Isolation 16th-century Mexican Style

One of the first episodes to draw the attention of the British public to the coronavirus was the quarantining of a cruise ship in Yokohama. Passengers were locked in their cabins and interviewed by Skype for TV news. We sympathized with their boredom, monotonous food and, above all, their fear of the spreading infection. I have recently been reading a good deal about Spanish navigation from Acapulco, Mexico, to Manila, Philippines, in the 16^th and 17^th centuries. 

Artist's impression of two galleons

Cutaway drawing of a Manila galleon

A 1628 view of Acapulco

Once a year two galleons set out for Manila in the spring and returned to Acapulco just before Christmas. Tides and prevailing winds made the return much longer than the outward journey, sometimes as much as six or seven months. This on a crowded wooden vessel, with no internet, no on-board entertainment, no lights, no air-conditioning or heating, no showers, no toilets. As regards the latter function one simply hung one’s bottom, in view of a few hundred others, over the side of the vessel, endeavouring not to fall into the ocean. A French scholar has estimated that about half of deaths during a galleon’s journey were the result of drowning, whether from failed lavatorial poses she does not speculate. And there were storms, shipwrecks, leaks and English pirates to worry about.

 

The galleon arrives in Manila, 1590, Boxer Codex

On most journeys a number of crew also died from disease. This is not surprising. Social distancing was impossible. Water was for drinking, not for washing hands while singing Happy Birthday twice. Most galleons had on board some chickens (for eggs) and some cattle for meat. Droppings and other livestock emissions did not promote hygiene, nor pleasant odours. Otherwise, the diet was rice, olive oil, chickpeas, biscuit (brown for the crew, white for officers and dignitaries), salt pork and salted fish, cheese, raisins, water and wine. And chocolate, which tended not attract maggots like other foods.

 

Map of the outward and return journeys. Note the much less direct return

The passengers had no on-board tasks, and even the sailors needed a break from work, as days merged into one long sameness. Perhaps this feeling is one we can share in April 2020. However, there were many forms of entertainment. The most regular was mealtimes. The day began at first light with a breakfast of bread, wine and salt pork. Lunch and dinner while light lasted helped to break up the day. Lesser mortals ate with a spoon, sitting on their sea chests. The crew was organized into groups united by family ties and/or by town of origin, so meals were sociable. Officers sat on chairs at tables with tablecloths.

 

A map showing tides on the return journey

Cards and dice were common amusements. Gambling was illegal but difficult to stamp out. Music was another popular amusement, perhaps a song or two accompanied by a guitar or vihuela. One galleon in the 1590s carried five slave musicians from Mozambique, Java and India, with a selection of European and Indian instruments, purchased by a wealthy resident of Mexico City to entertain him and his guests. As an old publisher, I was glad to discover that reading was popular (some one third of the crew were literate). Devotional tomes were common, but there were also literary works such as the Cantar de Mío Cid, an epic poem describing the heroic feats of the Cid Campeador (“Battling Leader”), Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, against the Moors.

Fishing was popular, sometimes for food, sometimes for entertainment. There are accounts of sharks being caught, tormented and then thrown back into the sea to watch their death throes.

There were mock bull fights and sword battles. Theatrical performances and sketches were popular. One performance in 1678-1679 was described for theatrical history:

“The sailors, dressed comically, form a tribunal and brings as prisoners all the important people on the galleon, beginning with the general, and each is tried. This caused much amusement. This was a festive day. Then the prisoners were condemned and sentenced, one to give the crew chocolate, another biscuits, another sweets.” These performances were given on the day that first signs of approaching land were spotted, so the comedy was a way to release the tension and boredom of months at sea. Such was the release of attention that even the most important man on board was willing to be made fun of. Dramas and comic sketches were staged more frequently when somebody really important was on board, such as the new Viceroy of the Philippines, the Marquis of Villena, in 1640.

