, lit celebrations not only of the would-be Labour leader, but also of those who would vote for him. This may have been one of those spasms of collective hysteria to which allegedly reserved Britons occasionally succumb, but ominously for the Conservatives, those include not only the keening for Diana but also the remarkable wave of public feeling that preceded and then accompanied Tony Blair’s first electoral landslide.

Corbyn’s behavior in the aftermath of his triumph only reinforced Tory confidence—and the gloom emanating from Labour’s ancien régime. Rather than attempt some sort of reconciliation with the parliamentary party, he appointed one of its most left-wing and least clubbable members: his old friend and comrade John McDonnell, the man who headed his campaign, as shadow chancellor of the exchequer (finance minister), the second most important job on the Labour front bench.

McDonnell is far cleverer, but less diplomatic than his leader. Despite Corbyn’s undisguised appreciation (let’s leave it at that) of those who use force for the right cause, and despite the way that those who oppose him have long found themselves at the wrong end of unpleasant treatment (not least, these days, online), he has, by eschewing overtly violent language, preserved a convenient distance from his rougher supporters. McDonnell is not so fastidious. He has in the past called for the lynching of a Conservative minister (he was angry, he said), and joked about the assassination of Thatcher. He often seems more enthused by “direct action” (“what we used to call insurrection”) than navigating the pathways of parliamentary democracy. As for his intriguing relationship with Irish Republicanism, well, “it’s about time we started honoring those people involved in the armed struggle. It was the bombs and bullets and sacrifice made by the likes of [hunger striker] Bobby Sands that brought Britain to the negotiating table.” McDonnell’s democratic credentials were not enhanced by a 2006 listing of his “most significant” intellectual influences: Marx (whom Corbyn has dubbed a “great economist”), Lenin and Trotsky.

Seumas Milne, the journalist Corbyn appointed as his communications director, and, in many respects ideological enforcer, is an apologist of sorts for the old Soviet empire and something of a Stalin man: he has argued that the Father of Nations’ misdeeds have been overstated, or at least misrepresented. Meanwhile it emerged that Andrew Fisher, Corbyn’s newly-minted head of policy, had (ahead of the 2015 election) urged voters in one constituency to opt for the (anarchist) Class War Party rather than Labour. Fisher was suspended, but with Corbyn giving him his full support, swiftly returned to work.

Margaret Beckett has reproached Corbyn’s inner circle for operating “as if they are not part of the Labour Party.” Winning a general election, she fretted, just didn’t seem to matter to them.

Once again, the ‘moron’ missed the point. Corbyn and his clique are playing that long game. The first step is taking over the Labour Party, half of the duopoly (nationalist complications in the Celtic fringe aside) that has largely driven British politics since 1945. The UK’s combination of “first past the post” voting with a purely parliamentary system (there’s no room for a Macron) hugely favors the existing party structure. There’s been a trickle of moderate Labour MPs leaving parliament since Corbyn’s victory. Some appear to have abandoned electoral politics altogether. Understandably so: The lessons of history are clear—the likelihood of a new party making a breakthrough is close to zero.

Corbyn’s team must know that Labour, as the only ‘real’ alternative to the Conservatives, will someday surely win a general election. If by then the Corbynistas dominate the party, the country will be theirs to rule as they see fit. They have thus concentrated on gaining control of Labour’s institutional structure. Sometimes this is just a matter of placing the right apparatchik in the right job, but sometimes it takes votes. Underlining the extent to which Labour belongs to Corbyn, his candidate (a former Unite official) has been elected as the new general secretary, and Team Corbyn has won majorities on the National Executive Committee (the party’s governing body), as well—God is in the details—as on the more obscure Conference Arrangements Committee (which helps shape the annual party conference).

And Labour’s MPs? Finally stung into action by what they saw as Corbyn’s failure to fight hard enough for the UK’s continued membership of the EU during the June 2016 referendum, they passed an overwhelming, if nonbinding, motion of no confidence in their leader. Corbyn ignored it, maintaining that his mandate derived from his party, not his MPs. A little later, he saw off a formal challenge to his leadership with a larger share of the vote than in 2015, proof—as if any were needed—that his party is not going to unseat him any time soon. Since then, some Corbynskeptic MPs have decided that they love Big Brother after all—a turnaround made easier by fear of unemployment, hope of advancement and Labour’s unexpectedly strong showing in the election the Tories called (and then nearly threw away last year).

But, to the left, many MPs remain—not unreasonably—suspect. In September 2017, there was a reduction in the percentage of the parliamentary party required to nominate a leadership candidate from that awkward 15 percent to 10 percent. Pressure on Corbynskeptic MPs has revved up at the constituency level, not least due to Momentum, a far-left group that emerged from Corbyn’s 2015 campaign with the aim of bolstering his leadership—Red Guards with a whiff of the Praetorian and a hint of the Alinsky about them. Now some 40,000 strong, Momentum has developed into a significant force in a party (its founder, Jon Lansman, was elected onto the National Executive Committee in January) it seems intent on radicalizing still further. Its members include skilled social media warriors but also those prepared to devote the time and, maybe, the venom it takes (there are persistent accusations of intimidation and bullying, online and, occasionally, off), to steer constituency parties—many of which are already more left-leaning than their MP—closer to the new orthodoxy, in some cases by picking Momentum-approved candidates for local elections and, of course, parliament.

More moderate Labour MPs must worry that ‘deselection‘ (as their party’s candidate for the next election) looms, leaving them facing the prospect of unemployment. Deselection is a powerful threat—that’s why Unite’s McCluskey, irritated by Labour MPs objecting to the undeniable strain of anti-Semitism (oh yes, there’s that too) running through some of the Corbynista left—recently wrote that he understood the “growing demand for mandatory reselection,” not the first time that he has mentioned this cudgel. Making every Labour MP go through this process would be an effective way of either purging rebels or bringing them to heel. For now, Corbyn’s political secretary is studying the party’s rulebook with a view to investigating how ‘party democracy’ can be improved. Mandatory selection might easily turn out to be one of her recommendations: MPs, said Corbyn in January this year, “should all be accountable all the time,” an innocuous statement except when it is not.

For their part, Conservatives went into 2017 feeling optimistic about their chances against a party that had so firmly turned its back on what was reckoned to be the center ground. The shock vote for Brexit had unquestionably thrown the Tory Party into disarray in June 2016 (Prime Minister Cameron had announced that he was stepping down), but Labour’s predicament appeared to be even worse. Within days of the referendum much of the shadow cabinet (and a slew of more junior shadow ministers) resigned, and then came that vote of no confidence.

