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My father, who lived for some years in the Soviet Union, is fond of a particular Soviet story about an event soon after Nikita Khrushchev had become premier. While outlining his new policy of de–Stalinization and the evils of the previous regime, the story goes, Khrushchev was heckled from the floor with the question “What were you doing while Stalin was slaughtering his own people?”. Khrushchev stopped and looked around the room demanding to know who had said it. When no one answered he smiled and said “that’s what I was doing”.

This anecdote came to mind as I was reading coverage of the 20th anniversary of Tony Blair’s landslide election victory this week. Despite those three significant majorities it feels as if no one is willing to admit that they voted for Blair, not once or twice, but three successive times. The very word “Blairite” is an insult within his own party. 

Part of this, of course is tied up with the calamitous intervention in Iraq, but that is not the whole story. There is also a sense of betrayal, that for all the emotional investment in Labour, Blair’s government fell short of its ambitious promises. Reading the New Statesman coverage of Blair 20 years ago it is easy to see why. Expectations were simply immense.

All political programmes are destined to fall short of their ultimate aim. Designing new policy is not easy. Enacting those policies is harder and actually being able to determine a meaningful change in the problem you are trying to confront is hardest of all (particularly when dealing with an issue as multi–faceted as inequality). Most people recognise the truth of that, but the pain of failure is that much more intense when hopes are higher, and when programmes are meant to be idealistic. Blair swept into power as an idealistic, young and charismatic leader for a new age of confident British politics. He left perceived as a cynical, duplicitous failure.

It is a similar case with the outrage over the fees Barack Obama has received for recent talks. The sense of disappointment is far higher when it is directed towards a leader who was meant to be different, but ultimately is following the same old gravy train from the same old moneyed interests.

The period after Easter seems a good time to reflect on misplaced political expectations. During the crucifixion narrative there is the constant irony of Jesus’ accusers calling him king, from the parody crown made of thorns to the sign nailed to his cross (“the King of the Jews”). They think they are mocking him even as they inadvertently affirm the truth of his kingship. What is out of place is their misapprehension of what the messiah will look like. They anticipate a powerful king, a mighty leader who will drive out their enemies, and they do not see the truth in front of them. Even Jesus’ own disciples have a misplaced vision of his role. On the road to Emmaus after the resurrection Jesus joins two of them as they leave the city. They do not recognise him and they tell the stranger of the crucifixion and their disappointment because they had hoped that he would be the one “who was going to set Israel free”. Even they who knew him best still hoped for a political emancipation.

Psalm 146 famously warns us to “put not your trust in princes” because when they die their plans perish with them. The fault does not lie with princes (or prime ministers) for having plans. It is laudable to have idealistic aims and (if they are Christian and that is their intent) to look to build the Kingdom on Earth. But there is a problem with us as subjects. We want idealism and ambition (albeit always tempered with realism and competence), but we are as a people simply not good at dealing with that in our political leaders. We put idealistic leaders on pedestals too high to ever be realistic, and when they fail vilify them utterly. We then wonder why politics seems dominated by cynics and those who lack a compelling vision for the future.

The answer is not to abandon visionary and idealistic visions – but it is to do more to embrace the partial success story and to recognise that fundamental change is too big a burden to rely on a single political leader. As Shakespeare’s Mark Antony told the Roman people “The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.” We have a way of interring the good that political programmes do when we bury them.

Speaking about the French election Cardinal Barbarin, the Archbishop of Lyons, decried what he was seeing as the “worst ever” presidential election characterised by “unforgivable accusations, total critiques, violence, chaos and the misleading of voters”. It’s a critique that Americans and the British might recognise from their own recent and ongoing elections. In such a fraught and polarized space a little more humility on the part of voters would be more than helpful.

Ben Ryan is Researcher at Theos |  @BenedictWRyan

Image from LSE Library on Flickr, available under this Creative Commons Licence

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