The ex-mayor, when he comes to his senses, probably won’t mind, admitting a greater kinship with the Tories who share some of his genetic drive to win than with the Javids and Sunaks, who held back their resignations out of gratitude or fear. He will also understand the brutal political necessity for Zahawi to commit regicide after just one day in office or forever be branded one of what Sir Keir Starmer called the cabinet’s “nodding dogs”.
Having covered four bloody coups at Westminster to oust sitting Tory leaders over the past four decades, I have seen a pattern to these spectacles. They start with a leader, sometimes one who, like Thatcher, Major and Johnson, achieves unexpected triumphs and commons majorities, falling out of favour. The first attacks come from outliers, mavericks who might be ignored except for saying out loud what heavy players are thinking in private. As poll ratings fall, panic spreads. It turns large House of Commons majorities like Boris’ own 80-seat victory into liabilities as newly elected MPs examine their slim chances of hanging on and yearn for new leadership. Then ministers and PPPs begin to resign. The former might be dismissed as spiteful, but every departure spills blood.
What sets Johnson apart from other leaders — and what will draw comparisons to Donald Trump — is his refusal to accept that his time is up. Even Baroness Thatcher, who won three election victories, tearfully agreed as cabinet members such as Ken Clarke read her the runes. May stood down in the face of Commons defeats and pressure from the executive since 1922. But Johnson claimed his “14 million mandate” gave him, like the divine right of kings, the power to stay until he lost a vote of trust.
The comparison to Trump, who emboldened the crowd in his attempts to overturn the democratic election defeat, is partly unfair because Boris stayed within party rules, but it is simply in another sense because both men broke convention. At the heart of democracy is not really the ballot box, but the desire of defeated leaders to relinquish power peacefully. Trump broke that relationship, while Boris just pushed it to the limit.
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The next pattern in the coup is the sense of giddy release when a cornered leader finally throws in the towel. After resigning, Thatcher was dazzling in her performance in Parliament. The burden of decision-making and compromise was lifted from her shoulders. I remember finding one of the young PPS who had defected to the Heseltine campaign crying in the cloisters late that night. “What did we do?” he asked, knowing at the same time the need to remove her. I suspect Johnson, if he gets his wish for a reliever role this summer, will look to restore the sunny disposition of his prime. However, he may not be given this opportunity.
The final stage of the coup pattern is mutual accusations. It took a generation after Thatcher to resolve the civil war between the dry and wet Tories. For most of this period the Tories were weakened and condemned to opposition. Only the rise of the modernizers, led by Cameron and Osborne, pushed the old divide aside, and even that proved to be a temporary truce.
Today’s dividing lines in the Tory party are even more complex. Beyond the broad divide of left vs. right, fiscal conservatism vs. loan-led growth, authoritarian vs. liberal, there is a stark gulf between Brexiteers and the business community. To add to this cauldron of hatred, the party has taken a series of strategic steps that the new leader must decide whether to keep or abandon. One is the decision to prioritize the Red Wall, which puts ambitious new Tory MPs at odds with Tory survival in London and the south west.
But spare your little fiddles for the conservatives. The party was drinking deeply from the opium of a leader who offered easy wins rather than hard debate, who won through politics of the dividing line rather than the hard hitting evidence-led politics and compromise.
As a result, the Tories face years of infighting, whatever superficial unity they may create. And they only have themselves to blame.
Joe Murphy is the former political editor of the Evening Standard
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