Cada eleitorado, cada primeiro-ministro

«Mr Cameron took the train north on August 10th, to answer questions from a hundred or so Manchester voters. It could have been a tough crowd: Manchester has received much public money over the years to recover from a post-industrial slump. It is still home to a lot of jobless households. The audience, picked by a local radio station, included many with a stake in the state: teachers, the boss of a youth arts project, parents anxious about cherished social services. Yet the mood was businesslike and on the whole respectful.

Part of that is the prime minister’s manner. It is said that Mr Cameron—an expensively educated sort with aristocratic in-laws—acts as if born to rule. That is right, but potentially misleading. He is not a drawling toff. His is a brisk, self-confident form of poshness: think of a young officer in one of the smarter regiments, getting on with the job in some global hotspot. In Manchester he strode about in shirtsleeves, politely but firmly in charge, cutting wafflers short and kindly prompting the nervous. He has old-fashioned good manners and treats voters like adults, admitting when problems have no simple solution.»
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Vamos esquecer os antepassados notáveis. Vamos esquecer a entrada para o Eton College aos 13 anos. Vamos esquecer a First class honours, a segunda mais alta classificação na graduação em Oxford, uma das melhores universidades do mundo. Vamos esquecer a educação e as boas maneiras. Vamos esquecer um passado quase sem mácula (OK, vamos aceitar umas fumaças de cannabis e talvez umas linhas de coca).Vamos esquecer tudo o resto, mas não podemos aspirar a ter um primeiro-ministro que trate os eleitores como adultos?

Poder, não podemos. E não seria a mesma coisa, porque os nossos eleitores não são adultos.