The new age of trust

Having trekked down a winding lane in rural Gloucestershire, I tucked the emergency prescription under the edge of the doormat. As I turned to go, an elderly woman knocked on the upstairs window, waved and blew me a kiss.

I had never met Mrs Grant or her daughter, who called me yesterday. They were reaching out to the local community network that is now operating in the district to support vulnerable people during the coronavirus outbreak. As the whole family are self-isolating, they put their trust in a complete stranger to help provide care.

This was just one tiny act in the context of a new deepened trust within communities, brought about by the pandemic.

This new era of trust is worth interrogating, because it has two forms. On the one hand, we are experiencing a form of trust based on social solidarity. Coronavirus is forcing us to recognise our reliance on one another—there is a quasi-wartime morale where trust between communities becomes essential for survival.

But on the other hand, we are having to trust with blind faith in our political leaders to make the right call, more so than ever before in peacetime.

The first of these forms of trust is very welcome; the second, however, we would do well to stay vigilant of.

So far the government has been rewarded for its wartime spirit. In the last week, the need to trust authority in moments of crisis has provided Boris Johnson and Rishi Sunak with surging approval ratings and the Conservatives have received some of the highest poll ratings in history, with several opinion surveys putting their lead at over 25 per cent.

Coronavirus has thrust the world into an act of collective faith in government. The state is paying the majority of some people’s wages and is bailing out businesses large and small. It is taking a more active role than we have ever seen before, even regulating our movements and gatherings. Yet 72 per cent of Britons say they think the government is handling the coronavirus outbreak well, with 22 per cent of those saying that it is doing “very well,” according to YouGov.

To a degree, trust is essential for democratic government. But as the state takes a bigger role in all our lives, we should not become complacent: trust without scrutiny is dangerous. This era of necessary deepened trust should not see the government let off the hook.

Only three weeks ago, the government asked us to trust herd immunity, wasting days gambling lives on a course of British exceptionalism.

This is the same party that has, for a decade, pushed the NHS to the very brink of survival, leaving the system utterly vulnerable. Waiting lists were hours long even before coronavirus arrived in the UK.

Stripped of preparedness funding, the health service’s defences were left at a bare minimum to reduce overheads. Doctors are having to buy their own protective equipment online or rely on donations from garden centres and children’s nurseries. Johnson may be clapping the NHS now, but only three years ago his party was cheering the blocking of a pay rise for nurses. These have been political choices.

More positively, the proliferation of mutual aid networks across the country has meant many people who have lived near each other for decades are speaking to each other for the first time, sharing resources and emotional support (at safe distances) in a way they have never done before. In some parts of the country, people are even dancing in the streets.

Of course, there are the panic-buyers who are flouting government guidelines and acting like the most badly-behaved individual in a prisoner’s dilemma. Considering official advice changed almost daily in the first two weeks of the pandemic, it is hard to blame the general public. In the past few days this has become, largely, outlying behaviour.

Social solidarity during coronavirus has transcended inter-generational rifts, as we attempt to shield the elderly from the virus. The pandemic has brought about concern for precarious workers, for rough sleepers, for those in crowded housing, for vulnerable women forced to stay in close proximity to abusers, for single parents, for children losing out on educational opportunities.

Although we may be physically distanced, the social trust that has built up in recent weeks could have a profound long-term impact on our sense of community. But this should not be an apolitical solidarity. No war is apolitical, even in public health—it is not simply epidemiology versus humanity.

Already, questions are being asked about how we are going to pay for the crisis. As the spectre of austerity looms in the distance, these newly-forged communities will need to be strengthened. This is a critical juncture where our trust in mutual reliance could rebuild what is expected from political leadership.

Just yesterday, the tide seemed to turn as media pundits began to question government actions, particularly around testing, which the World Health Organisation has been pushing for weeks.

We must scrutinise a government which says it will support the vulnerable now as public health expediency but will make them pay for it afterwards. Perhaps, when all this is over, the small acts of trust we have shown in each other—even delivering prescriptions—will have a lasting resonance and allow us to imagine a different way of living altogether.