Was it “completely out of order… indefensible… unacceptable”, as Michael Gove said in a TV interview? Or was it “a pretty small” mistake, as Zac Goldsmith tweeted? Was it the awful dad dancing? Or was it Ben Mallet’s braces that fuelled such contemptuous feeling?
On one level, it’s hard to know what to think about the newly-released footage of a Christmas party at Conservative HQ from December 2020, when Britain was under Covid restrictions that banned socialising indoors. Should we feel scandalised, affronted, betrayed? Alternatively, is there really any point in continuing to persecute those who broke the rules when the offender-in-chief, Prime Minister Boris Johnson, has paid for his flagrancy with both his job and his reputation?
There is so much to unpack from the 45-second video obtained by the Daily Mirror, but my firm conclusion is that we shouldn’t treat this as an insignificant footnote in the grand narrative of history, but rather as an episode which reveals an awful lot about Britain’s post-Covid settlement.
It speaks mainly of the indifference and insensitivity of the political class, or at least of the conceit of a party which has been in power for 13 years. Would the widespread ignoring of the Covid rules have been perpetrated under a Labour administration? They would like you to think not, but a long period in government can breed an institutional arrogance, and Labour’s own 13 years in power was not exactly devoid of hubris.
Nevertheless, there is a particular quality to this footage that references privilege and entitlement, and that’s what has stoked the anger of British people who can vividly recall the privations they endured, patiently, during Covid lockdowns. There is the ineffable sense of haughty self-satisfaction, which, at the risk of sounding petty, may come down to the question of Mr Mallet’s braces.
Not to labour the point, but the inescapable fact is that the wearing of braces can make you look like… well, a bit of a tosser. Mr Mallet may well be, as Zac Goldsmith says, a “kind and decent person”. But he doesn’t look it, carousing without a care in the world. And if there’s a fashion accessory that communicates a self-regarding, born-to-rule, superior attitude, it’s braces. I know I may be peddling an irrational prejudice here, but I am sure that this apparel will define Mr Mallet for some time to come.
And to the arrogance, perceived or real, we can add contempt. Mr Mallet, a Conservative aide and political infantryman, and Shaun Bailey, the unsuccessful Tory mayoral candidate who was also at the party, were both recognised in Mr Johnson’s resignation honours list, with an OBE and a peerage respectively.
You may think it impossible to bring the honours system into further disrepute, but the bestowing of awards on Mr Mallet and Mr Bailey was done in full knowledge of their potentially criminal neglect of the Covid rules. It does rather illustrate that this is an aspect of political and cultural life that should be abandoned forthwith, if only because it makes a mockery of those who truly deserve recognition.
Finally into this tale of our times comes a man called Jolyon Rubinstein. A writer and actor with strong views and 77,000 followers on Twitter, he posted an image from the party video with the caption: “Make Ben Mallet famous”. I don’t want to single out Mr Rubinstein, but we all know what his tweet really means. Let’s pile on, exact revenge, and mete out punishment. Even a cursory trawl through Twitter reveals a mob mentality based on some of the least attractive instincts of humankind, and, if anything, serves to temper one’s antipathy towards Mr Mallet.
In the end, though, Ben Mallet only has himself to blame, and if he becomes symbolic of a government which disregarded its people and treated the political system with disdain, he, the others who wilfully broke their own rules, and their supporters, can hardly complain.