Monument in Manila recalling the 250 years of the Manila galleon trade

We are learning in the current crisis that the National Theatre, the Royal Opera House, the Metropolitan Opera, and other arts performances online, a well-stocked home library, a garden if we are lucky, a carefully selected drinks cabinet, and video calls to friends and family, are all extremely helpful in our isolation. Not to mention a good gin for my Friday night martini. Would we have coped quite so well on board the Manila-Acapulco galleon?

La Llorona: a legend, a song and Mexican popular culture

One of the benefits of the lockdown is the almost daily exchange of messages with friends in several countries. A friend here in the UK, who is a Mexicanophile like me, sent me a link to a wonderful video of a choir of young girls singing La Llorona (“the weeping woman”) in Náhuatl, the indigenous language of the Aztecs and other peoples of ancient Mexico, still spoken – and sung – today. See: https://youtu.be/34c_ZCsH-3Q

San Francisco Altepexi

A dancer at a festival wearing a skull mask

The story of La Llorona touches on many aspects of Mexican culture, some that have come down to us from centuries-old indigenous traditions. Ancient Mexicans had good reasons to be rather preoccupied with death. They lived in a rugged land of earthquakes and droughts. They believed that the world moved in 52-year cycles, which ended in destruction. They interpreted destruction and famine as the work of gods who were both protective and vengeful. One of the duties of their rulers was to protect their subjects from wrathful gods, by communing with them in drug-induced states in caves (the doors to the underworld), by sacrifice of their own blood, extracted with thorns from the tongue or the penis, or by the still bloodier sacrifice of captives, stupefied with drugs to facilitate the ritual removal of their hearts.

Church of St Francis of Assisi in Altepexi

Rural Mexicans still appease ancient gods, although in far less bloody fashion. Ceremonies to placate Tláloc, the rain god, persist, combined with, or lightly disguised by, Christian elements. The Day of the Dead is celebrated still by gatherings in the churchyard to share a meal with the ancestors. Even sophisticated city-dwellers, will enjoy the seasonal pan de muertos (bread of the dead) or buy a skull made from sugar or sweet potato from the local baker.

La Llorona is a tragic figure, who wanders the earth wracked with guilt for the death of her children.

A huipil from Acatlán, Guerrero

Abandoned and betrayed by her husband, she took her children to the river and threw them in the water. Then, full of remorse at what she had done, she returned to the river to search for them. She searches to this day. In the video, La Llorona is not a murderous, regretful mother. She is equated with the Virgin, who will protect us from the cold with her shawl. She is elegantly dressed in a traditional Mexican huipil. Nevertheless, the overall tone is of sadness and death: the flowers seem to weep in the graveyard.

 

A ceremonial gathering with flowers

The stream on Altepexi hill

In this video (https://youtu.be/34c_ZCsH-3Q) La Llorona is Chokani in Náhuatl. The choir of young girls 

is from San Francisco Altepexi, in the Tehuacán Valley, south of Mexico City. The town’s names is derived 

from the Náhuatl meaning “water on a steep hill”. The faces of the choristers will be familiar to anybody 

who has visited a small town in Mexico: dark complexion, high cheekbones, and, in front of a camera, a 

serious expression. The abundance of flowers is typical of any religious celebration. We see briefly the 

church of Saint Francis of Assisi, built in 1831. The ruins are of the former factory of San Juan 

Nepomuceno Xaltepec, built in the late 19th-century. 