Home Secretary (interior minister) Theresa May, wrongly seen as competent—but rightly regarded as the only realistic candidate after Boris Johnson sank without trace—speedily succeeded David Cameron as Tory leader and prime minister. When, in April 2017, she called a snap general election, the Conservatives were very comfortably ahead in the polls. The only question appeared to be by how much May could build on Cameron’s modest majority.

In the event, she wiped it out. May fought a campaign that was not only tin-eared and technically incompetent (there is this thing called social media, Theresa) but also actively self-destructive. For a party to issue a manifesto proposing a policy—quickly, accurately and lethally labeled a dementia tax—that targeted the savings of some of its most loyal supporters was… unwise. May managed to hang on in office thanks to an arrangement with Ulster’s Democratic Unionist Party, but she surrendered the political initiative to Labour, an initiative that, despite falling short of expectations in this year’s local elections, it essentially still enjoys.

There were scraps of comfort for the Tories: their slice of the vote was the highest since the election held in the afterglow of the Falklands War. However, the increase (over 9 percent) in Labour’s share was the party’s best since the 1945 landslide that tossed Winston Churchill out of office—suggesting that there was more to their success than May’s blunders. With hindsight, the way Corbyn had swept to the Labour leadership was a warning that was ignored. At the time his victory was widely regarded as a temporary aberration rather than understood for what it was: an indication of a wider, deeper discontent.

That misreading led the Tories (and many in Labour too) to assume that Corbyn’s party was unelectable, a calculation that rested firstly on presumptions about the electorate that proved to be false. Corbyn’s terrorist associations were ancient history to many voters, even if they knew about them in the first place. His fondness for foreign despots also mattered less than it should. To borrow from Neville Chamberlain’s infamous formulation, Brits showed little interest in the politics of “far away” countries involving “people of whom [they] know nothing.” Cuba? Nice beaches. In the early stages of the 2017 election, Unite (who else?) lent Andrew Murray, its chief of staff, to help toughen up Labour’s faltering campaign (which he duly did). A former journalist for the communist Morning Star (where Corbyn has been a frequent contributor), Murray had only just switched from the Communist Party to Labour. As if that was not enough, and adding some variety to by now routine attitudes to the Soviet past among some of Corbyn’s closest associates, Murray had expressed “solidarity” with “Peoples’ Korea.” Despite a brief media furor, none of this seemed to bother the voters either. This February Corbyn recruited Murray, who remains with Unite, as a part-time consultant.

Closer to home, the Conservatives (and, to be fair, Labour moderates) had failed to grasp that the political center was defined in one way in Westminster and in quite another in the country at large. The Conservatives were correct, on policy grounds, to attack Labour’s plans for the reversal of some of the privatizations of the past decades, but they were wrong to think that those plans would be viewed as extreme. According to a YouGov poll taken in the middle of the campaign, some two-thirds of respondents wanted to see the renationalization of the Royal Mail (post office), while 60 percent (including 44 percent of Tory supporters) favored the renationalization of the railway companies. Labour’s proposed tax increases on the top 5 percent played well too.

Where the real center of British politics now lies is hard to say, but, very broadly speaking, it has been moving to the left for a long time, not least under Blair (more radical than often realized)—a direction the Tories have been unable to reverse. Quite why this should be is complicated, but the growing diversity of the electorate is a part of it (the Conservatives have struggled to win over ethnic minorities, securing only an estimated 17 percent of their vote in 2017, and, a scandal this year over immigration is likely to make that task even more arduous). To go all Gramsci, the cultural hegemony of (various varieties of) the Left has also weighed heavily. That is true of the entertainment sector, broadcast media (the fundamentally center-left BBC remains the dominant news provider), the law, the National Health Service (and the perennial debate that surrounds it), education (approximately 8 percent of school teachers voted Conservative, and, as for the universities, well…) and in plenty of other areas besides.

The Tories had to contend with more immediate vulnerabilities too. Voters were weary of austerity (Labour promised much more spending, but tax increases would be focused on, of course, other people—the ‘rich’ and corporations, principally). Years of wage stagnation had also soured the mood. But the Conservatives’ most alarming weakness was generational. According to YouGov, they trounced Labour among the over fifties (with the size of their majority increasing with the age of the voter), but fell far short with everyone else. The younger the voter the worse the Tories did, partly because that’s almost always the case, partly because Britain’s cultural and demographic change is more pronounced in younger age cohorts, and partly because of the unlikely aura of cool surrounding Labour’s eccentric and seemingly benign grandpa, a performer so good, when it suits him, at concealing his inner steel—he divorced his second wife largely over her insistence on an ideologically inappropriate school for their son—that a swordstick would be impressed.

More substantively, high house prices, rising rents and stagnant wages are preventing many younger Britons from buying their own home (the added indebtedness caused by still bitterly resented university tuition fees, introduced at the end of the century and substantially hiked since, doesn’t help either: in its manifesto Labour undertook to scrap them). Home ownership rates are at their lowest level (around 63 percent) for thirty years, and it is the younger generation who have borne the brunt of that decline. According to the Institute of Fiscal Studies, home ownership rates for those between the age of 25–34 fell from 55 percent in 1996 to 34 percent in 2016.

“I want,” said Mrs. Thatcher in 1983, “a capital-owning democracy. Housing is the start. If you’re a man or woman of property, you’ve got something.” Her political logic was impeccable, and, for a long time, it worked. It could do so again, but there is no easy fix to the current mess. Instead, Generation Rent is left with its nose pressed against realtors’ windows—windows it must be tempted to smash. Without capital, the young won’t rally behind capitalism. Labour meanwhile promised a major boost to homebuilding and, regardless of how counterproductive they have historically been, tougher controls on landlords.

Then there’s Brexit. The majority of Cameron’s cabinet (including May) campaigned, with varying degrees of enthusiasm against it. But it was Cameron who called the referendum and most Conservatives voted for the break with Brussels. In the eyes of the electorate, Brexit is the Tories’ baby, and, after the referendum, the party hierarchy adopted it. “Brexit means Brexit,” proclaimed May. This brought the Conservatives some gains outside their traditional comfort zone, but protest votes by embittered Tory Remainers almost certainly cost them a greater number of seats within their affluent heartland, territory where people did not feel ‘left behind’ and were anxious about what Brexit could mean for business. Identification of the Conservatives as the Brexit party also widened the generation chasm, reinforcing the perception among younger voters, who generally supported Remain, that the Tories were the party of the past, Little Englanders and worse.

