If you’re an American who’s exhausted by U.S. politics, I’ve found the perfect antidote: U.K. politics.
You ask, “What difference does U.K. politics make to me?” The answer is zero—and that’s why it’s such an escapist delight. Take it from me: next week’s British election, which pits Rishi Sunak against Keir Starmer, is better than a fistful of edibles.
Politics in America is unbearably stressful, and not just for those of us who live here. Since the U.S. is the world’s most powerful nation, the boneheads we elect have the opportunity to wreak real havoc. Not so Britannia, which used to rule the waves but now merely dominates Netflix, thanks to Posh, Becks, and the disgruntled royals of Montecito. It’s hard to freak out about who will be the next leader of what is, in 2024, a middle-ranking country.
If you think that phrase reeks of Yank chauvinism, think again: it’s from Lord Patten, the last governor of Hong Kong, who also asserted that Britain is no longer “top dog” and is “not a global power.” The stakes of next Thursday’s vote, then, must be sized to fit the U.K.’s shrunken status. Nowadays, being prime minister of Great Britain is a lot like being mayor of Indianapolis.
Unfair? Consider the recent episode of the BBC radio program Any Questions?, in which an audience member raised a grave issue facing Britain. If “climate change,” “Ukraine,” and “the Middle East” were on your bingo card, sorry: the issue was “potholes.” Now check out this headline, published four days later: “The streets are terrible”: Residents plead with the city for years to fix potholes. That appeared on the Web site of WRTV, the ABC affiliate in Indianapolis. Let’s move on.
The man currently tasked with filling Britain’s potholes (and, judging from the polls, doing a crap job) is Prime Minister Rishi Sunak. An incumbent in the Gerald Ford mold—no one voted for him or seems eager for a second helping—Sunak wasn’t even the first choice of his own party.
The winner of the last general election, in 2019, was Boris Johnson, who sailed into 10 Downing Street with Churchillian oratory such as “Dude! We are going to energize the country! We are going to get Brexit done!” Three years later, he was himself done.
The irrepressible mop top had stoked Britons’ wrath by denying there had been parties at Downing Street during the coronavirus lockdown when, in fact, he had hosted epic ragers fueled by suitcases bulging with wine. At one of these dos, staffers in the prime-ministerial garden cavorted on a child’s swing and broke it.
The stakes of next Thursday’s vote, then, must be sized to fit the U.K.’s shrunken status. Nowadays, being prime minister of Great Britain is a lot like being mayor of Indianapolis.
Bojo seemed all too ready to move on to more lucrative pursuits, including a book deal worth more than $600,000—an eye-watering amount for the memoirs of someone who, when grilled at government tribunals, had such difficulty remembering anything.
His farewell, accompanied by yet another Churchillian epigram—“Them’s the breaks”—triggered a contest within the Conservative Party to choose a new leader and thus a prime minister. Enter Sunak, the former chancellor of the Exchequer, who honed his talent for appealing to the common man while working for Goldman Sachs.
Sunak wound up losing to the right-wing darling Liz Truss, who, outdoing the reveler who broke the child’s swing at Downing Street, proceeded to break the entire U.K. economy. After she and her chancellor, Kwasi Kwarteng, had unveiled a “mini-budget” crafted with all the sobriety of a mouse in a cheese cellar, interest rates soared.
The Star tabloid posted a live stream of a head of lettuce and a photo of Truss, inviting viewers to guess which would last longer. The lettuce won. Befitting the brevity of her premiership (49 days), Truss signed a book deal reportedly worth just under $2,000, 0.29 percent the size of Johnson’s.
Re-enter Sunak, who, having lost the first leadership contest, prevailed in the second and became prime minister. It was like getting an Olympic gold medal when you deserved a participation trophy.
As P.M., Rishi has notched scant accomplishments, including the dubious one of attempting to discourage illegal immigrants by deporting them to Rwanda—a country they did not come from. This combo plate of cruelty and idiocy was ruled unlawful by the U.K. Supreme Court on the grounds that Rwanda is not a safe country.
In a solution seemingly inspired by George Orwell and the Mad Hatter, Sunak used his parliamentary majority to pass a law declaring that Rwanda was safe. It was magical thinking at its most audacious, and it made you wonder why he didn’t pass a law declaring that Rishi Sunak was popular.
