Cameron is the biggest political loser of the Olympics

Booed by the crowds and overshadowed by Boris, the PM has not had a good Games.

It's not hard to identify the political winners of the Olympics. Boris Johnson, who never missed an opportunity to make a populist intervention, and whose named was chanted by thousands during that extraordinary speech in Hyde Park, is now spoken of as a potential prime minister by both the left and the right, and is increasingly viewed as a threat by Labour.

Beginning with the Queen's skit with James Bond (the highlight of the Olympics ceremony for voters, according to polling by YouGov), the royal family has seemed more at ease with itself than for decades. The BBC's coverage has reminded us of the virtues of public broadcasting, whilst the armed forces, filling the void left by G4S, have renewed their bond with the public.

But who are the losers? Tory MP Aidan Burley's curt dismissal of Danny Boyle's ceremony as "leftie multi-cultural crap" did little for his career prospects, and with a slim-ish majority of 3,195 in Cannock Chase, a seat that Labour held from 1997-2010, he is unlikely to be returned at the next election. Mitt Romney's suggestion that the UK was unprepared for the Olympics, inaccurate as it turned out, damaged his reputation at home and abroad, with Boris openly mocking a supposed ideological ally ("There's a guy called Mitt Romney who wants to know whether we're ready"), David Cameron quipping that it's easy to run an Olympics in "the middle of nowhere" (a reference to Romney's management of the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Games), and Carl Lewis concluding that "some Americans just shouldn't leave the country".

The biggest loser, however, is the current occupant of 10 Downing Street. Rather than enhancing Cameron's reputation, as some Tories hoped, the Olympics have diminished it. The cringemaking photo posted by the No 10 Twitter feed of the PM watching the boxing at home while wearing a Team GB polo shirt looked like what it was: a desperate final attempt to reap some political benefit from the Games. Rather than serving as the proud leader of a successful nation, Cameron has spent more time fending off criticism of the government's school sports policies and dismissing fears that the Olympics have reduced economic activity. As Prime Minister and the leader of a party that won just 36 per cent of the vote at the last election, Cameron was never likely to survive the Games unscathed. But what makes the negative press coverage even more galling is the adoration for the prince across the Thames - Boris. While the crowds cheer for Boris, they boo for Cameron. For the first time since he became Prime Minister, conservative commentators are asking how long he can continue. After two weeks in which Britain has rarely seemed happier, few could have imagined a less happy end to the Games for Cameron.

David Cameron watches the boxing: "a desperate final attempt to reap some political benefit from the Games".

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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How to explain Brexit to your kids

It’s not hard. The Brexiteers’ tantrums are a parody of how children behave.

My parents never sat me down for “the politics talk”. I suspect they were too embarrassed. Like many children of my generation, I was left to develop my own ideas about what adults did in private.

We didn’t have the internet and our arms were too short to open most newspapers (scientists were still working on the tabloid-broadsheet hybrid). Hence we picked up news randomly, either by overhearing snippets on the radio while buying sweets in the newsagent’s or by accidentally watching the start of the six o’clock news following the end of Charles In Charge.

By the time I was nine, the same age my eldest child is now, I had unrealistic expectations of politicians and the democratic process. Due to the fact that I had no idea what anyone was talking about, I assumed everyone in the House of Commons was having serious, informed thoughts about the most important issues of the day.

I now know that the real reason I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying was because what had sounded like “roargh roargh [insult] <braying laughter>” really had been “roargh roargh [insult] <braying laughter>” all along. I’d assumed it was a language I had yet to learn, one of the more specialised dialects of Adult-ese. I’d already wasted one vote by the time I realised that Prime Minister’s Questions was basically Jeremy Kyle with posher accents and minus the lie detector tests.

I don’t want my children to make the same mistakes as me. Thankfully, it turns out Brexit Britain is the ideal place to teach your kids how politics really works. Never has there been a time when those stalking the corridors of power were more in tune with the average tantruming toddler. There’s no point in rational argument; you just have to hope that those in power burn themselves out before too much damage is done.

This particular tantrum has of course been building for some time. The dominant rhetoric of the Leave campaign – like that of the Tory party itself – always offered a spoilt child’s view of the world, one in which you are the centre of the universe, depending on no one else for your survival.

When others point out that this isn’t the case – that perhaps you wouldn’t have a home and food on the table if it wasn’t for Mummy or Daddy, or perhaps the UK would not have a strong economy were it not a member of the EU – you simply tell them they’re being mean. You’ll show them! They’re not the boss of you! So you pack your bags and leave.

If you are six, you might get to the corner of your road, realise with disappointment that no one is following you and turn back, hoping no one noticed you were gone. If you are the UK, you hang around for a while, maybe hiding in some bushes, thinking “any minute now they’ll come looking for me.”

But they don’t, so eventually you think “sod ‘em, I’ll go to my mates’. Unfortunately, you cannot get there without Mummy to drive you. This is a problem. But at least you can tell yourself that you were doubly right to leave, since everything that is happening now is Mummy’s fault.

Never in British politics has the panicked outrage of those who know they are making a terrible mistake been so palpable. It reminds me of the time when I was teaching my eldest son to drink from a beaker. He kept spilling small amounts, which caused him so much distress he’d end up pouring the rest of the juice onto the carpet to make it look deliberate. Whenever I tried to stop him, I’d only make him more panicked, thus even more likely to get juice everywhere.

I have since asked him if he remembers why he did this. He says he does not, but I have told him this is what the British government is doing with Brexit. The referendum was the initial spillage; we now have to sit and watch, biting our tongues, in the hope that the “well, anyhow, I totally meant to do that!” response can be averted.

There is little chance of that, though. When my middle son told his older brother he could fly, he quickly backed down on being asked to demonstrate this by jumping from an upstairs window. Liam Fox would have thrown himself headlong, then blamed Project Fear for his broken neck. Or rather, he’d have thrown someone else – one of the millions of people whose lives really will be ruined by Brexit – then tried to argue that the exceptionally bendy necks of UK citizens could be used as one of the “main cards” in negotiations.

The behaviour is beyond childlike; it is a parody of how children behave. When I asked one of my sons to clean his teeth this morning, he called me a “poo head” and said his teeth wouldn’t get decay. He still brushed them, though.

He did not conclude I was some sinister sore loser out to trick him because his teeth are young and white and mine are old and stained. He still has some basic sense that people who ask you to do things you don’t want to do might yet have your best interests at heart, regardless of who is right or wrong. He did not call me a sneering member of the elite trying to override the will of all toothpaste-rejecting British children (to be fair, I think “poo head” may have been meant to capture that, but at least he only called me it once).

Then again, the teeth in my son’s head are his alone. The consequences of neglect would be his to endure. Those stage-managing the Brexit tantrum are insulated from its most devastating consequences. Thus they can hurl insults, stick their fingers in their ears and take more than a little pleasure in the sheer recklessness of it all. It is not just an extended childhood; it is childhood without having to come to terms with the consequences of your own behaviour, because others will suffer them for you.

I want my own children to understand that what they see now is not what politics should be. That there is not some deep, meaningful logic underpinning what the adults in charge are doing. What looks like bitterness, point-scoring and sheer lack of self-control is, more often than not, just that. We have indulged these people too long. Let’s raise a generation with higher expectations of those who will claim to speak on their behalf.

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.