Truth doesn't survive such a pestilence of pass-the-buckery
In the summer of 2023, Britain opened one of its most expensive public inquiries in history — a three-year, £185 million examination of its COVID-19 response — raising a question as old as institutional accountability itself: can a process designed to find truth survive the forces assembled to manage it? With every major party arriving lawyered and defended, the inquiry risks becoming less a reckoning than a performance, one that may leave bereaved families no closer to the acknowledgment they seek while the deeper question of how the world failed to prepare goes largely unasked.
- Before the first witness was sworn in, the inquiry's machinery had already tilted toward self-protection — government departments, the NHS, and bereaved families all arrived with expensive legal teams and competing narratives ready to deploy.
- The human stakes are not abstract: families still carry the specific, crushing weight of being turned away from hospital bedsides and cemeteries, and they came to this inquiry hoping for acknowledgment, not legal theater.
- Sweden completed three inquiry reports — including a frank admission that its voluntary lockdown policy cost lives relative to its neighbors — and moved on, while Britain prepares for three years of institutional finger-pointing at a fraction of the clarity.
- The inquiry's scope is already drifting, folding in disputes over Brexit, austerity, and lockdown effectiveness, while the officials who made the critical decisions have largely left office and the question of pandemic origins remains peripheral.
- The deepest fear is not that the inquiry will reach the wrong conclusions, but that it will reach conclusions no one fully accepts — leaving the country more divided, the families less healed, and the lessons no clearer than before it began.
Britain's COVID-19 inquiry opened in June 2023 under a cloud of its own making. Chaired by Baroness Hallett and projected to run three years at a cost exceeding £185 million, it arrived already burdened by the question of what it was actually for. Every major institution — the Cabinet Office, the NHS, bereaved family groups — had retained leading law firms. Medical experts, document-sifting specialists, and public relations consultants filled the supporting ranks. On the first day, blame was already being distributed: the Government's Brexit focus had left Britain without a pandemic strategy; Conservative austerity had hollowed out the NHS. The search for truth had barely begun before the search for survival took over.
The human cost at the inquiry's center is undeniable. Families are still living with the specific details of loss — a dead mother's possessions unretrieved from a hospital bedside, a cemetery visit blocked by officials in protective suits. The discharge of COVID patients into care homes during the first wave remains an open wound. Baroness Hallett has spoken of bringing closure to grieving families, but closure is not something an inquiry can guarantee, and the machinery now in motion may not be built to deliver it.
The contrast with Sweden is instructive. While Britain prepared its vast, multi-year examination, Sweden completed three separate inquiry reports and moved on — including one that plainly acknowledged its voluntary lockdown approach had been a mistake, costing lives relative to Norway and Denmark. That conclusion was reached without years of institutional theater or enormous expense. Britain, by contrast, is relitigating decisions made years before the pandemic began, in a process whose conclusions half the country may dismiss as a whitewash regardless of what they say.
What concerns thoughtful observers most is not that accountability is unwarranted — it plainly is — but that this particular process may be structurally incapable of delivering what bereaved families actually need. The officials who made the critical decisions have largely moved on. The country remains genuinely divided on whether lockdowns saved lives or caused greater harm. And the larger question — how the world failed to prepare for a pandemic whose origins remain contested — risks being buried entirely beneath domestic political disputes. Suffering, as the inquiry's critics note, does not automatically produce understanding. And an inquiry, however expensive, does not automatically produce truth.
Britain's newly opened COVID-19 inquiry opened its doors on a Tuesday morning in June 2023 with a question hanging over it before the first witness was sworn in: what is it actually for? The inquiry, chaired by Baroness Hallett, is expected to run for three years and cost upward of £185 million—already making it one of the most expensive statutory public inquiries in British history. Yet from the opening moments, the machinery of institutional self-protection began grinding into motion.
Every major player arrived lawyered up. The COVID-19 Bereaved Families For Justice group, the Cabinet Office, key government departments, and the NHS had all retained leading law firms on multimillion-pound contracts. Beyond the lawyers came medical experts on retainers, specialist firms to sift through millions of sensitive documents and emails, and public relations consultants hired to protect reputations and redirect blame. On day one, the inquiry's lead counsel, Hugo Keith KC, suggested that the Government's focus on Brexit had drained resources and left the country without a pandemic strategy. For the bereaved families, their counsel blamed austerity and Conservative cuts to NHS spending. The battle lines were already drawn—not necessarily to find truth, but to survive it.
