The era of the political cartel, which broadly coincides with the neoliberal ascendancy, has been marked by both a rigid ideological conformity ("There is no alternative") and by a promiscuity in the exchange of policy positions. Ostensibly social-democratic parties adopting austerity and market discipline may be the most obvious example of this tendency, but we've also seen centrist parties adopt rightwing obsessions around multiculturalism and trans rights while rightwing parties reliant on wealthy donors have claimed to be the true "workers' party". Some of this is simple opportunism, but it also reflects a steady erosion in the transmission mechanisms of voter representation. With party members having less say in policy formation - a fact that coexists quite comfortably with a growing saying in leadership elections - and mass membership giving way to a hardcore of loyalists for whom policy is a second order consideration, party leaders have found it easier to flex their platforms. They have also found it convenient to rely on think-tanks for policy ideas. That these ideas are often contradictory and lack consistency is not an issue: they're in the business of selling products to meet short-term needs.
The result has been a growing disillusion among the wider electorate, reflected in falling turnout and low confidence ratings. The current Labour government's lack of popular support owes less to the traditional cynicism of "They're all the same" and a lot more to the feeling that they don't actually stand for anything. This makes Labour paradoxically predictable (they'll change nothing) and unpredictable (what promise will they renege on next?) It also makes it easier for "policy entrepreneurs" to disrupt the political field by offering the appearance of certainty, so long as they are willing to operate within the boundaries of the cartel (Nigel Farage is a member of the club, Jeremy Corbyn is not). Much of the increasingly common platform to be found on the centre-right, and which they have adopted in competition with the far-right, is made up of bold promises that could not possibly be fulfilled, such as the change to the ethnic composition of the nation. Unless you are prepared to go full Israel, there is no way to satisfy the expectations of racist and bigoted voters, which are about their neighbours (or some mythical London) rather than asylum seekers in small boats.
A current example of this is the leader of the UK Conservative Party demanding a public inquiry into the "rape gangs scandal", despite there having already been multiple public inquiries that occured while the Tories were in government and whose recommendations they then largely ignored. This amnesia reflects more than political chutzpah. It highlights that policy adoptions are nowadays meaningless in opposition - something many Labour Party supporters are now ruefully realising - and should certainly not be taken as a guide to future action. They serve rather to position particular politicians relative to the perceived preferences of the party membership. A perfect example of this was Robert Jenrick, whom Kemi Badenoch defeated in the last Conservative Party leadership contest and who is now Shadow Justice Secretary, upping the ante by claiming that the "scandal" reflected the failure of integration and that multiculturalism had corrupted the rule of law. It's obviously nonsense, but more importantly it does not offer any kind of realistic solution, just bile. As such, it is very much in the tradition of Enoch Powell's "Rivers of blood" speech. That Jenrick has not been sacked tells you how far we have come since 1968.
In time-honoured fashion, the BBC has decided that the best way to address this unedifying sight is to ask Nigel Farage for his opinion. This is not simply a case of rightwing bias but a consequence of the structural imperatives that arise from the ideological flexibility of the cartel allied to his own talent at giving the media what it wants: unevidenced assertions, radical rhetoric not backed by substantive policy, and carefully calibrated outrage. The "Stop the boats" meme is a good example of the way that ideas first floated by the far-right (recall Katie Hopkins comments about "cockroaches") can spread horizontally across the political spectrum, even as the focus changes ("We are going to treat people smugglers like terrorists", according to Keir Starmer). This happens because there is only a weak countervailing vertical transmission from party members. Farage is attuned to this reality, hence his own party has little internal democracy and is run as a de facto private business. His BBC interlocuters, like Laura Kuennsberg, are also attuned to the need to defend their status within the politico-media class: peer pressure matters more than public opinion.
The recent intervention of Elon Musk into British politics has been fascinating less for the obvious ignorance he has displayed (hardly surprising if you get your understanding of the world from X's algorithms) than for the confusion it has sown among the UK's politico-media caste. At the level of government, this reflects the simple realities of the US-UK power dynamic. Just as Labour politicians like David Lammy, who once derided Trump as a "a woman-hating, neo-Nazi-sympathising sociopath", now seek to kiss his hem as President, so they and others will accord Musk respect so long as he is seen as a favourite of the White House. Indeed, they will actively jostle to become his domestic agent. But Musk's intervention also highlights the weakness of contemporary political parties, notably the inability of the membership to enforce an even vaguely consistent line on the leadership, and the relative power that the media (whether old or new) has in framing public discourse. There are exceptions to this - e.g. the organic protests over Palestine that both the parties and the media have done their best to suppress - but in general public discourse has become coarser and more stupid as the cartel has flourished.
The tussle on the right between the Conservatives and Reform looks like an internal party contest over a declining (and passive) membership, but the importance of members has been over-stated. Shorn of their role in policy formation and with their ties to wider civic society attenuated by the decline of trade unions and volunteer organisations, party members these days are little more than occasional canvassers. And that is a trend that suits all parts of the cartel, as the pushback against Labour under Corbyn, and the subsequent membership decline under Starmer, clearly demonstrates. The fragmentation of the media since the 1980s has allowed politicians to rely more on direct contact with voters rather than indirect contact through members. A lot of the hesitancy over Musk arises from the fact that he is now a more effective conduit than Lord Rothermere, despite the steep decline of UK accounts on X. Where rightwing newspapers used to set the agenda of the BBC and ITV, it is now more likely to be social media, and particularly an outrageous tweet by Musk himself. This reflects the reality of American empire but it also reflects the decline of party democracy.
