Britain is a Bulwark Against Post-Liberalism

Across the pond watching our American friends backslide into a competitive authoritarianism, is in the most British terms "not ideal". In an era marked by the resurgence of authoritarian impulses and the intellectual allure of post-liberal ideologies, it is now imporotant to understand that Britain stands as a crucial, if sometimes flawed, bastion of liberal democracy keeping the flame of liberalism alive even when its historical allies do not.

At its heart, Britain’s enduring fealty to core liberal tenets—an allegiance forged in the crucible of its distinct historical evolution, institutional scaffolding, and cultural temperament—stands as a formidable redoubt against the democratic attrition plaguing other nations. This inherent resilience casts a stark shadow against the political tempests gathering in the United States, where post-liberal critiques assailing individual autonomy and universalism find disturbingly fertile soil amongst ideologues championing a more statist or nationalist order. Indeed, Britain’s political and societal edifice, anchored by centuries of cautious gradualism, parliamentary ascendancy, and a deeply ingrained skepticism towards radical rupture, reveals an uncanny knack for weathering such ideological squalls.

The very bedrock of British liberalism is inextricably woven into the nation’s singular constitutional saga. Unlike polities birthed from revolutionary edicts and codified charters, Britain’s framework for governance matured organically, painstakingly accumulating bulwarks for liberty across the ages. Seminal waypoints—the Magna Carta’s curbs on monarchical caprice, the Habeas Corpus Act’s shield against arbitrary detention, the Bill of Rights of 1689’s consecration of parliamentary supremacy and foundational rights—collectively sculpted a political psyche profoundly distrustful of untrammelled power. This unhurried, incremental journey, culminating in the gradual broadening of suffrage, did not merely impose limited government and the rule of law as abstract ideals from on high; rather, it wove them into the very sinews of governance as hard-won concessions. The common law tradition amplified this pragmatic bent, venerating precedent over doctrinaire rigidity, whilst the Glorious Revolution delivered the coup de grâce to absolutism, thereby instilling a perennial aversion to concentrated authority, be it monarchical, military, or demagogic.

This rich historical tapestry has bequeathed Britain potent institutional antibodies against democratic decay. The hallowed doctrine of parliamentary sovereignty, vesting ultimate authority in the elected legislature, compels governments to dance to the tune of the House of Commons, thereby inherently tempering the policy agenda. In stark contrast to systems where executive decrees or judicial pronouncements can readily circumvent legislative deliberation, the British Prime Minister remains tethered to Parliament’s will. Moreover, the judiciary’s staunch independence, buttressed by the Constitutional Reform Act 2005, serves as an indispensable brake on executive and legislative adventurism. Landmark rulings, not least the Supreme Court’s 2019 annulment of Parliament’s prorogation, boldly testify to the judiciary’s readiness to defend constitutional verities, a striking divergence from the politicised judicial appointments and crumbling judicial legitimacy witnessed across the Atlantic. Augmenting these central pillars, Britain's architecture of devolved governance further disperses authority, creating a constellation of political power centres inherently resistant to any authoritarian centralisation.

Yet, one must not be blind to the fact that this formidable institutional and historical patrimony is far from an unblemished shield against contemporary maladies. Britain wrestles with persistent economic spectres—cycles of enervatingly sluggish growth and outright stagnation that can easily curdle into public despair. The perennial question of immigration periodically ignites the combustible politics of "blood and soil" nationalism, severely testing the nation’s oft-proclaimed commitment to inclusivity. Venerable institutions, not least the National Health Service and segments of the civil service, creak under institutional arteriosclerosis, struggling to muster the agility for modern exigencies. Whispers, and sometimes shouts, persist about a cloistered and self-perpetuating elite, often minted in the rarefied air of Oxbridge, seemingly adrift from the lived realities of the wider populace. And beneath it all, a deeper cultural angst festers: a post-imperial, post-Brexit Britain searching, often anxiously, for its definitive role on the global stage, an existential uncertainty that leaves it susceptible to the siren song of simplistic remedies and the venom of internal division.

