The Cosy Consensus

I believe that democracy depends on more than elections. It depends on who gets heard. On who gets to define the problems we face. On whose experiences are seen as credible. And on whether power, at its highest levels, is willing to listen to voices it does not already recognise.

That’s why we need to talk about class and social mobility.

Because behind the official commitments to fairness and inclusion, behind the slogans of evidence-based policymaking and strategic renewal, the reality remains uncomfortable: too many decisions in our country are made by people who look, speak and think alike.

It is this, more than ideology or intent, that shapes what I call the cosy consensus. A subtle, pervasive alignment of background, credentials and institutional comfort that allows a small group to set the rules of the conversation whilst maintaining the appearance of inviting everyone in.

But perhaps the more insidious feature of the cosy consensus is the way it gatekeeps who gets to enter the conversation at all. Behind every strategy document or policy commission is a series of hidden filters — of who is invited, who is deemed credible, who gets to set the terms. These are rarely about capability. More often, they reflect cultural familiarity, institutional trust and the subtle cues of “polish” and “fit” that favour those already inside the system.

The result is a kind of epistemic closure: new voices are welcomed only if they don’t challenge the paradigm and experience is only counted when it comes dressed in the right language. In such a system, even well-intentioned inclusion risks becoming performance. And real power: defining the question before answers are even debated, remains firmly in familiar hands.It is not a conspiracy. It is something more enduring. It is a culture. And if we don’t challenge it, it will continue to produce the same outcomes: well-meaning policies that miss the mark, reforms that reproduce inequality and institutions that no longer feel recognisable to the people they are meant to serve.

A System That Knows Itself Too Well

The statistics are well known, aren’t they? Nearly 60% of the UK’s permanent secretaries went to private schools. More than 40% attended Oxford or Cambridge. The shortlist for the last Cabinet Secretary was composed of four Oxford graduates. Less than 1% of the UK’s population goes to Oxbridge. This pattern repeats across the leadership of our think tanks, advisory bodies, party machines and media institutions, as Alona Ferber noted in the New Statesman.

In the United States, the dynamic is not so different. The academic C. Wright Mills called it the power elite: the revolving door between politics, the military and business, where decisions are shaped by a small, socially networked group whose careers span the same institutions and whose outlooks are forged through the same convergent experiences.

These aren’t bad people. Many are intelligent, sincere and deeply committed to public service. But the system around them is built to reward familiarity. It trusts those who already speak its language. It elevates those who already belong. And so, even when intentions are good, the result is the same: policy made by people with limited proximity to the lives they are trying to improve.

Why This Matters

This matters not only because it is unjust — but because it is increasingly unwise, as election results in the USA, UK and elsewhere demonstrate.

Policy cannot succeed if it cannot see clearly. And no institution can see clearly if it relies only on a narrow set of perspectives. These conversations need 20/20 vision.

That is why lived experience matters. Not as a stories in reports but as a way of understanding complexity. A way of seeing the blind spots that the professional gaze so often misses.

We know where this goes if we fail to act. We’ve seen it. Windrush. Universal Credit. The collapse of probation outsourcing. Women’s Health. Policies that were rational on paper but fell apart in contact after first contact with the real world. Policies that harmed because they lacked empathy, understanding and a grounding in reality.

And still, the system resists challenge. Because challenge feels uncomfortable. And the one thing the cosy consensus cannot easily tolerate is discomfort.

Collective Intelligence, or Collective Stupidity?

Sir Geoff Mulgan has described this brilliantly. In a recent paper, he sets out a theory of collective stupidity: the idea that even bright, well-intentioned groups can make worse decisions together than they would make alone. Not because they are foolish but because they are human and because they fail to consider differing and divergent perspectives.

We conserve cognitive energy. We seek social approval. We align with those around us. We fall into harmony and mistake it for truth.

These patterns which so familiar to anyone who has sat in a Whitehall meeting, or worked in a think tank, mean that dissent is often softened, difference is often ignored or diminished and confidence is mistaken for competence.

This is how bad decisions survive. This is how errors are repeated. This is how a convergent view of the world becomes embedded and normalised.

And this is why disruption is not a threat. It is a necessity.

When Loyalty Becomes a Liability

But it gets worse. Because in today’s political environment, even those who can see the problem are often incentivised to stay quiet.

In both the UK and the US, political life has become shaped by the logic of career progression. Party loyalty is rewarded. Speaking out is punished. The revolving door between government and private sector disincentivises tough but the right decisions.

Good people stay silent because the cost of honesty is high. Decisions are made with one eye on a minister’s next promotion.

This is not just a problem of ethics. It is a failure of leadership. And it leaves a vacuum: one that is increasingly filled by cynicism, polarisation and populism.

Worse still, these dynamics are reinforced by the incentives of modern political life. In both the UK and the US, the political class is increasingly shaped by the priorities of career progression.

In Westminster, MPs are rewarded for loyalty more than leadership. Promotion depends on proximity to power, not quality of argument. Dissent is punished, often quietly but effectively. The revolving door between government and consultancy further distorts incentives.

In Washington, as Mills observed, elected politicians have become brokers between corporate and military elites rather than autonomous actors . In both systems, public service risks becoming a platform for personal advancement, measured not by outcomes but by future opportunities.

When the rules of the game favour those who don’t challenge the game, the system reproduces itself. And the cost of that reproduction is trust.

Labour’s Moment — and Its Test

Now, Labour governs. And it does so with a rare opportunity: to reimagine not just the machinery of government but the culture that drives it.

But the risk is clear. That Labour governs competently but comfortably. That it changes the tone but not the terms. That it updates the ‘software’ while leaving the ‘operating system intact’.

If that happens, it will not be enough.

Because voters are not just asking for better delivery. They are asking to be seen. To be heard. To be included.

And if we fail to meet that need — if we allow leaders to retreat once again into elitist bunkers, then the disaffection will only get worse.

A Different Kind of Intelligence

The alternative is harder. But it is better.

It begins with humility. With recognising that good policy is not just about evidence, it is also about empathy. That diversity is not a moral add-on but a critical aspect of how we create the future as we enter this 5th Industrial Revolution. I believe that the state is strongest when it is porous, reflective and self-aware.

It means building institutions that are capable of listening to dissent. That reward people who ask hard questions. That treat lived experience as data and not just as mildly interesting account. That deliberately shift gears at moments of consequence: not to delay action but to ensure wisdom.

And it means recognising that leadership is not about being the most erudite, educated and well connected person in the room. It is about building rooms where people can disagree well and where the consequences of their decisions are fully understood before they are made.

The Future of Policy Is Human

The challenges we face in the next decade: climate, care, technology, inequality, will not be solved by top down strategy alone. They will require connection. Courage. The ability to see the whole system and to centre people within it.

That begins by breaking the consensus. Not to destroy what exists but to make space for what is needed — including bringing in new and different voices into the conversation.

Because the real threat to public life is not too much noise. It is too much silence. The silence that comes when institutions no longer know how to listen.

We are entering a decade that will test the resilience of our institutions like never before. Climate, conflict, migration, inequality and technology will stretch every part of the state.

To meet those challenges, we need a policy culture that is diverse, self-aware and capable of discomfort. Not one built on harmony. But one built on the productive friction that allows us to see clearly, act wisely and hold power to account, even and especially — our own.