None of this accounts for the sudden collapse in Conservative support in the final weeks before the 2017 vote—that was due to the Tories’ self-inflicted wounds and an increasingly impressive Labour campaign—but it helps explain why it fell as far and as fast as it did.

The problem for the Conservatives in 2018 is that not much has changed. Their apparent reprieve in this year’s local elections will probably only be a temporary embarrassment for Corbyn. If May is lucky, it could transform a war of movement into one of attrition (at the time of writing, Corbyn’s personal approval ratings—never high—have slipped below May’s uninspiring tally), but the two sides remain dangerously closely matched: a Labour victory could be just one recession away (the next election is due in 2022). The current recovery, however lackluster, has already lasted a reasonably long time, something that ought to mean that a downturn is on the way—a downturn that would be accelerated, deepened and prolonged by a botched Brexit.

Anything written today about the form that Brexit eventually takes will be rapidly overtaken by events. Nevertheless, as matters now stand, the most straightforward solution, the more or less off-the-shelf ‘Norway option’ (leaving the EU, but remaining within the ‘Single Market’), a solution seemingly acceptable to Brussels, has been rejected by the British government, and, tellingly, not solely because of Brexit hardliners. May is still hunting a dream, a middle way that she likes (and can sell both to her parliamentary colleagues and the EU) between two election-losing alternatives, a highly disruptive ‘hard’ Brexit or one so ‘soft’ that trying to force it through splits her party, alienates former Labour Leavers—or both. Raising the stakes still further, if the EU rejects May’s final proposal, the UK will crash out of the union, resulting in a chaotic, hardest-of-all Brexits, a finale more electorally poisonous than all the rest.

Corbyn will try to sit tight, doing his best—it’s getting trickier—to maintain the artful ambiguity that has served him so well on Brexit. Whatever Remainer platitudes Labour’s ‘absolute boy’ may have muttered during the referendum, he has been a Brexiteer for decades, principally—whatever he may say about the matter—because he sees it as an obstacle to building a properly socialist state. But he is also well aware that some 70 percent of Labour voters wanted to stay in the EU, and that his party has, on balance, benefited from being viewed as the party of Remain.

In February, Corbyn recommended that the UK should enter into a customs union with the EU—something the Conservatives have, for what may be a very temporary now, rejected—but quit the Single Market. Politically that could achieve what Corbyn wants. It sends a useful signal to Remainers, leaves the Tories stuck in their Brexit mare’s nest and, should such a deal actually be struck, it would not block his designs on the economy. Corbyn is also under some pressure to help efforts to stay in the Single Market. In the implausible event he agreed, it would in all probability only be as a device to harass the Tories and only if there was no chance that his assistance would make a material difference. The (more or less) economically liberal discipline underpinning the Single Market cannot ultimately be reconciled with his longer-term vision for Britain.

Masterly inactivity comes with another advantage for Corbyn. It is presently envisaged that the UK’s formal departure from the EU in March 2019 will be followed by a transition period until December 2020. That date ensures that Brexit will still be fresh in the memories of many Remainers when they vote in the next general election, currently scheduled for May 2022. They will be angrier still if there is a recession between now and then. Rightly or wrongly, a downturn is, even if only partly, bound to be blamed on Brexit. Another risk for the Conservatives is that with Brexit a definitively done deal by the end of the transition period (even, if as is now being suggested, transitional customs arrangements are kept going past 2020) some Leavers who left Labour over Brexit may well feel that it is safe to return to the fold—especially if a recession has rekindled old class loyalties.

Away from the Brexit morass, the Conservatives still lack an adequate response to the challenges posed or exploited by Corbyn in 2017. A new leader might help, if only cosmetically, if someone suitable can be found. So far May has held on to her job for the same reason that she won it—the lack of a viable alternative. If she’s still heading the Tory ticket in 2022, it’s hard to see how the Conservatives can prevail even if they can organize (low bar) a somewhat less dreadful campaign than last time. They will have been in power for twelve years—an eon in an age of restless electorates. Keeping May at the top will be brutal confirmation that they are out of people as well as ideas.

The ideas they do have, criticized in one instance (but it applies more widely) as trying to beat Corbyn with Miliband, are likely to be expensive and hard to pay for. And that is without taking account, say, of the sharply rising cost of caring for a growing population of the old and the very old (the dementia tax was a bad answer to a good question). The electorate may have had enough of austerity, but the nation’s debt burden remains high (at around 87 percent of gdp), and increasing spending, even if interest rates stay low, is not a solution without political problems of its own.

Meanwhile, the Conservatives show few signs of knowing how to reverse the decline in the numbers of their ageing, shrinking party (one recent plan, a discount card for younger Tories with a chain of chicken restaurants, came to nothing). In 2017, the far larger—and energized—Labour Party was able to combine social media with boots on the ground to good effect. The Tories may be able to up their online game next time round, but, to quote Momentum’s Lansman, “elections are not won by air wars alone.” He’s right, but the way things are going, the main evidence of the Conservative Party’s presence on the sidewalks will be the whir of a walker’s wheels. Quite a few of those who voted for the party in 2017 won’t even survive long enough to manage that. Theoretically, the middle-aged of today—the old codgers of tomorrow—will replace them, growing more Conservative as they age. Theoretically.

It could be that the more people see of Corbyn, the more relaxed they will become about him. The Tories’ best hope may be that the opposite occurs. The longer that Corbyn (a potential prime minister now, not a no hoper) stays in close focus, the greater the chance that voters will come to understand that the extremist of yesteryear is the extremist of today and the extremist of tomorrow. They may not care that Corbyn palled around with Irish Republicans decades ago, but they didn’t like it when he equivocated over the Russian poison attack in March, in a manner hard, incidentally, to square with the exaggerated reputation for integrity that he enjoys. More generally, Corbyn’s underlying beliefs are quite some way to the left of many Labour voters (let alone voters merely looking in Labour’s direction), if not of his party. That will become ever clearer as time goes by. And the nervous will not be reassured by the high visibility of Corbyn’s more aggressive supporters. If his advisors are smart, Corbyn will campaign in 2022 on, by his standards, a moderate program. After all, if his MPs are either onside or under control—and, increasingly, they will be—he can do what he wants after he gets into power.

