For onlookers, Britain’s repressive turn is something of an enigma. Why are restrictions being tightened — on public protest, journalism, trade unionism — in a country where civil unrest is virtually absent? What could an establishment, in bipartisan agreement about every fundamental economic and geopolitical issue, have to gain from waging a war against an enemy too weak to fight back?

In a narrow sense, authoritarian measures can be said to serve a practical purpose: minimizing disruption and the bad publicity that flows from it. Although Britain’s annual strikes days remain low by historic standards, the government has tried to counter the recent uptick in industrial action by introducing labor laws that limit walkouts in the public sector. Similarly, following the rise of disruptive climate activism, parliament has passed policing and “public order” bills that make it easier to jail protesters. And in the international context of the New Cold War, attempts to strengthen the security state (by making it an offense to publish “restricted” information, for instance) are an obvious complement to rising militarism.

It would be wrong to claim, with more optimistic commentators on the British left, that these reforms reflect a deep legitimacy crisis, and consequent drift toward coercion in the absence of consent. While there is no great enthusiasm for Labour or the Tories, nor is there an alternative mass politics on the horizon. Corbynism, a challenge from above rather than below, failed to leave a powerful socialist movement in its wake. The Tories’ Thatcherite domestic program and hyper-Atlanticist foreign policy have met no serious opposition in the streets. Draconian legislation is therefore aimed at individuals and institutions that the government considers an inconvenience — or “public nuisance” — as opposed to a genuine threat.