Travis Aaroe

The historian Niall Ferguson was in many ways typical of the high-level defectors to Trumpism. He found himself driven to MAGAdom only in extremis: over Biden’s plans to pack the Supreme Court, and over insufficient “deterrence” in the Democrats’ foreign policy. Last month, however, Ferguson tested the limits of this new coalition. He took to X to rebuke Trump’s handling of negotiations with Russia. Soon popped up no less a figure than J.D. Vance. “Moralistic garbage,” the vice president shot back. Ferguson felt obliged to clarify his position to the MAGA faithful.

In 1979 the price of gas at the American pump doubled to $39.50 a barrel – $172 in today’s money. The future of industrial civilisation seemed in doubt. But to Jimmy Carter, these oil woes were a distraction from the real issue: the moral failure of the American people. ‘Much deeper’ than the energy crisis, said the President, was a ‘crisis of confidence’ in politics and society, born out of a ‘worship of self-indulgence and consumption’.  It was an example of a very old trick. The default response of a governing class to a crisis is to frame it as a general moral one – one that, conveniently, implicates everyone and no one in particular.

The term ‘technocracy’, or more often ‘technocrat’, is found everywhere. Both Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer are referred to as technocrats. But what exactly does it mean?   In the 15 years he served as prime minister, Lord Liverpool always put in the hours. He dutifully opened the latest despatches and read them in turn, though his delicate nature made him dread the task. He was scrupulously honest and always fair. He mastered the details. He was courteous towards colleagues and sensitive to their feelings. He was a devoted husband. He did not act rashly and sailed by no great ideological system. Had he lived today, Lord Liverpool would be what we might wincingly refer to as ‘a safe pair of hands’ or, worse, a ‘technocrat’.