Britain has often been described as an elective dictatorship. It is a democracy with dismayingly few guardrails. The constitution is unwritten, legal protections are not as good as they might be, and departure from the EU will, for good and ill, remove another set of constraints on British governments’ freedom of maneuver. Prime Minister Corbyn will exploit this to the full. The red flag will not be flying over Buckingham Palace, but a Corbyn government will do everything it can to push through an agenda far more radical than anything contained in its election manifesto, with, perhaps, the run on the pound that will accompany its election as the excuse: capital controls would not be a surprise. ‘Emergency’ tax increases would not be a surprise. That will just be the beginning.

Such a government will use the institutions of the state to entrench its own position. What the Corbynistas have done to Labour, Labour will do to Britain. The return of state control over more and more of the economy—all duly approved by parliament—will give them many of the levers it will need to do just that (and, another instrument of power, the jobs to dole out to the faithful).

Over time, Labour’s opponents will be marginalized and targeted in ways that will begin, but not end, with the petty. Dissent will become more difficult. The UK is already too keen on criminalizing speech or an ‘inappropriate’ tweet. There will be worse, much worse, to come under a government led by a man who is visibly irritated by much of the press and has shown every sign of wanting to do something to rein it in. Momentum and other activist groups will also be on the beat to cow troublemakers into line.

If Labour wins, British democracy will not be what it was, the British economy will not be what it was and Britain’s alliances will not be what they were. It is ideologically consistent, although not forgivable, that Corbyn had a soft spot for the Soviet bloc, for Castro and for Chavez. But how to explain, say, the approach, sometimes sympathetic, sometimes merely helpful, taken by Corbyn (once an rt regular) to Vladimir Putin, no leftist? Then there were the friendly gestures towards the Iranian theocracy and, even, attempts to draw a form of moral equivalence between ISIS and the United States. It is not, it seems, just capitalism that Corbyn objects to, but the West in general, the United States in particular, and, of course, always, always Israel. Under the circumstances, the durability of Labour’s 2017 manifesto commitment to NATO, an organization Corbyn has always regarded with disdain, cannot be taken for granted. That is even more the case with the commitment to the renewal of Trident, Britain’s nuclear deterrent, a commitment passed without Corbyn’s support. Trident would not survive for long if Corbyn, a lifelong unilateral disarmer, ever made it to Number 10. NATO, an even touchier topic, might be a different matter. Rather than taking the highly perilous political risk of quitting outright, Labour would probably just allow Britain’s participation in the alliance to wither on the vine.

If I had to guess, helped by the miseries that are likely to dog the Conservatives over the next few years, Corbyn’s Labour will win the next election and either form (or, if it lacks an absolute majority) dominate the next government. If it does not, it will try again the next time round.

It only has to win once.

Time has let Corbyn off the hook

CapX, 26 February, 2018

Talk of contacts with Czech Intelligence has generated some entertaining headlines but it hasn’t done Jeremy Corbyn much harm. According to a YouGov poll, only eight per cent of voters think less of him. Nearly two-thirds (some of whom, I suppose, may have already thought that he was a Commie spy) are apparently left unchanged in their opinion and six per cent seemed somewhat impressed. We shouldn’t be surprised. The unelectable, unthinkable Corbyn swept to the leadership of the Labour Party and then led his unelectable party to an almost unthinkable result in the general election. Nearly nine months later, this unelectable party is ahead at the polls: a lead that has grown since Jan Sarkocy started to reminisce.

We do not know what, if any, Cold War skeletons may yet emerge from Corbyn’s cupboard, though it should be stressed that there is, so far, no convincing evidence that he was recruited as an agent or did anything other than have meetings with a representative of a foreign government. But even if there were to be any revelations, it’s difficult to see what difference they would make. After all, there are horrors enough out there as it is: they range from Corbyn’s involvement with (let’s be polite) Irish republicanism to a politically and psychologically disturbing series of fanboy infatuations with thugs, goons and hard men overseas. That some of them are on the hard Left is unsurprising, given Corbyn’s always adventurous interpretation of “democratic” socialism, but it says something – and nothing good – that others appear to be united by little more than their distaste for the liberal West, a liberal West that includes the country that Corbyn would like to lead.

Corbyn, secular and socialist, has praised the revolution that led to Iran’s klepto-theocracy. He once called for “political compromise” with ISIS, and has marched rather too closely in step with a Kremlin that in reality, if not always in imagery, has long since left the red flag behind.

Large numbers of Labour voters are aware of at least some of this, and quite a few are aware too that there is plenty more – hatred of Nato, say, or a degree of sympathy for Serbia’s Slobodan Milosevic – bubbling in the sewer from which Corbyn’s enthusiasms emerge. Yet they still vote for him and his party. They would thus be unlikely to be too concerned by accusations of Cold War skullduggery from over 30 years ago, even, I suspect, if it turned out that “Agent Cob” had handed the Czechs some gossip he felt might speed up the march to Utopia.

Such insouciance is a worry, but not much of a mystery. To no small extent, Corbyn has been let off the hook by nothing more complicated than time. It’s been more than three decades since his alleged Czech encounter, and, for that matter, since he invited two convicted IRA terrorists to a meeting in parliament shortly after the Brighton bombing. The Troubles were ended by the Good Friday agreement and the Cold War by the collapse of the Soviet empire. Memories of both conflicts have faded and so have the passions they once aroused. Time can be too good, and too forgiving, a healer. It is also an accomplished gravedigger. Many of those able to understand the significance of Corbyn’s past behaviour are no longer around to explain.

Later generations have been taught a version of the past that has also been helpful to Corbyn. The Left won the history wars: Corbyn’s Irish entanglements are often excused, with more success than his contemporaries might have expected – or the IRA’s victims deserved – as freelance peacemaking. His embrace of socialism’s rougher variants and with it, a certain fondness for the other side of the Iron Curtain, is regarded as evidence of a heart in the right place. The Soviet experiment was built on a noble ideal, you see. Or so the lie goes.

The broader history of Britain’s 1970s and early-1980s has been rewritten in a way that emphasises the twilight of the pit village rather than the winter of discontent. The focus is on the harshness of Thatcher’s economic medicine, not the deadliness of the disease it was attempting to cure. The remarkable recovery that followed is reduced to a caricature – big hair, big phones, and sharp elbows.

Under the circumstances, Corbyn can be portrayed not as the revolutionary turned relic that he was, but as a former dissident, a prophet, a fighter for fairness, an eccentric, kindly, truth-teller, an image that owes a great deal to his grizzled grandad appearance and almost nothing to the truth.