 

The local flora

For those who cannot read the Spanish captions here is the test of La Llorona in Spanish and English. Please enjoy: https://youtu.be/34c_ZCsH-3Q

Salías del templo un día, Llorona,      You were coming out of the church one day, Llorona,
Cuando al pasar yo te vi,                    When I saw you as I walked by
Salías del templo un día, Llorona,      You were coming out of the church one day, Llorona,
Cuando al pasar yo te vi,                    When I saw you as I walked by
Hermoso huipil llevabas, Llorona,      You wore such a beautiful huipil [blouse], Llorona,
Que la Virgen te creí.                          That I thought you were the Virgin
Hermoso huipil llevabas, Llorona,      You wore such a beautiful huipil [blouse], Llorona,
Que la Virgen te creí.                          That I thought you were the Virgin

Ay de mi, Llorona, Llorona,               Poor me, Llorona, Llorona,   

Llorona, llévame al río                       Llorona, take me to the river

Ay de mi Llorona, Llorona,                Poor me, Llorona, Llorona,

Llorona llévame al río                        Llorona, take me to the river

Tápame con tu reboso, Llorona,         Cover me with your rebozo [shawl], Llorona,

Porque me muero de frío                    For I am dying of cold

Tápame con tu reboso, Llorona,         Cover me with your rebozo [shawl], Llorona,

Porque me muero de frío                    For I am dying of cold

No sé qué tienen las flores, Llorona,  I don’t know why the flowers, Llorona,

Las flores del camposanto                  The flowers in the graveyard

No sé qué tienen las flores, Llorona.   I don’t know why the flowers, Llorona,

Las flores del camposanto                  The flowers in the graveyard

Que cuando las mueve el viento,

Llorona,                                               When they move in the wind, Llorona,
parece que están llorando                    It seems that they are weeping

Que cuando las mueve el viento,

Llorona,                                               When they move in the wind, Llorona,
parece que están llorando                    It seems that they are weeping                       

Ay de mi, Llorona, Llorona,               Poor me, Llorona, Llorona,

Llorona llévame al río                        Llorona, take me to the river

Yo soy como el chile verde,               I am like the green chile, Llorona,

Llorona,

Picante pero sabroso                           Spicy but tasty

Yo soy como el chile verde

Llorona,                                               I am like the green chile, Llorona,

Picante pero sabroso                           Spicy but tasty

From Shepherd’s Bush to Rangoon and Ramallah: the Life and Works of a Quaker Artist

Note: please excuse the poor quality photos of some of the paintings below. They were taken by an inexpert photographer (Ian Jacobs) in less than ideal conditions.

Last year Jan and I scheduled a guided visit to the house-museum of Emery Walker. Walker was a socialist, an Arts & Crafts typographer, cartographer and fine art printer, a friend and collaborator of William Morris and other key figures of that movement. Jan has a family connection to Walker.

The Emery Walker House, Hammersmith, from the garden

Her grandfather, Herbert Waddams, joined Walker’s company about 1907. His employment was interrupted by WWI, but despite being wounded in 1916, and nearly dying of the Spanish flu in 1918, he returned to the company. From 1923 Herbert’s family lived in a company flat in Shepherd’s Bush, until Walker died in 1934, leaving Herbert £50.

Ron Waddams, Herbert Waddams, oil on canvas, nd

Herbert used the legacy to pay the deposit on a house. He became a manager of one of the company’s branches in 1937, and worked there for many years, eventually becoming a director of the company.  Herbert retired from the company in 1954 to work as an illustrator for publishers such as Macmillan (my employer for 27 years) and Longman.

Thus, what we now call visual culture, was part of Jan’s father Ron’s life from childhood. At age 14 Ron started a two-year course at Ealing School of Art, where he was top of his class. This earned him a job as a junior at the Brilliant Sign Company, and a year later at Bert Pugh, Lettering Specialists on the Strand in central London. Thus, Ron began his long career as a commercial artist, as he styled himself, rather than as a graphic designer. However, at least by his teens Ron had discovered that his real passion was painting, as we will discover in a moment.

 

Ron Waddams, Self Portrait, oil on canvas, 1940

In 1940, Ron was called-up for military service in WWII. In 1942 he was drafted into a rather unorthodox unit of lithographic draughtsmen and artists, whose role would be to produce maps for British commanders, using a mobile printing press. In March 1943 Ron’s unit embarked on a ship in Greenock in Scotland, and after two months arrived in Cape Town.

