Faith in fakes

In 1981, the French philosopher Jean Baudrillard wrote Simulacra and Simulation. In it, he argues that modernity has replaced reality and meaning with symbols and signs — simulacra — and that human existence is merely a simulation of reality.

There is a four-stage process, he claims, to how a simulacra develops. The first-order simulacra is a faithful copy, and still a reflection of basic realistic. The second-order masks and distorts the basic reality, acting as a illusion. The third order marks the absence of reality, and hides the facts the original reality no longer exists: indeed, it is questionable whether it ever did. The fourth order is pure simulation: there is no relation to any physical reality whatsoever. It has been so far removed from reality that the only references are to other simulacra.

I wish he’d lived to write about modern British politics.

In his later works, particularly In the Shadow of Silent Majorities, he argues that politics in modern mass democracies had become a simulacra. Modern politics no longer bears any relation to reality. A statement or policy isn’t judged by whether it is true, but only in reference to other simulacra: media narratives, polling, spin, the Low Namierism of inter-party positioning. The political event is self-contained, isolated from realities of governance or political ideology.

The world’s oldest and most successful political party, the Conservatives, have been reduced to a spiritual movement dedicated to the reincarnation of Margaret Thatcher in a fresh host. The most nakedly ideological leader of modern times, Liz Truss, was a supposedly small-state, low-tax “neoliberal” bought down in part by committing to the theoretically unlimited cost of the Energy Price Guarantee. Beyond an attempt to tidy up that mess, all remain at a loss as to what Sunakism was. The distinction between what Boris Johnson said and did are well-known.

Starmer, too, was a man without ideology. He was relatively honest about that, but we were still treated to tiresome attempts to define “Starmerism” in ideological terms. To replace him, Labour are about to elect a man with three ideologies (and therefore none): Manchesterism, Burnhamism and Fahnbullehism.

What Burnham’s ideologies actually constitute is an opportunity for left-wing commentators to occupy some column inches. Burnham has been moved into power for the simple fact he is a better communicator than Starmer, not that he has a more coherent vision or better plan of how to govern better. This has been as much a spectacle of semiotics as the 2022 Thatcher-off that was the Conservative leadership election. This party too has faith in fakes.

The best example is the most momentous announcement of Burnhamism/Manchesterism/Fahnbullehism so far: moving part of the No.10 operation north and insisting that the Chancellor of the Exchequer will have to spend part of their working week in the North to “change their perspective”. Will he insist the bond markets spend part of their working week in the North to “change their perspective” too? The balance between government spending, tax receipts and economic growth will remain the reality by which economic spending is judged, not where the Chancellor is working from.

This is the reality politicians — not unreasonably — obscure. But this simulacra cannot hold for long. 

Last week, the Office for Budget Responsibility warned that Britain faces a stark choice: raise taxes — already at their highest level in peacetime history — or impose spending cuts equivalent to the entire education budget to stop the national debt spiralling. In its annual assessment of the long-term sustainability of the public finances, the independent watchdog concluded that government debt was on course for an “unsustainable and ever-rising path” under almost every scenario it modelled.

Much of this is driving by the natural phenomena of an ageing population: health spending, for instance, is projected to increase from 8 per cent of GDP in 2030-31 to 13 per cent by 2075-76. Some of it is driven by the natural phenomena of politicians trying to win the support of an ageing population: state pension spending is forecast to rise from 5 per cent of GDP to around 9 per cent over the same period. Thankfully, there will be natural cuts: with a declining child population, education spending is forecast to fall from 4.3 per cent of GDP to 3.4 per cent.

Fiscal constraints have always been a limiting factor of political decision space. A state with ever-growing spending commitments, expanding debt obligations and a shrinking tax base has two ways out. One is massive amounts of economic growth that makes people richer, and the other is ever-higher levels of taxation and borrowing.

Manchesterism offers little confidence on the first. According to the Resolution Foundation, GDHI per person increased by 40 per cent in real terms between 1997 and 2023, outperforming even London (36 per cent). But that success predates much of the Burnham era: income growth has largely stalled since 2017, when he became Mayor (and have been falling since 2021). Manchester’s low base must also be taking into account: despite decades of improvement, residents still had disposable incomes of just £16,500 per person in 2023 — roughly two-fifths lower than London’s £27,900 and marginally below Sheffield, Newcastle and Liverpool.

Replicating even Manchester’s catch-up performance — for which Richard Leese and Howard Bernstein are responsible, rather than Burnham — is next to impossible in an era of shrinking populations. The only way to do this would be adopt a more Chinese style of both wealth transfer and economic development. The most likely course, then, is to give in to the increasingly rapacious demands of the state.

Manchesterism offers no convincing answer to that dilemma, because it does not exist. Indeed, it is questionable whether it ever did.