There are those who are excited by dark tales from Corbyn’s time in the wilderness, seeing it as a promise of what the future might bring. They are not wrong. But those who tell themselves that the old boy has mellowed are fooling themselves. And those who tell themselves that what Corbyn might have muttered to a man from Czechoslovakia (the original “faraway country” filled with people of whom the British were said to “know nothing”) is an irrelevance, of no more importance today than some of the other unsavoury company he has more provably kept in the past, reveal only what they don’t know or, maybe, don’t care to know. They are either ignorant of, or have decided to ignore, Corbyn’s extensive track record of support for causes and regimes hard to reconcile with parliamentary democracy, a record that – as demonstrated by his cynically delicate waltz around the anti-Semitism running through a segment of the Labour party, or his threats against the press after the Czech story broke – is by no means played out.

Perhaps this blindness, willing or otherwise, is just the complacency of those who live in a country where, whatever they may claim to the contrary, most believe that things cannot go that wrong – “Venezuela, here? Impossible”. Comforted by that illusion, an illusion made credible by not having no clear memory of the 1970s, many on the centre-Left, and even the centre, will be prepared to take a risk on a Corbyn-led Labour.

Buying a place to live is beyond the reach of many of the young, wages have stagnated, and the government is busy blundering its way to a Brexit which will be loathed by far more than the 48 per cent. What’s to lose? Quite a bit, as it happens, as Britain may one day discover.

An International Man of Mystery

National Review Online, February 17, 2018

Afew weeks ago, a British actor died at the grand old age of 90 (probably). Peter Wyngarde’s death was accompanied by wryly affectionate obituaries and, among Brits of a certain age, a certain sadness: For a brief iridescent moment, one of the zanier icons of their youth had shone. Now he was gone.

According to an early-1970s survey, 40,000 Australian women chose Wyngarde as the man to whom they would have liked to lose their virginity. He was voted Britain’s best-dressed male personality, admittedly no great feat, in 1970 and then again in 1971. Mobbed by tens of thousands of women — how many virgins is unknown — on his arrival in Sydney, he took three days in hospital to recover.

Despite an “amorous” crowd, held back by 50 policemen, there was a gentler conclusion to Wyngarde’s opening of a menswear store in Plymouth, a city in the more sedate southwest of England. A writer for the website Hellfire Hall, “part of the official Peter Wyngarde Appreciation Society,” recalled that Wyngarde, “wearing a grey speckled suit with a mauve shirt and matching tie, tried on several garments…before settling for a black leather jacket and an aubergine-colored suit.” (Aubergine is British English for eggplant.)

This might be the moment to mention that Wyngarde, or rather Jason King, the character and self-caricature (“a romantic extension,” he explained) he played on television as the Sixties seeped into the Seventies, was the inspiration for Austin Powers. An old episode, or even a still, is all it takes to understand why.

Wyngarde reached this peak after appearances on the stage, in a film or two, and, increasingly, in television drama. The Sixties being the Sixties, he gravitated towards roles in telly-time treats designed for a Britain beguiled by James Bond. He showed up in The Prisoner, The Saint, and (most notably as the Hellfire Club’s John Cleverly Cartney) The Avengers. The latter two were part of a stable of not-always-so-serious action and adventure shows produced by ITC, a company run by a wily British TV mogul with an eye on the American market.

ITC enlisted Wyngarde (he signed his contract on a napkin over a meal) in Department S, a new series about three agents working for a crack Interpol unit. There was a former G-man and a female computer expert, and then there was King, best-selling crime writer, ladies’ man, charismatic, eccentric, flamboyant, witty, ingenious. His moustache was dramatic. His tailoring was epic. His fights didn’t always work out too well, but his shrewd, knowing performance stole the show, and in Jason King he was given his own.

King’s big-knotted wide ties were often — just as on that day in Plymouth — the same color as his shirts, another trademark. His boots were snakeskin, his dressing gowns silk, his foulards silk, his cravats silk, his voice silk. His coats were sweeping, his caftans evoked decadence in Tangier rather than a grubby pilgrimage along the hippie trail, and his tight leather outfit was worn with obvious and unashamed delight.

Wyngarde fell short of the matinee-idol standard (ITC’s boss grumbled about his failure to look like The Saint’s Roger Moore), but women, sometimes in hot pants, sometimes in less, sometimes in more, didn’t seem to mind as they succumbed, not always one by one, to King’s louche charms. A medallion swung and so did King, a Lothario, but despite the occasional appalling comment (a habit he shared, like so many others, with Wyngarde), no Weinstein.

Nearly a decade after Jason King had ended its run, readers of the X-Men comic books discovered that the original name of the villainous mutant Mastermind, a member of another Hellfire Club who looked — how can I put it — somewhat familiar, was Jason Wyngarde, evidence — as if any were needed — of how tricky it was to work out where Wyngarde ended and King began. To judge by some unflattering comments from one or two of his colleagues, Wyngarde may have not found it too easy to do so himself. He even “lent” King his clothes, and with them, much of his style: “I was inclined to be a bit of a dandy, I used to go to the tailor with my designs,” he confessed later, surprising nobody.

On the show itself, King’s adventures were interwoven with those of Mark Caine, his fictional creation and alter ego: In its first episode, King, the author, pitches a Mark Caine adventure to an American TV producer. The fictional Caine is played by the fictional King and the fictional King by the real — that adjective will have to do for now — Wyngarde playing Wyngarde as Wyngardewanted Peter Wyngarde to be seen by his fans.

The X-Men’s Mastermind had the ability to project illusions, to make people see what he wanted them to see.

In 1970, capitalizing on the success of Department S, Wyngarde released an LP, modestly called Peter Wyngarde. RCA had told him he could do what he liked. Fools! What the record company got was what Wyngarde’s obituarist in the London Times describes as a “revoltingly seedy album,” a bizarre and pretentious collection of songs, more spoken than sung, and, in its saner moments, designed (we must hope) as a not entirely serious showpiece of what a Jason King (who gets a shout-out at its nadir) might relax to or seduce to:

Do go in
No, the lights haven’t fused – it’s candlelight.
Now what would you like to drink — I’ve started on Champagne.
That is a beautiful dress! Do sit down
No, not over there – it’s too far away.
Come over here, it’s closer to everything.

Other tracks veered onto far more dangerous ground, most notoriously the supposedly jokey, undeniably very creepy “Rape,” about which the less said the better. RCA pulled the album after its first pressing. Decades later it was reissued by an independent label under the title “When Sex Leers Its Inquisitive Head.”