Map printed in Burma, 1945

Ron Waddams, Unknown location, India?, watercolour, 1943-1945

Several weeks later they travelled on to Bombay. Ron and his colleagues criscrossed India from Dehra Dun and Massorie in the north to Bangalore in the south. In 1945 they followed British troops into Burma, at one point transporting their equipment by barge on the Chindwin river. Their travels ended in Rangoon until they were shipped home in 1946.

Roan's Rangoon typewriter

He was evidently thinking ahead to his commercial career, since in a market in Rangoon he acquired an essential piece of office equipment, a portable typewriter made by the Royal typewriter company of New York in New York City. When he returned home, Ron's brother-in-law John Brown, a metalworker, made a steel carrying case for the typewriter, possibly from surplus steel used to build aircraft during the war. Ron’s experiences in India and Burma instilled in him a great affection for India and its people. He also became a life-long pacifist, socialist and internationalist, and, eventually, a Quaker. 

  

Ron Waddams, Betty Waddams, oil on canvas, nd

An office typewriter was not the only thing on Ron's mind as he waited in Rangoon for the long journey home. Letters from his parents kept him informed about Betty Charrosin, a young girl he had met through his church. Ron and Betty married in 1949.

Larren from the garden

Larren, front façade

Another formative experience for Ron’s art was the Festival of Britain in 1951. He once commented to me that post-War Britain was such a dull, grey place, that the colours and design aesthetics of the Festival of Britain were visually thrilling and made a lasting impression on him. He particularly admired the Sports Kiosks, temporary installations on the South Bank of the Thames, designed by two young architects, Ursula and Gordon Bowyer. In 1954 Ron, Ursula and Gordon, designed a home, Larren, for his new family in Chalfont St Giles, Buckinghamshire. Ron’s admiration of the art of Piet Mondrian is evident in the use of rectangles and cubes as the basic design elements of the house. Larren was completed in 1956.

Ron Waddams, Larren, acrylic on board, 2006, 53.7x77.5cm, Private collection

Ron Waddams, retouching a painting, Jordans Meeting House, 2009

Ron Waddams, Rye Harbour, oil on canvas,c.1958-59

Ron’s earlier work consisted of landscapes, including a few watercolours dating to his time in India (see above), portraits, mostly of family members, and self-portraits. Post-war he experimented with less realistic, more abstracted styles. These developed into the style of paintings to which he devoted much of his time in retirement. The later paintings reflected his interest in clearly delineated areas of dynamic, often vivid, colour and shape, executed in acrylic, stimulated in part, I suspect by his graphic design practice, and his design of posters for Quaker Peace and Service. These works incorporate visual motifs that are characteristic of the final decades of his life. They include abstracted, one-dimensional human figures, created with sharply delineated areas of often bright, non-realistic colours. These figures often have elongated arms and hands that curve to embrace or envelope others. This motif, I think, is in part a reference to the community principles of Quaker meetings for worship. Another common motif is a sprig of olive leaves, usually a reference to peace and to Ron’s pacifism. Similarly, some paintings incorporate one-dimensional doves.

 

Ron Waddams, left, Ian McFarlane, right, Jordans Meeting House exhibition of Ron's work, 2009

Ron died in 2010. After the death of his wife, Betty, his heirs faced the considerable task of placing his large body of well over a hundred paintings. Ron expressed a wish that certain paintings be kept in the family. These are currently in storage. Others were reserved by family members and now hang in several homes around the UK and in Christchurch, New Zealand. Some were sold or permanently loaned.

 

Ron Waddams, Seascape With Faces, acrylic on board, 2007, 61x61cm, Private collection

Ron Waddams, Lamentation and Resolution, acrylic on board, 1983, 244x122cm, the Palestinian Museum

I became closely involved in finding an appropriate home for a work that was too large for any family home. This was Lamentation and Resolution, acrylic on board, 1983, 244x122cm, a painting that reflects Ron’s profound commitment to peace, conflict resolution, human rights and the Quaker conviction that there is something of God in everyone. This painting was Ron's personal response to the injustice and inhumanity of the massacre of Palestinians in the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in Beirut in 1982. The number of dead men, women and children is unknown, but estimates range from 700 to 3,500. We once showed this work in a church in London. One of the visitors, a Lebanese taxi driver, was moved to tears when he saw the painting.