The human cost is real and undeniable. Bereaved families are seeking answers about decisions that cost lives. The discharge of COVID patients into care homes during the first wave of 2020 remains a particularly raw wound. Families have testified about being unable to retrieve a dead mother's possessions from a hospital bedside, about being stopped from visiting cemeteries by officials in protective suits. These are not abstract policy failures; they are the specific, crushing details of loss. Baroness Hallett has said she hopes to bring closure to grieving families while allowing the country to learn from its mistakes. But closure is not guaranteed, and the machinery of inquiry may not deliver it.
The columnist raising these questions points to Sweden as a counterpoint. While Britain prepared for a three-year, multimillion-pound examination of its pandemic response, Sweden completed three separate inquiry reports and moved forward. One of those reports concluded that Sweden's original policy of voluntary lockdowns—controversial at the time—had been a mistake. The country's initial death rate far exceeded that of Norway and Denmark because the virus swept through retirement homes unchecked. The Swedish report noted simply: "People in Norway and Denmark had another year to live. That is not something to be taken lightly." Sweden reached that brisk, essential conclusion without years of institutional finger-pointing or the vast expense now consuming Britain.
The deeper problem is structural. By the time the inquiry concludes, many of the officials who made key decisions will have moved on or left office entirely. Former Health Secretary Matt Hancock is already out of politics. The inquiry's scope has already begun to creep beyond its original boundaries, with blame being assigned to decisions made years before the pandemic even emerged. Meanwhile, the country remains divided on fundamental questions: Did lockdowns save lives or cause more harm? Did the Government do its best in an unprecedented emergency, or did it fail catastrophically? These are questions that no amount of testimony, no stack of documents, no parade of experts can definitively answer. One side will accept the inquiry's conclusions; the other will dismiss them as a whitewash.
What troubles the columnist most is not that an inquiry is unnecessary—the Government and its officials certainly have questions to answer—but that the process itself may be incapable of delivering what the bereaved families actually need: acknowledgment of their pain, and genuine lessons for the future. Instead, what seems likely is a lengthy, expensive exercise in institutional self-protection, where the real question—what happened in Wuhan, and how did the world fail to prepare—gets buried beneath disputes over Brexit, austerity, and the effectiveness of lockdowns. The country was in a pandemic panic, and while not everyone was bereaved, everyone suffered. But suffering does not automatically lead to understanding, and an inquiry does not automatically lead to truth.
Citas Notables
People in Norway and Denmark had another year to live. That is not something to be taken lightly.— Swedish inquiry report on voluntary lockdown policy
Baroness Hallett said she hopes to bring closure to grieving families while allowing the country to learn from its mistakes.— Baroness Hallett, inquiry chair
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does the columnist think the inquiry is doomed to fail?
Because everyone arrived with lawyers and PR firms before the first question was asked. The bereaved families want accountability, the government wants to protect itself, and the lawyers want billable hours. Truth doesn't survive that kind of pressure.
But shouldn't there be an investigation into what went wrong?
Of course. But the columnist's point is that this particular investigation is structured to assign blame rather than understand what happened. On day one, counsel was already blaming Brexit and austerity. That's not inquiry—that's litigation.
What does Sweden have to do with it?
Sweden finished three inquiries while Britain was still hiring lawyers. They concluded their voluntary lockdown policy was a mistake and moved on. They didn't need three years and £185 million to learn something useful.
So the columnist thinks the bereaved families won't get closure?
Not from this process, no. They'll get to testify about their pain, and that matters. But an inquiry that's really about protecting reputations can't deliver the closure they need.
What should the inquiry actually be investigating?
The columnist suggests focusing on what happened in Wuhan and how the world failed to prepare, rather than getting lost in domestic disputes over lockdowns and austerity that no inquiry can definitively settle.
Is the columnist saying don't investigate at all?
No. Just that this particular machine—expensive, slow, full of lawyers—may not be the right tool for the job.