By then, sex had done rather more than that: In 1975, Wyngarde was found guilty of committing an act of “gross indecency” with a truck driver in a provincial British bus station. This followed an official warning for something similar the previous year. Wyngarde blamed a “mental aberration” (the first incident had been a “misunderstanding”). He received a token fine, but the spell was broken. His career never recovered. Prejudice played its part, but the scandal had shattered an image inextricably connected to that of King’s globe-trotting Casanova. Making matters worse, within a year or so, the bleakness of late-1970s Britain, and the fashions that came with it, had reduced King to an embarrassing memory too recent for nostalgia to rescue. Wyngarde’s mannered style of acting only reinforced the impression that time had passed him by. A battle with alcohol and a reputation for being “difficult” won’t have helped either. His best-known role after his fall was in Flash Gordon, where he played the sinister General Klytus, face hidden behind a golden mask.

But Wyngarde’s mask was subtler, a flickering, layered creation. Sometimes it wasn’t even there at all. If he hid, this King’s Road magnifico, known (some say; along with so much else in Wyngarde’s biography, there is a debate about this) in some showbiz circles as “Petunia Winegum,” hid in a way still possible before the Internet’s panopticon gaze, not quite in plain sight, but not far from it either. There are hints in Department S and Jason King that all was not as it seemed (and even more so in that infamous LP), although the reality may have been less clear-cut than newspaper headlines and men’s-room walls after Wyngarde’s conviction liked to suggest. We will never know for sure: Thus there was a marriage in the 1950s, and something seems to have happened with Vivien Leigh, Scarlett O’Hara no less. Years later, when there was no longer any need to pretend, there was still a touch of King in the way Wyngarde described past encounters with the opposite sex, perhaps even with an approximation of accuracy. Who’s to say? The mask was allowed to slip only so far. It had, after all, been the work of a lifetime, a product of necessity, fantasy, and ambition.

The early sections of Wyngarde’s Wikipedia entry (at least as I write) are evidence of a wild reimagination at work: “Peter Wyngarde’s date and place of birth, his birth name, and his parents’ nationalities and occupations are all disputed.” Well, yes. He was born between 1924 and 1933 in either Marseilles or Singapore (probably in Singapore in 1927, although Wyngarde preferred to cite Marseilles in 1933). His father was not a diplomat named Wyngarde, but Henry Goldbert, a naturalized Brit from Ukraine, who seems to have been a merchant seaman, at least for a while. His mother was either a French or a Swiss national and may have been Eurasian. Wyngarde said she looked like Claudette Colbert and was a racing driver. Then again, Wyngarde also claimed that he was a nephew of the French actor Louis Jouvet (he wasn’t), that he’d studied for a few months at Oxford (he hadn’t), and that Peter Wyngarde was the name he was born with (Cyril Goldbert just wouldn’t do).

It is true that he was interned by the Japanese during the later stages of the Second World War in a camp near Shanghai. The British writer J. G. Ballard, a rather more highly regarded teller of tales, was also there (an experience that inspired his Empire of the Sun) and remembered him (as Goldbert) from those years. For his part, Wyngarde said that he had no memory of Ballard. Maybe it was too awkward to admit to the connection: Ballard had known him while the mask was first being assembled. Goldbert, unlike Ballard (who was interned with his parents), was alone. It was there that he turned to acting and not, I suspect, only in the camp’s makeshift theater. His performances included a version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in which he played every part.

A Tragedy of Errors

The Weekly Standard, January 26, 2018

In July 2016, Theresa May won the Tory party leadership contest, and thus became the U.K.’s prime minister, for one simple reason. There was no one else. It was less than a month after the Brexit referendum had upended Britain’s political order. The only thing her predecessor, David Cameron, was running for was the exit. Her sole credible rival, Boris Johnson, long the party’s darling and the most prominent Conservative to campaign to leave the E.U.—May had been a tactically tepid “Remainer”—was the favorite for the job. But he was felled in a botched coup by his most important ally, Michael Gove, a Leaver with laughable dreams of 10 Downing Street himself.

And the lack of a credible alternative is why May is still at her post. In April 2017, she called a snap election intended to strengthen her hand in advance of Brexit negotiations that instead cost her the modest majority she had inherited from Cameron. The Conservatives can now govern only thanks to the support of Northern Ireland’s Democratic Unionists. But Johnson remains tainted by the referendum’s rancid aftermath and has not shone in his role as foreign minister. No other electorally plausible challenger has emerged.

“She’s just not up to it,” one former Tory M.P. told me over Christmas—and he is far from alone in that thinking. To be burdened both by a second-rate leader and the complications of minority government would be hard going for the Conservatives at the best of times. These are anything but. Brexit is an immense economic, legal, and diplomatic task made infinitely more difficult by a political environment for which May must take the lion’s share of the blame.

By squandering the Tories’ majority in an ill-planned and tin-eared election campaign, May not only turned the parliamentary arithmetic against her but also trashed the aura of authority that had come with her leadership victory just the year before. A lame duck who is allowed to limp on remains a lame duck. Most ominously of all, the Tories’ poor performance made a mockery of the assumption that a Labour party led by the far-left Jeremy Corbyn was unelectable and has only accelerated his takeover of Britain’s main opposition party. In Britain, the opposition is rarely more than a recession or a fiasco away from government. With a bungled Brexit offering the prospect of both, betting against a Corbyn premiership would be unwise.

Brexit, the reversal of over 40 years of ever-deeper integration with the E.U., will be easy enough to bungle. Those four decades cannot be wished away. The Gordian solution, simply quitting the E.U. and trading with the bloc under the rules set by the World Trade Organization, is not as straightforward as the hardest Brexiteers are wont to claim. Such an arrangement would not, said the director general of the WTO in November, be “the end of the world,” and he should know. Nevertheless, its impact on the country’s intricate connections with the global economy would come with consequences that no one should wish to see.

Besides, it’s unlikely that such a stark break is what the majority of those who voted for Brexit wanted. The question posed by the referendum was deceptively simple: “Should the United Kingdom remain a member of the European Union or leave the European Union?” A vote to leave was a vote to leave, just that: It said nothing about the relationship that the country should maintain with Brussels after Brexit. The polling on this topic is muddled, and plenty of politicians have their own self-serving interpretations of what the voters “really meant,” but in the end it has been left to May’s government to resolve what Britain should aim for.

