What should politicians apologise for? Readers have let me know they’re full of ideas after I agreed with Marie-Louise Coleiro Preca that Labour owes us all, supporters and critics alike, an apology.
Readers’ demands for apologies sprang with hot steam, like geysers in volcanic land. Comments argued what was justified, what signified double standards and what was mere deflection. Some claimed they’re still waiting for apologies, due decades ago, for electoral low tricks, maladministration, injustices, partisanship and cases of corruption.
Compared with liberal democracies elsewhere, the long lists are as striking as the absence of Labour’s apology for what’s emerging about Castille on the disgraced Joseph Muscat’s watch.
European democracies are no strangers to injustices, bad management and corruption cases. But few give rise to demands for official apologies. When political leaders apologise, it’s a noteworthy event.
Recently, Angela Merkel offered the German public a personal apology for her government’s many missteps in handling the pandemic. A few years ago, faced with greater public fury over her part in Germany’s Syrian refugee crisis, she offered only a half-apology.
Last year, Keir Starmer, the UK Labour leader, apologised to British Jews for the anti-semitism that’s said to have flourished within the party under his predecessor, Jeremy Corbyn. But he didn’t apologise for Labour’s many errors in losing the 2019 general election a few months earlier. That electoral loss handed the country over to Boris Johnson and there are legions of furious, anti-Brexit voters who regard that electoral result as a catastrophe. Yet, it’s not cause for an apology.
Apologies are made on principled grounds. They safeguard principle when it’s been jeopardised. They salvage reputation when it’s been tarnished. They show there’s a sense of honour left when honour has been lost.
Of course, there’s partisan calculation in making them as well as in avoiding them. But apologies are only offered for a narrow range of reasons.
No apology is needed for an electoral programme that’s buried in a landslide. The voters have their say and then the losing politicians decapitate their leaders and regroup.
Governing politicians don’t generally apologise for things like recessions, poor infrastructural investment or a reckless migration policy. Those are mistakes for the democratic process to handle, thanks to transparency, freedom of information, scrutiny, criticism, separation of powers, accountability and votes.
Instead of protecting us, the people in charge made Malta look like a crooks’ paradise
What the democratic process cannot handle on its own is an existential threat to its own institutions: the sabotage of accountability and separation of powers. System failure calls for an apology for the betrayal. Public contrition helps restore trust.
Anti-semitism threatened to destroy British Labour’s identity as an anti-racist party. Starmer apologised even though his wife is Jewish and their children have a Jewish religious education; there’s little chance that Labour under him will be anti-semitic. Nonetheless, he apologised on behalf of the party. It wasn’t enough to say: “I’m fixing this. Let’s move on.”
Merkel apologised for the chaotic pandemic policy because the mess was undermining public faith in the legitimacy of the measures. Her apology recognised the justification of public anger. Paradoxically, Merkel’s apology helped the government recover its moral authority.
Some apologies are based on a judgement call. When it comes to corruption, however, there is little choice. Even the appearance of corruption must be dealt with swiftly and decisively – before a public inquiry is begun.
Ministers resign if they cannot immediately disprove allegations of corruption. Tony Blair’s home secretary, David Blunkett, resigned, only to be exonerated by a subsequent investigation. No one said he was wrong to resign. Even if you’re innocent, protecting the country’s reputation is paramount.
Single cases of corruption demand swift action, though not necessarily apologies. When corruption is systemic, however, there has clearly been gross negligence at the top.
Corruption is systemic when it’s a regular feature of government. If private enrichment is driving policy and public appointments, the problem cannot be one of a few individuals. Even if the crooks are only a handful, they desecrate the integrity of the whole.
In the case of the Panama Gang, we’re dealing with more than a handful. The gang was protected right from the top. The loud alarm bells were ignored. The list of accomplices and enablers is long. Instead of protecting us, the people in charge made Malta look like a crooks’ paradise.
The institutions of law and order were hollowed out. We’ve been robbed blind. The entire country is a victim.
The degradation is so complete that, when it comes to Daphne Caruana Galizia’s assassination, no reasonable person can rule anything out. The unthinkable seems possible. A few years ago, the idea that ministers were involved in a bank heist would have just been laughed off. Today, we can discount nothing.
The Labour Party machine played a significant part in giving cover to the Panama Gang. So did cabinet ministers. If they can’t see the need for an apology, what world are they living in?
No apology means they don’t acknowledge that ordinary Labour supporters are victims, too. No apology means no sense of state.
The political apology is an act through which politicians bow their heads and bend their knees – not to their adversaries but to the nation. They reaffirm their loyalty to the fundamental values that unite the country. The apology doesn’t lead to loss of face. It shows there’s some honour left. It’s the start of the path to recovery.