Political commentators continue to get it all wrong

Last week, as the shocking results of the British elections arrived, the most overused sentence in Britain seemed to be: "I was wrong." Another insurgent mass movement following the leftist Syriza party in Greece, Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump in the United States, and the Five Star Movement in Italy had caused a political earthquake. In one of the biggest political upsets in British history, Theresa May of the Conservative Party lost her majority in parliament, and her socialist rival, Jeremy Corbyn, led his Labour Party to its largest increase in its share of the popular vote since 1945.

Yet the eruption of mea culpas by political commentators following this seismic shift had a special pathos to them. For it was not only the British tabloids, reflexively and rowdily right-wing, that had been hostile to Corbyn and his supporters. The center-right and center-left intelligentsia also unanimously saw Corbyn and his supporters as deluded cultists and dead-enders.

One of Corbyn's most vociferous critics, Nick Cohen, a columnist at the left-leaning Observer, predicted in March that Corbyn would lead his party to a "historic defeat" and warned his supporters in the most colorful terms that they should change their minds.

It is now Cohen who has had to change his mind, and to write, "I was wrong." And this bathetic declaration is now so frequent that it is worth asking: How did so many commentators entrusted to get things right get them so spectacularly wrong?

This is no longer an academic question, or dinner-party quibble, since public trust in the media is at an all-time low. A simple explanation is "generation gap" — a phrase last heard widely during the great youth revolt in the 1960s. Most senior media professionals find themselves on the wrong side of the age divide. Their concerns about the future are rather less urgent than those of the young men and women facing student debt, poorly paid internships, zero-hour contracts, long-term unemployment and permanent exclusion from the housing market.

There is also the class gap. Most senior journalists have enjoyed relatively high socioeconomic mobility in recent decades. Their exposure to what for many people are everyday realities — underfunded schools and hospitals, insecure jobs, communities hollowed out by de-industrialization — is limited.

But nothing has dated political vision today more than obsolete ideology — especially among those who claim to be free of it. Most commentators today came of age as the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe revealed the criminal inefficiency of central planning and crisis beset the social-welfare state in Western Europe and America.

Consequently, political programs of previously opposed parties blended until they were indistinguishable. Margaret Thatcher could claim Labour Party leader Tony Blair as her inheritor. Radically shrinking the welfare state, David Cameron of the Conservative Party declared himself Blair's "true heir." In the United States, Bill Clinton pushed through cuts in welfare spending more savage than anything Reagan proposed.

With much entrusted to the evidently self-regulating mechanism of the global market, and competitive individuals and corporates, politics lost its old conflictual nature. More and more citizens turned away from political life, as is evident in the falling membership of mainstream parties and poor electoral turnouts.

A technocratic centrism prevailed among media, business and political elites, with much stress laid on fine-tuning market-oriented policies. Faith in "expertise" was never more cherished than when the French philosopher Auguste Comte first declared politics a "positive science" whose experts merited the same authority as "astronomers for astronomy and doctors for medicine."

In recent years, a general revolt against the inequality bred by unregulated markets, and its alleged promoters — technocratic elites — has undermined the credibility of the experts. Politics, far from being a stable science, is now subject to the contagious volatility of insurgent movements.

Corbyn, for instance, rapidly added half a million members to the Labour Party. Before the British elections, organizers from Bernie Sanders' campaign traveled to Britain to help train young British activists in the art of canvassing. Corbyn's improbable success was made possible by tens of thousands of young men and women who knocked on the doors of ordinary voters, armed with some idea of their concerns and intentions.