I wrote to the Palestinian ambassador in London, Manuel Hassassian, who enthusiastically accepted the work as a gift. Our Sunninghill framing shop, The Circle Gallery, made their largest ever frame. Ron’s friend Ian McFarlane hired a van, and we delivered the painting to the tiny building of the Palestinian Mission (they are not allowed an embassy because the UK government does not recognize Palestine as a state). Ambassador Hassassian asked us to take the painting to his office on the first floor, but it was too large to go up the stairs, so it was hung in the reception area.

Left to right: Ian McFarlane, Anna Saif, Jan and Ian Jacobs, Manuel Hassassian, Omar al Qattan, Palestinian Mission, London, 2017

A few days later, Ian, Jan and I returned to meet ambassador Hassassian, who had invited to join us Omar al Qattan, who runs a charitable arts and culture foundation in London and Palestine. Omar suggested that Ron’s painting really belonged in the Palestinian Museum (http://www.palmuseum.org/language/english) in Ramallah. This began a long and complicated process, accomplished with the able help of the energetic communications officer of the mission, Anna Saif. Omar had alerted us to the difficulties of sending a painting to a museum under occupation. Anna found a transport company that packed and delivered Lamentation and Resolution to Tel Aviv (nothing can be delivered directly to Palestine). There, tax had to be paid on the gift (we had been obliged to declare a monetary value to the Israeli authorities). It was then loaded on to a specially authorized vehicle, taken to the border between Israel and the West Bank, to be loaded there on to another authorized vehicle. Finally, after many months the museum sent us photos of the painting safely stored in the only climate-controlled museum building in Palestine.

Lamentation and Resolution, detail. Note the embracing arms and olive leaves

Before the painting embarked on its long journey, I visited the mission to take some photos of details. The receptionist commented to me that the painting made her very sad. This puzzled me, since I saw it as a work of colourful hope for the future. As we discussed her reaction, I learned that she is Lebanese. She did not see the colours that draw my eyes to the work. Instead she saw the areas of grey and black, in which the only human element are shadowy heads (or skulls). Ron always refused to explain what his paintings “were about”. He would reply that we should decide for ourselves what a painting means to us. For a British man in his 60s, for whom Sabra and Shatila represents a shameful violation of human rights in a far away place, the colours of the work drew his eyes away from the darker meanings. Those images were all that a Lebanese, for whom the subject matter was highly personal, could see.

Lamentation and Resolution, detail. Note the grey human faces on the black background

 Some selected paintings by Ron Waddams:

United Nations Frieze, oil on canvas, nd, Private collection

Presence IV, acrylic on board, 92x122cm, 1989, Private collection

We the Peoples..., acrylic on board, 1984, 121cm diametre

Jordan's Quaker Meeting 2, acrylic on board, 1993, 92x122cm

Quaker Peace Testimony, acrylic on board, 1987, 92x122cm

Live Adventurously, acrylic on board, 1998, 122x92cm, Sidcot Quaker School

All Human Beings are Born Free and Equal in Dignity and in Rights, acrylic on board, 1998, 122x92cm, Private collection

Desolation and Regeneration, acrylic on board, 1987, 122x244cm, Private collection

Multimedia site-specific art installations in Sunninghill

Since I wrote about rainbows and teddy bears in windows, more elaborate artworks have begun to appear. I took photos of two on our morning walk today.

This chalk installation is on Lower Village Road. The occasional vehicle wears it down but the artist refreshes it from time to time:

One window previously had a small-scale painting of rainbows, a pot of gold, clouds and a flower:

This is now an elaborate chalk, paper and mixed media installation. It also includes a hopscotch game on the road:

I hope you all enjoy a safe and happy Easter weekend.