A starting point might have been recognition of the extraordinary rancor that the referendum has left in its wake. The vote was close: 52 to 48. Many Remainers— the more upscale voting bloc, with a higher percentage of those Britons used to getting their way—believe that they were robbed. A referendum, they argue, was not the way to decide such a complex matter, and the case for Brexit was dishonestly made. A smarter government would have acknowledged the strength and persistence of Remainer sentiment as it decided its next move.

That’s not what May did. To the extent that the Tories’ post-referendum strategy consisted of anything more than bickering amongst themselves (they are divided over the nature of the deal that should be cut with the E.U.), soundbites (“Brexit means Brexit”), and wishful thinking (claiming that countries were “queueing up” to do trade deals with Britain), they behaved as if 52 percent was a much larger slice of the pie than conventional arithmetic would suggest.

The most obvious solution was the “Norway option,” a shift to the status enjoyed by Norway, Iceland, and Liechtenstein, who are outside the E.U. but inside the “Single Market.” This is the plan that might have eased the anger of many Remainers. But May ruled it out, fearing trouble from her party’s hard Brexiteers and, perhaps even more, that accepting “Norwegian” immigration rules risked alienating blue-collar voters—especially those she hoped would follow up on their support for Brexit by switching more permanently from Labour to the Tories.

Despite encouraging noises from Brussels, there were some decent arguments against pinning too much hope on the Norway option. Perhaps the most important stems from the conflict between the E.U.’s insistence on the free movement of workers and British unease over immigration. Theoretically, the Norway option offers a significant exception (essentially an “emergency brake”) to the right of residents to move between Single Market states, which is not available to E.U. members. A British announcement that it was prepared to take full advantage of that exception might have sold the Norway option back home—though equally might have sunk it in Brussels. May’s speedy rejection of the Norway option means that we will never know. As so often during Britain’s long European entanglement, it was hard to avoid the suspicion that its government did not know what it was doing.

May’s failure to reach out to at least some of the 48 percent cost her party dearly in last year’s election. The Conservatives were hit hard by the defections of aggrieved Remainers in the affluent south, defections that lost them more seats than the number they gained due to increased support from Leave voters elsewhere. There’s been no recent British election more necessary not to get wrong. Instead, the Conservatives have set the stage for a drama in which their weak parliamentary position could easily combine with a bad Brexit deal and the growing strength of the hard-left Labour opposition to create a historic catastrophe.

There are many paths to disaster, but the central concern must revolve around the lack of a Conservative majority. May can insist on little in London and less in Brussels. And time is not on her side. When she filed notice under Article 50 of the Treaty of Lisbon on March 29 last year, formally beginning the U.K.’s exit from the E.U., she did so without any clear notion of the type of Brexit she either wanted or could realistically expect to negotiate. Nonetheless, she started the clock running. She should have waited until she was ready: If the U.K. has not finalized the terms of its divorce from Brussels and (not the same thing) agreed on the basis of at least an interim relationship with its ex by March 29, 2019, it will crash chaotically out of the E.U. The economic and political damage would take years to clean up.

That said, in December, Brussels and London agreed that they had made “sufficient progress” on a divorce settlement to turn the discussion to their relationship after Brexit. They reached this milestone by coming to agreement on the rights of E.U. citizens in the U.K. (and, up to a point, vice versa) as well as a basis for calculating how much the U.K. must pay (probably around $55 billion) to satisfy its existing obligations to the E.U. They have also found sufficiently vague and sufficiently optimistic wording to keep alive the fantasy (made more fanciful still by the rejection of the Norway option) that the whole of the U.K. can quit both the Single Market and the E.U.’s customs union without the necessity of reintroducing a hard border between Northern Ireland (part of the U.K.) and the Irish Republic (an E.U. member). Such a border would not only be economically disruptive in its own right but also cut through the blurring of divisions on the Emerald Isle that British and Irish membership in the E.U. had made possible and, as such, could represent a threat to the hard-won peace enjoyed since the 1998 Good Friday Agreement. More prosaically, it could trigger an Irish veto of a deal on the U.K.’s future relationship with the E.U., which will have to be approved by all the member countries.

Yet this is to assume there will be something to veto: But there is no chance of the U.K.’s both agreeing on and implementing its post-Brexit relationship with the E.U. by the 2019 deadline. At this point even the simpler Norway option couldn’t be adopted in time. As a result, the E.U. and U.K. are discussing a “transition period” during which Britain will be a de facto member of the E.U. without having any say in how it is run. It will be a rule-taker, not a rule-maker, which will infuriate harder-line Brexiteers, and not only them. May will have to watch her M.P.s carefully.

Quite when the basis of this transition agreement will be settled is unclear (the U.K. is hoping by the end of March)—as is what is required before it can enter into legal force. What does seem to be agreed is that it will last about two years. To think this will be time enough—trade deals are complex beasts, and this one has to be agreed on by 28 countries—is optimistic. It is just as likely that all the transition will achieve is to push the cliff’s edge two years into the future.

If Britain fails to close a mutually satisfactory deal by this new deadline, it’s uncertain whether it will be permitted to linger on in that humiliating transitional status while it renews its efforts to work something out. Britain’s increasingly uncomfortable position (and an approaching general election) might well mean that it is forced to accept the alternative identified by the E.U.’s chief negotiator last year, some variation of the bloc’s free-trade deal with Canada, the Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement (CETA)—a deal, incidentally, that took seven years to negotiate.

A “Canadian” solution would still have to be squared with the Irish border conundrum and would raise tricky legal and political issues arising out of the “most favored nation” status that various countries, including Canada, enjoy as a result of their E.U. trade deals if the U.K. tries for a sweetened deal. And it will: CETA’s benefits include eliminating some 98 percent of tariffs, knocking down barriers on bidding for public contracts, and easing rules on temporary transfers of workers, but it doesn’t have much impact on non-tariff barriers to traded goods, nor will it liberalize the trade in services, two areas of particular British concern.

The precise form an improvement might take remains elusive. More than 18 months after the referendum Britons know what May doesn’t want (Norway or Canada) but are left to guess at the nature of the “bespoke and comprehensive” deal she is looking to wrest from Brussels. Nervous about divisions within her party and unwilling to explain to the British public how hard a hard Brexit could be, May has been long on platitudes (a “deep and special relationship,” our “strongest friend and partner”) and short on precision.

Within her cabinet, the key division is between those, such as finance minister Philip Hammond, who want a deal effectively based on maintaining close regulatory alignment with the E.U. and those, such as Johnson, looking for a broad agreement that nevertheless gives the U.K. freedom to diverge from the E.U.’s regulatory structure. David Davis, the underwhelming “Brexit minister,” has recently edged closer to the Hammond camp. He has previously called for “Canada plus plus plus,” and an “overarching” deal. If that remains his goal, fairly close regulatory alignment will be part of it.