Notwithstanding these significant internal abrasions, Britain harbours potent cultural antibodies against the extremist contagion. A political culture deeply imbued with pragmatism and an instinct for incremental rather than revolutionary change acts as a powerful societal gyroscope, evidenced by the consistent electoral oblivion met by extremist parties. Even tectonic shifts like the post-war genesis of the welfare state occurred within, not against, the established democratic order. The unblinking vigilance of British civil society and a multifarious, often fiercely adversarial, press corps furnishes another critical line of defence. A phalanx of NGOs relentlessly scrutinises extremist undercurrents and challenges discriminatory orthodoxies, while media outlets, for all their own inherent biases, frequently drag governmental actions into the harsh glare of public examination. The ferocious debates and legal jousting that defined the Brexit saga, for instance, vividly showcased the capacity of these societal sentinels to demand transparency and exact accountability. This ecosystem of scrutiny often operates with a potency rarely matched in polities where the media landscape is fractured by hyper-partisanship or where civil society lies dormant. These British attributes present a stark relief to the vulnerabilities increasingly laid bare in the United States, where the rigidities of separated powers, inflamed by rampant political polarisation, frequently yield legislative paralysis, thereby perversely incentivising executive overreach and stoking a dangerous public cynicism—conditions ripe for exploitation by figures, as epitomised by the January 6th assault on the Capitol, who openly disdain liberal norms.

This innate resilience, intricately woven into the warp and woof of British political existence, faced its crucible moment with the menacing ascent of fascism in the 1930s; the nation’s triumphant rebuff of this virulent ideology serves as a potent historical testament to these enduring strengths. Britain's deeply embedded parliamentary traditions, commanding widespread public deference, offered scant purchase for movements intent on democracy’s demolition. The Conservative Party, a broad ecclesiastical tent sheltering diverse right-of-centre persuasions, formed a formidable bulwark, effectively colonising the political terrain coveted by nascent fascist groups. The state, too, stirred from its initial reticence: the Public Order Act of 1936, by proscribing paramilitary regalia and empowering authorities to control incendiary marches, critically hamstrung Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists. Yet, perhaps most decisively, a groundswell of societal revulsion, indelibly symbolized by the Battle of Cable Street where a coalition of ordinary Londoners physically barred a fascist procession, underscored a profound popular repudiation of extremist dogma. While the Great Depression undoubtedly inflicted hardship, Britain’s economic sinews proved more durable than those in nations that succumbed to fascism’s siren call, thereby diminishing the allure of radical panaceas. Mosley’s BUF, moreover, authored its own downfall, its descent into thuggish street violence and rabid antisemitism rendering it a pariah. Thus, fascism’s comprehensive rout in Britain—its utter failure to elect a solitary representative—was no mere quirk of fate, but a direct consequence of these coalescing factors: robust democratic institutions, mainstream political cohesion, timely state intervention, and an unequivocal societal rejection.

Britain’s enduring strength as a liberal democracy stems not from immutable perfection, but from an adaptive resilience forged through history and embedded in its institutions and culture. Its unwritten constitution allows for flexibility, while the supremacy of Parliament ensures accountability. Its judiciary retains a high degree of independence, and its society largely maintains a pragmatic aversion to ideological extremes. This intricate combination has, thus far, proven remarkably effective at resisting the siren calls of post-liberalism and the global trend towards democratic backsliding that find more receptive audiences elsewhere. While facing its own serious challenges—including the societal divisions exacerbated by Brexit, persistent economic inequalities, and the pressures on the Union itself, alongside the aforementioned institutional and cultural anxieties—the fundamental architecture and disposition of British political life continue to uphold the core tenets of liberalism. In a world increasingly turbulent and uncertain, where democratic foundations are demonstrably fragile, Britain’s particular synthesis of tradition, incrementalism, and institutional checks positions it as an essential, if often reluctant, bulwark safeguarding the principles of liberal democracy against the rising tide of illiberalism.

If there’s one quiet conviction that threads its way through the often-untidy tapestry of British political thought, it’s this: our democracy, bless its occasionally rickety framework and rather eccentric ways, whilst ever imperfect is perfectible. We always tend to muddle through, don’t we? A sensible adjustment here, a thoughtful debate (usually over a few pints) there—it's the gradual, unflashy path we’ve generally trod. There's an ingrained belief that with a healthy dose of good cheer, a dash of stubborn hope, and a fundamental faith that most folk, deep down, are trying their best, we’ll keep nudging things along towards something always ever a little bit better. It’s less about grand, revolutionary blueprints and more about patient, hopeful tinkering that tomorrow will be better than today.

We might look across the Atlantic and find a flicker of hope in Winston Churchill’s wry observation: that Americans can always be trusted to do the right thing, once all other possibilities have been exhausted—suggesting that perhaps, even after this troubling exploration of democratic backsliding and post-liberal temptations, the United States too may ultimately discard these perilous alternatives and come back to the Community of Nations. Until then, we will continue to watch and wait, and do our best to ensure that liberalism remains alive and well across the pond.