Leadership in a pandemic

In the course of most publishing projects one encounters a problem that seems beyond solution. When one of my books faced an apparently insuperable obstacle, I used to tell a story from the Falklands/Malvinas war. When the British task force reached the islands, two groups of soldiers were to land and attack Port Stanley.

RFA Sir Galahad at Port Pleasant

One group was to land in At Port Pleasant and march to the capital, the other, at a greater distance was to board helicopters waiting for them on shore. The Port Pleasant contingent arrived to find that the correct landing craft had not. Their commander decided it was not safe to use other vessels, and while he waited the Argentinian air force bombed the ship. That group never reached Port Stanley. Meanwhile, the other contingent found that their helicopters had not arrived. Their officer decided not to wait, so they walked over rough terrain and defeated the Argentinian army. The unlucky leader at Port Pleasant, concerned for the safety of his troops, made an honest decision that proved disastrous. The other commander, who changed his plan in adversity, triumphed.

Now, lacking a knowledge of epidemiology and public health, I cannot judge the decisions made by experts in these unprecedented times. But it seems to me that we can judge national leaders. We watch particularly Mexico, where our son Chris lives and we have dear friends, the USA (more friends) and our own UK.

Mexico has excellent medical professional and others with relevant expertise, but is disadvantaged by two critical factors. The public health system is under-resourced, and of insufficient scale, to cope with the current crisis. Still more critically, political power tends to be exercised in very personal ways. The population tends to defer to its political leaders. Questioning the President is not easy, especially in the case of the current incumbent who controls most levers of power.

Miguel Barbosa recommends lemon juice to protect against Covid-19

Thus, the quality of decision-making at senior political levels is especially critical. In this respect the country’s government is still more ill-equipped than its health system. A particularly egregious example is Miguel Barbosa, the governor of the populous state of Puebla, who explained that the wealthy, who can afford international travel, get sick. The poor are, therefore, immune.

The President, Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO), has expressed similarly quixotic opinions, while delaying preparations until nationwide action was taken on 30 March. AMLO has declared that Mexicans will be protected by their millenarian culture. This is a reference to the country’s cultural heritage from its ancient civilizations, as opposed to the Spanish imperialists, much reviled in official history.

AMLO's amulets

At one of his mañaneras (morning speeches-cum-press conferences) AMLO declared that he was protected from the virus by his “shields”. He then produced from his lectern a number of “amulets”, among them a Sacred Heart of Jesus pendant, a four-leaf clover and an American two-dollar bill. AMLO continued to hold mass meetings at which he gave abrazos (“hugs”) to large number of citizens. Social distancing did not trouble him.

Meanwhile, some state governors started to take decisions in the absence of federal measures. For example, about two weeks ago the governor of Jalisco state ordered all bars and restaurants to close. This left the girlfriend of our son unemployed (she works in a bar in Jalisco). However, the governor of Nayarit, where they live, did nothing. Indeed, on 21 March, Juárez Day, a national holiday to honour one of Mexico’s past presidents, our son attended a farm machinery and livestock show, funfair, rodeo and dance. Finally, on 30 March, AMLO instructed Mexicans to stay at home for two weeks unless they worked in certain essential sectors of the economy. On 4 April, the Mexico City metro, a large and crowded system, closed half its ticket windows and announced measures to avoid crowding at certain stations.

Since many Mexicans earn very little, and since many make a scanty living informally on the streets (cleaning windscreens, juggling or fire-eating at traffic lights, selling sweets, fruit-flavoured waters, or food), this measure may be very difficult to enforce. Many rely on their daily earnings to buy that day’s meals . They have to decide whether to stay safe at home or starve.