No planes to Rwanda have departed, but it’s a measure of Sunak’s haplessness that their permission to fly someday is his biggest win. Given his risible record—and polls showing the opposition Labour Party roughly 20 points ahead—it came as a surprise to every rational being in Britain that he called a snap election for July 4.
Sunak, having lost the first leadership contest, prevailed in the second and became prime minister. It was like getting an Olympic gold medal when you deserved a participation trophy.
Sunak’s Eeyore-like image was on full display during his rain-soaked announcement, while some off-screen wag with a boom box blasted the theme song of Labour’s 1997 landslide, “Things Can Only Get Better,” by D:Ream, a U.K. pop band known mainly for its eccentric punctuation. On his campaign plane, a camera captured Sunak under a prominent EXIT sign. It was hard to imagine a worse photo op. Girls’ school visit with Prince Andrew?
But Rishi’s most spectacular own goal lay ahead. When the U.K. and its allies marked the 80th anniversary of D-day, the clueless P.M. ditched the Normandy ceremonies early to do an interview with the ITV network in London. After apologizing to pissed-off centenarian veterans and pretty much everyone in Europe, he had to hose down Conservative parliamentary candidates, who were starting to suspect that Sunak’s campaign was an elaborate prank.
Considering the P.M.’s derisory poll numbers, why did he choose this moment to call an election? There are two plausible theories. The first holds that the economy, which has been horrible throughout his tenure (thanks, in part, to Truss and Kwarteng’s tomfoolery), was showing signs of becoming marginally less horrible, and Sunak wanted people to vote before it got horribler again.
The second is that Sunak is sick of being “minister for potholes” and just wants to hop a plane—not to Rwanda, but to sunny California, where he’ll join those disgruntled royals. Sunak has denied these rumors, but he has deep Cali roots: he got his M.B.A. at Stanford and owns a $7.2 million Santa Monica penthouse in a building that boasts, among other things, a pet spa.
On his campaign plane, a camera captured Sunak under a prominent EXIT sign. It was hard to imagine a worse photo op. Girls’ school visit with Prince Andrew?
How would Sunak spend his time in SoCal? Well, he needn’t fret about the size of his book deal; as his ITV interviewer subtly put it, he’s “wealthier than the King.” So, for that matter, is his wife, Akshata Murthy, the daughter of an Indian billionaire. If Netflix hasn’t already signed the Sunaks, what’s taking them so long? (Episode One: When Rishi and Akshata’s Labrador, Nova, visits the pet spa, whom should he meet but the Beckhams’ cockapoo, Simba!)
So, what can we expect on July 4? If you want to sound like a U.K.-politics nerd, you’ll ask this instead: Will 2024 be like 1992 or 1997? In the run-ups to both contests, Labour had a formidable poll lead—but the outcomes couldn’t have been more different.
In 1992, Labour—out of power for 13 years and perhaps over-eager to return from the wilderness—held a massive rally at the Sheffield Arena. The gaudy event was widely criticized for being triumphalist and—eek!—American. The party’s leader, Neil Kinnock, perhaps overstimulated by the size of the crowd, started inexplicably roaring, “WELL ALL RIGHT!” (The closest analogue in American politics is Howard Dean’s notorious “Dean scream.”) Kinnock denies that his goofy performance cost Labour the election, but watch the YouTube clip and judge for yourself.
Having learned the lesson of 1992, Tony Blair, Labour’s P.M. candidate in 1997, handled his poll lead with utmost care. In what has become a shopworn cliché of U.K. election coverage, the politician Roy Jenkins compared the ultra-cautious Blair to “a man carrying a priceless Ming vase across a highly polished floor.” Blair’s allergy to spontaneity paid off at the polls, and he was welcomed to Downing Street by a flag-waving throng of joyful citizens (who also happened to be Labour campaign workers).
This year’s opposition leader, Sir Keir Starmer, has a smaller margin for error, since, unlike Sir Tony, he has the charisma of a beige washcloth. Starmer’s main asset is not being Sunak. Consequently, Labour is waging a campaign that could be described as the bland leading the bland. They are mainly trying to avoid unforced errors, which is why you haven’t seen Starmer posing under any EXIT signs. A Labour slogan underscores their white-knuckle terror of bollixing the whole thing up. Unsure whether to offer Britons stability or change, they boldly proclaim, “Stability Is Change.”
Now do you see why I love British politics?
Andy Borowitz is the creator of the award-winning news satire site BorowitzReport.com, which has readers in 175 countries