Scotch whisky and Range Rovers may top Britain’s official exports, but nothing travels quite like British fatalism.

Britons have long been known for sarcasm, self-deprecation and a good old-fashioned stiff upper lip. Despondency is not just expected, but a point of pride. These days, the French fret over the potential loss of a bank holiday, Italians rally against Putin-friendly performances on their soil and even some of the MAGA faithful speak out in the face of Trump-Epstein conspiracy chatter. 

Britons, by contrast, will let out a deep sigh, open their phone, and begin scrolling – usually past memes featuring a cabinet slip-up, or a GP replacing in-person appointments with a chatbot named Dave, presumably to placate voters suspicious of doctors with names longer than one syllable. We’re not broken. Charles de Gaulle once said that ‘history does not teach fatalism,’ but the man never met Liz Truss. Other democracies are merely beginning to confront the type of institutional decline and public frustration that Britain has been quietly enduring for decades.

And so there exists a deep-seated pessimism within the British populace. The body politic has morphed into a performance for those who’ve given up on the prospect of reform. The old two-party model has faded; Conservative and Labour now resemble historical entities in a political system devoid of conviction and open to populist reinvention. Yet the public remains remarkably indifferent, socially conditioned to expect disappointment from anyone with a title, lanyard or slogan.

While Britain has grown accustomed to enduring setbacks, other democracies are only just reaching their moment of profound realisation. Strikes and governmental volatility continue to agitate France, with even air traffic controllers walking out, as if to export disruption across borders. America veers from exalted hope to existential terror concerning its highest office, consumed in a cycle of conspiracy and financial instability. Even Germany, previously the cornerstone of the EU, is becoming visibly uneasy as pressure mounts on Merz to toughen his stance on Israel and attempt to restore Germany’s influence with Paris and London. These are unfolding hardships, where democratic purity is being shed in the moment.

Britain has already mourned its collective past, present and future. What looks like widespread indifference might actually be endurance. The British public no longer expect proficiency; that’s a feature, not a flaw. We replace governments not because we are driven by genuine belief, but a sheer lack of excitement. Call it influence achieved through low expectations.

Deeply flawed as it may be, British democracy does maintain a degree of emotional sincerity. The shock of systemic collapse still shakes other democracies while Britain has already absorbed that reality. There’s no belief left to undermine, leaving only passive resignation. Rather than improvement, the public looks forward to a slow, managed descent. A system unburdened by its pledges, yet it continues to function (just about). Judgement of the political elite is based less on what they accomplish than on how entertainingly they fail. Voters register the dysfunction, sigh, and return to the ballot box. It’s bleak, but functional.