Leadership in the USA, which has traditionally had superb expertise in public health, has left the country ill-prepared as the severity of the epidemic increases. When I lived and worked in the USA in the 1970s, I admired its civic life and the competence of its governmental structures. Now, I observe an administration that values self-interest, political dogma and prejudice above capability, fact, science, expertise and knowledge. The principal criterion by which an action or statement is judged is whether it increases the popularity and adoration of the President. Denigration, spite and insult have become the common currency of politics. The very values and decency of American government have been undermined.

Critically, in this crisis, the consequences are not just that decisions at the top are corrupted by these values, but also that government has been deprived of expertise and infrastructure, much needed in this time of crisis. The Obama administration eliminated the White House Health and Security office, responsible for planning for global matters, but after the Ebola epidemic of 2014 established a Directorate for Global Health Security. President Trump’s National Security Adviser, John Bolton, who focused principally on the USA’s state enemies and terrorism, merged this health office into a directorate in which global health was seen as an aspect of defense. The medically qualified director of the Obama unit was replaced with an official whose expertise is North Korean nuclear proliferation. The Trump administration’s slow response to the pandemic may in part follow from the submersion of epidemiological expertise and priorities into a larger unit, focused on other matters.

Similarly, the budget of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has been reduced, and some offices closed. This is part of a pattern of the undervaluing of science and expertise. For example, although the federal government employs scientists who research climate change, federal employees are forbidden from using the term. In preliminary meetings between UK and US trade officials, the USA has insisted not only that climate change issues cannot form part of the negotiations, but that the term may not even be mentioned.

It is not surprising that, in this culture, Mr Trump has hindered and delayed effective action to address the pandemic. Initially, he dismissed the virus as little more than ordinary flu. He has declined to implement a national effort to combat the virus. This has been left to state governors who vary in the resources at their disposal and the vigour with which they have addressed the matter.

Brian Kemp. Note lack of distancing

For example, Brian Kemp, Governor of Georgia, declared as late as 1 April that he had not implemented a stay at home policy because he had only just learned that the virus can be transmitted by people who have no symptoms. One consequence of limiting the federal government’s participation in attempts to control the disease has been competition between states for equipment such as ventilators, which has increased the price.

A number of Mr Trump’s comments have contradicted or undermined the advice of his own administration’s officials and medical advisers. For example, on 3 April the CDC recommended that all Americans wear a cloth face covering in public to help restrict the spread of Covid-19. President Trump announced not only that he would not wear such a mask, but that the American public need not wear one if they did not wish to.

Two anecdotes illustrate the focus of the administration and its supporters on enhancing the reputation of the President. Dr Anthony Fauci, the Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, an expert on immunoregulation who has advised six presidents on global health issues, has, on a number of occasions clarified or contradicted statements made by the President that were not entirely accurate consistent with federal advice. As a result, he has been criticised by Mr Trump’s supporters, although not by the President himself. The American Thinker, for example, described Dr Fauci as a “Deep-State ­Hillary Clinton-loving stooge." He has been given a security detail because of threats to his safety. Some of Mr Trump’s press conferences have focused on praising him for his handling of the crisis, rather than on communicating clearly the public health message.

Mike Lindell

At one such conference, the President appeared with businessmen who support him. Mike Lindell, CEO of MyPillow, told the reporters that Mr Trump is the greatest President in US history and added that “God gave us grace on November 8, 2016, to change the course we were on”. God had been “Taken out of our schools and lives, a nation had turned its back on God.” At a time when Americans face the deaths of tens of thousands of their fellow citizens, the President devoted a national communication into a fan club event.

In the UK, the government’s approach has been very different. Government ministers assure us, as if the phrase were pre-recorded, that everything they do is “led by the science”. The Prime Minister or Health Secretary appear at a daily press conference with two experts at either side – at a safe social distance. The government has lots of experts: the Chief Medical Officer, the Chief Scientific Officer, their deputies, the CEO of the National Health Service (NHS), the CEO of NHS providers, and so on. The impression is that ministers simply do what these wise men and women instruct them to do, based on science. This, of course, is not really the case. As a behavioural scientist adviser stated in an interview she contributes her advice, which is combined with advice from other specialists, for ministers to make decisions.  She knows what her advice was, but has no idea of the overall picture.

