A Dog's Brexit Redux

Or what Boris did next. British politics is becoming more and more like a Lewis Carroll tale. The British Prime Minister's latest dive through the looking glass has involved a trip to see the Queen, who conveniently decreed that the unwritten words of the Constitution would mean whatever Boris wanted them to mean. Parliament would be suspended so as to prevent the hopelessly split House of Commons from effectively debating the march to a no-deal departure from Europe.

It's possible -- just -- to have some sympathy for his position. He has bet his political career, gone all in, on his promise to get Britain out come what may by the end of this October. A character so driven by the born to rule mentality inculcated at Eton and Oxford can't bear the prospect of failure. (This is one way he resembles the Donald.)  He knows that if he blinks the newly sprouted Brexit Party will step up and administer the final death blow to the venerable Conservative and Unionist Party. He could advise the Queen to bring on a general election but that would open the door to electoral oblivion as the BP scoops up leavers inside and outside Parliament by casting doubt on Boris's intention and capacity to get Britain out. Instead, Boris can now continue the brinkmanship, right up to the deadline.

He can continue to play the 1950s American game of chicken. That entailed two young men driving cars at each other at speed to see which one swerved away first. This is a dangerous game. I'm reminded of a story about the iconic celluloid rebel James Dean. He and an unknown challenger raced two sports cars towards a cliff. The aim was to be the last driver to leap from his car before they both plunged over. Both jumped in time, but the challenger's coat snagged on the door and over he went. I don't know whether this actually happened. But I like to ponder what the thoughts of the doomed driver might have been as he headed on his short final trip. Would he have been triumphant - 'I've won' or would it have been 'Oh, shit'?  Who will jump at the eleventh hour? Will the EU budge before Boris? Or will Boris go over the cliff?

Perhaps the latter -- Brexit hard landing. But Boris may be counting on a parachute. By delivering a no-deal outcome on time he could then bring on the general election, having cut the ground away from the BP, jettisoning his reliance on the Northern Irish and leaving Labour in disarray under a leader who doesn't command the support of many of his MPs. This too is a dangerous game. A lot could go wrong. A vote of no confidence in the government might be hastily cobbled together when Parliament resumes in mid-October. Still, it's difficult to imagine that the gaggle of MPs who have been unable to agree on anything of substance in more than three years could suddenly line up in disciplined cross-the-aisle ranks barely two weeks before D-Day. There is, however, a late groundswell to finally agree across the fractious chamber to legislate against a no-deal outcome. Boris, in full Trumpian coiffure has indicated that he might ignore any successful no confidence motion, putting a British leader at odds with Parliament for the first time since King Charles I. He might even try to ignore a no-no-deal decision of both Houses. Now, that really would be the mother of all constitutional crises in the mother of Parliaments.

Even more intriguingly, the EU could promise to suspend the operationalisation of the split after the general election, assuming Brexit occurred on time -- on the pretext of waiting for the new government to endorse (or revoke) it.  This would effectively make the election a second Referendum. It would give Labour the opportunity to become the main party of remain, hoping to take enough Conservative seats in the South to outweigh any further losses in the North and to control the new House of Commons, possibly supported by a reborn Liberal Democratic caucus. Of course, the stumbling block of Labour's leader would be a potential spoiler. However, the lure of Downing Street works wonders on the pliable principles of those who hope to move in. Corbyn would hardly be the first to change his coat -- or cardigan -- in exchange for the keys to number 10.

Boris has shown himself to be both strategic and patient. He can afford to wait. Either he will find some rhetorical wheeze to claim victory whatever happens. If he gleans some slight softening in the EU's position, he can proclaim victory from the podium in front of his new home. If hard Brexit occurs, he also wins. He has delivered what he promised, let the chips fall where they may. In that last instance, only the unknown future course of events will decide how much damage has been unleashed and thus how long before Boris's honeymoon will end in divorce.

All this is, of course, irrelevant to those interests tied to a Brexit at all costs, because the costs won't be paid by them but by those who will lose their jobs and savings, and who will endure the rocky logistical disruptions in the months and years of transition to the new normal. What is most tragic is that those who voted for Brexit in the hope regaining their pre-neoliberal birthright will be at the front of the queue of losers. They face the bleak prospect of being pushed from the pan to the fire.

To an ageing Australian looking on from afar, the strictly political aspects of the UK mess are eerily familiar. One astute British commentator has even made the connection when he referred to Britain's current constitutional situation having 'a bit of the Gough Whitlams about it'. More tellingly, in 1983 then conservative Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser called a snap election, precisely at the time the Labor party changed from a colourless leader to the charismatic Bob Hawke. A famous cartoon had Fraser calling out to his opponent, 'caught you with your pants down Bill', to which came the reply, 'it's Bob', upon which Fraser's trousers fell to the floor. Hawke became Australia's longest-serving Labor PM.

Debagging was, probably still is, a tradition at Oxford colleges. I wonder if Boris's are well secured.