Where all these approaches overlap is in the desire to include services in any deal and to make trade with the E.U. as “frictionless” as possible. The latter ambition recognizes that potential barriers to trade can extend far beyond tariffs. They can, for example, include regulatory roadblocks and literal ones too: That long line at customs can wreak havoc.

As for the former, it’s not hard to understand: Services account for some 80 percent of Britain’s GDP and made up 38 percent of its exports to the E.U in 2016. The U.K. reported a $19 billion trade surplus in services with the E.U. the same year. It’s worth noting, because they will be a major presence on any British wish list presented to Brussels, that financial services, even narrowly defined, make up roughly 8 percent of the country’s economy, and that’s before the boost they give to other businesses, such as law, accounting, real estate, and, naturally, restaurants. Meas-ured by the trade surplus it generates, finance is the U.K.’s most successful services export.

London clearly accepts that any agreement will involve trade-offs (less alignment means less access and so on). That’s realistic enough, but the British government’s insistence that a favorable special deal is within the U.K.’s reach is not.

The E.U. sells many more goods to Britain than it imports: a surplus of $133 billion in 2016. This ought to offer an incentive to strike a more attractive deal with the U.K. (the sixth-largest economy in the world, after all) than Brussels is suggesting, including sufficiently generous provision for services. But to many members of the E.U., Britain’s negotiating stance looks like an attempt to have its cake and to eat it. Seen through continental eyes, infamously perfidious Albion is trying to grab privileged access to the Single Market without meeting the obligations that go with it, including, of course, the rules governing who can settle on the skeptic isle.

For the E.U. to accept such a regime would be regarded as a wasted commercial opportunity (especially the chance to take business from the much envied, much resented City of London). But the political hit would be worse, and in the trudge to “ever-closer union,” politics trumps economics. The notion that “the four freedoms”—the free movement of goods, capital, services, and labor—underpinning the Single Market are indivisible is, to Brussels, an essential element in the building of a united Europe. Its leadership won’t want to set a precedent by handing the Brits a deal that might encourage other malcontents to head for the exit ramp.

Those who ask why this should count for so much to Britain—many countries trade quite happily with the E.U. without being part of the Single Market—need to remember that the E.U. is the U.K.’s closest neighbor and largest customer (in 2016 it accounted for 43 percent of U.K. exports). If Britain leaves the Single Market, its access to it will, by definition, deteriorate. That’s a very different trading challenge from the one faced by a country like, say, the United States, which has long since learned to make do with an imperfect trading relationship with the E.U. The suspension in 2017 of negotiations on a possible U.S.-E.U. free-trade deal, the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership, may have been a setback for free trade, but it didn’t make life any more difficult for American companies.

By contrast, Brexit will change Britain’s economic relationship with the E.U. for the worse (and this, whatever hard Brexiteers might believe, will not be compensated for by expanded trade elsewhere any time soon). This is not just a matter of British companies risking a decline in their business in Europe. Over the decades, the U.K. has successfully exploited its comparatively deregulated economy to be a useful conduit for international companies wanting frictionless—that word again—expansion into the E.U. and a valued host to a valuable part of increasingly integrated European supply chains. Much of this business is well enough established to survive even a somewhat unsatisfactory Brexit deal, but it will struggle to grow.

All of this is good news for Labour. The weaker the economy, the greater the chance that Jeremy Corbyn can win a general election—the next is set for 2022, if the Tories can hang on that long. And the greater the chance that Corbyn will win, the less confident business will become, weakening the economy still further in a vicious circle that, with every turn, brings an extremist closer to 10 Downing Street. Labour is already polling slightly ahead of the Conservatives. The economy is slowing (GDP growth is forecast to decline to 1.4 percent in 2018, after approximately 1.6 percent last year), in part, I suspect, due to worries over Brexit, worries that the current confusion is doing nothing to alleviate. The Tories’ approach to Brexit is giving the entirely accurate impression of a party that is both divided and incompetent. Meanwhile, Remainers remain enraged, and the closer the end of the transition period comes to 2022, the fresher that rage will be. The hard left is licking its chops.

If Labour does prevail, there will be little that is moderate about the way it governs. Scarcely two years since Corbyn unexpectedly became its leader, the party has been transformed. An eccentric fanatic, he may not be the brightest, but he and his coterie have shown a sharp grasp of how to make the most of the opportunity he was so carelessly given. What mattered, they realized, was to take control of the Labour party, long the principal alternative to the Conservatives, and wait for the election victory that will come its way when voters want the Tories out—as one day they are bound to. Much of the party’s organization, including its commanding heights, has been taken over by the hard left. There has not so much been a long march through the institution as a blitzkrieg. The large number of new members who joined the party either to vote for Corbyn or to rally behind him have stood by their man, and Labour moderates in Parliament (still quite a large group) have largely been reduced to unhappy acquiescence.

Whatever he said in 2016, Corbyn, the leader of a party that supported Remain, has always favored withdrawal from the E.U. His halfheartedness during the referendum campaign, in one of the many ironies of that vote, almost certainly put Leave over the top. To Corbyn, the E.U. is an obstacle to socialism, and these days he is barely bothering to conceal what he really thinks (unlike an overwhelming majority of Labour party members, he opposes remaining in the Single Market). Despite his party’s commitment to “respecting” the referendum result, Labour has—through mood music, creative ambiguity, and the occasional tantalizing hint—managed to retain much of its appeal to Remainers. It is the Tories who are tarred with Brexit.

Many Conservatives who defected last year to punish their party for Brexit may be worried enough about the possibility of a Corbyn victory to come home the next time round, but that’s unlikely to be enough to save the day. In particular, under-45s have turned on a Tory party they see as old-fashioned (to many of them Brexit is an exercise in ill-judged, and probably racist, nostalgia), out-of-touch, and uncaring. Throw in wage stagnation, a housing market that makes it prohibitively expensive to buy, and an absence of historical memory of where the hard left, including Jeremy Corbyn, were trying to take Britain in the late 1970s, and it’s hard to see them changing their minds by 2022. That’s something of which business is also well aware, with the result that the vicious circle will make yet another turn.

Under the circumstances, if the Tories continue to handle Brexit in the way they are now doing, Britain will be Corbyn’s for the taking. Whether he would give it back is an interesting question.