Thus, the experience, judgement, and general calibre, of ministers is critical. The current government has been in power since the Conservative party ejected Mrs May from its leadership, and installed Mr Johnson as Prime Minister. He promptly began to exclude rivals and those who were not fervently anti-EU from office, and in some cases from the party altogether. The Conservative’s large majority in the December election, took this process further. Every minister had to swear to focus exclusively on our exit from the EU on 31 December this year. Those who swore loyalty, were also required, as an audience in a pantomime responds to the villain’s “Oh no I didn’t” with a loud “O yes he did”, to respond to Mr Johnson’s “What are we going to do?” with an enthusiastic “Get Brexit done”. Rivals and experienced ministers were removed from the cabinet. The Prime minister felt secure enough to take a two-week holiday, funded by an unknown donor, with his new fiancée, on Mustique, the holiday retreat of the extraordinarily wealthy and of royalty. While he relaxed, large numbers of fellow Britons were flooded from their homes in the north and in Wales. This did not trouble him enough to return to the UK.

Now, a government composed of a faction of the Conservative Party with a single unifying objective, finds itself dealing with an unforeseeable crisis of an unprecedented nature. Those who hold the most important offices of state are new to their roles, or of untested talent.

Jeremy Hunt, when Health Secretary

The former Foreign Secretary and Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt, whose contacts and experience might have been invaluable, is consigned to the backbenches as a mere MP (although he chairs the Heal and Social Care Select Committee). The former chair of that committee, Dr Sarah Wollaston, who has experience of scrutinizing health policy and was a practicing doctor, was driven out of the party and is no longer an MP. The same applies to Dr Phillip Lee, another former minister and medical practitioner. Matt Hancock, Health Secretary since July 2018, has not been entirely convincing to date. When confronted with serious problems, he assures us that “I am working incredibly hard”, but does not offer convincing solutions.

Matt Hancock

Boris Johnson showing how not to distance socially

 

 

 

The Prime Minister’s career is based on the carefully constructed, artificial Woodhousian personality, of the ever optimistic dishevelled toff, a jovial rhetorical style that makes it respectable to appeal to prejudice and unpleasant instincts, on the grounds that this is “Just Boris being Boris”.  It is hard to think of any occasion in his previous career when he has had to take hard decisions. As the virus crisis began to gather pace, he was slow to act, and then action was not terribly decisive. The government hesitated to order a “lockdown”, preferring instead to focus on “containment”. Then, with great regret for violating the inalienable right of the British citizen to go to the pub (typical rhetoric), he merely requested that we avoid certain gathering places, including clubs but not restaurants. This request stood the test of events for a matter of days, when a more rigorous shutdown was ordered.

Meanwhile, Mr Johnson and his ministers have not yet shed their campaigning style to become leaders of the entire nation. Ministers are overly fond of the first person pronoun, as in “I am working incredibly hard”. On 2 April Mr Johnson informed us by video that “I am massively ramping up testing”. Exactly how he is personally accomplishing this remains unclear. In “Boris being Boris” style, at one point he suggested, adding in Woodhousian style, that he is often accused of being too “boosterish”, that in three weeks we might “turn the tide”. Mr Hancock, asked what the Prime Minister meant by “turn the tide”, clarified that he meant precisely that: “turn the tide”. The Prime minister’s lack of precision is characteristic of his ministers, who appear confused about what we may and may not do, and at times contradict one another. They also failed to practice the social distancing they were urging their subjects to adopt.

In a crisis, learning fast is essential, as is developing sound judgement in extraordinarily difficult circumstances. I hope for us all in the UK that our ministers rise to the challenge. I believe that we have a better chance of that happening than my friends in Mexico and the USA can hope for.