In an attempt to defend his presence at a “bring your own drink” garden party held at number 10, his official residence, in May 2020, Johnson told reporters that he had thought he was at a “party event.” job”.
It’s a bland excuse, and according to lawyers, including Adam Wagner, an attorney and expert on Covid-19 law, it’s almost certainly legally indefensible. But as Johnson probably realizes, it’s not just the fact that our nation’s cabin crew are making their way through the pandemic that offends the British public.
The real insult is that while we abstained, he and his colleagues did not. And while it’s incredible that so many people with huge professional responsibilities were prepared to attend these potentially dangerous meetings, Britain’s entrenched presenteeism when bosses or colleagues hit the bar has always come at a heavy price.
The Metropolitan Police are investigating “several” of these events, along with a separate investigation led by officer Sue Gray. In a simplified version of Gray’s report made public Monday, the Cabinet Office said: “Excessive alcohol consumption is not appropriate in a professional workplace at any time. Steps must be taken to ensure that each Department of Government has a clear idea and a solid policy that covers the consumption of alcohol in the workplace”.
That’s a good idea, but these statements don’t capture the scope of the problem or address the reality that it’s not just alcohol in the workplace that’s at stake. And although the report analyzes Johnson, it is important to consider that he was not the only one attending these parties, nor will these investigations and his final political fate exorcise the toxic element of British culture that they represent.
Regular and excessive bouts of group drinking are chronic throughout British work culture, and the political world of Westminster is an exaggerated caricature of what goes on elsewhere. In non-closing times, Whitehall’s pubs fill the streets from 6pm and become even more overflowing with the proximity to the Houses of Parliament. Drinking continues until late every day of the week. Young advisers know the value of going out for a few pints if they want to endear themselves to their superiors, and as a result, journalists looking for stories do the same, regularly haunting the heavily subsidized bars of the House of Commons.
A variety of risks, including regular hangovers, doing something you’ll regret while under the influence, finding yourself drunk and friendless after dark, and having your paycheck bleed, are all included in the price when you enter this world. .
According to a 2020 report from the British Medical Journal, Westminster MPs are nearly three times more likely to “drink at risk” than the general public, more likely to binge drink, more likely to drink at least four days a week and more likely to add a minimum of 10 units in a typical day. It’s chaotic, boring and can expose the inexperienced or vulnerable to an avalanche of professional and personal dangers, especially to their health, as a result of drinking so much so often.
Much of the problem stems from the fact that the pressure to participate isn’t just social, it’s professional. As well as a legitimate excuse to get drunk, drinking at work is often framed as a necessity to build a career.
They are an informal opportunity to network, get information, make crucial connections, and just be open. Attending is a sign of dedication whose importance seems to outweigh the precarious positions in which doing so regularly can place people, particularly the young, inexperienced and physically light. As a result, it is much easier for some people to get by this way than it is for others.
Work-related drinking is inherently biased in favor of people with extra money, free evenings, a high tolerance for alcohol, and few responsibilities outside of work.
In Westminster as elsewhere, this usually translates to men. On the political side of Westminster, men outnumber women two to one. This, in turn, tips the scales for the British political media: as of 2016, only one in five of those recorded in the daily press gallery were women. Due to the associated long hours, social obligations and inflexibility, Westminster is a particularly inhospitable environment for women with children.
The right and wrong fueled by this environment have been evident throughout the No 10 match controversy. When a 7-year-old girl
wrote in March 2021 to tell Johnson that he was canceling his birthday party to avoid the risk of infection, he replied that he was “setting a great example.”
When a video was leaked in December 2021 showing government adviser Allegra Stratton joking about an alleged Christmas party number 10 in 2020, Johnson said he “couldn’t make excuses for the frivolity” of his staff and insisted that such an event it did not take place (Stratton resigned the next day.) Days later, a picture surfaced of the Prime Minister hosting a Christmas quiz, while, according to one source, staff consulted on questions and drank fizz, wine and beer.
Ahead of the party that took place the night before Prince Philip’s funeral, staff reportedly took a suitcase to the local shop to fill it with alcohol, a tradition sources say dates back to the time of Prime Minister David Cameron. Apparently, Number 10 staged such a prolonged binge that Johnson’s infant son Wilfred’s garden swing broke in the ruckus. The next day, Philip’s widow and wife of more than 70 years, Queen Elizabeth, wept alone in a cavernous Windsor chapel.
If it is decided that the lockdown parties at number 10 due to the pandemic violated the law, a political reckoning will be necessary. But these events also point to a much broader and much older problem. Westminster exemplifies a national workplace drinking culture that predates the pandemic and has always placed unjustifiable pressure on those who fear their careers depend on participation.
The disregard participants showed for the rules in place to keep people safe may come as little surprise given the inequity already inherent in their favorite pastime.
