Brexit. The word itself is a talisman, a curse, a Rorschach test for the British soul. For ten years now, we have argued about its merits, its costs, its very meaning. And now, at last, the numbers are in. British exports are surging. The optimists, those hardy souls who never lost faith in the project of national sovereignty, are crowing. ‘See,’ they cry, ‘the prophets of doom were wrong. The lion’s roar is undimmed.’
Let us pause, shall we, before we uncork the champagne. A surge in exports is, on its face, an unalloyed good. But the devil, as ever, resides in the detail. The question is not whether exports have risen, but why. And whether this rise is a sign of muscular health or, like a fever, a symptom of a deeper malady.
Consider the context. The past decade has been one of immense dislocation. The pandemic, the war in Ukraine, the energy crisis. Global supply chains have been shredded and rewoven. Inflation has eroded purchasing power. In such a climate, a country’s exports can rise for reasons that have little to do with long-term competitiveness and much to do with short-term opportunism or, worse, desperation. A weak pound, for instance, makes British goods cheaper abroad. Yet a weak pound is not a mark of national vigour; it is a confession of diminished economic standing. It is the strategy of a street vendor, not a great mercantile power.
Look instead at the composition of these exports. Are we selling high-value manufactured goods, the kind that signal skill and innovation? Or are we flogging our natural resources, our cultural heritage, our cheap labour? The figures, as they emerge, suggest a more nuanced picture. Services, particularly financial and business services, have held up. But goods exports, the backbone of a tradable economy, have struggled to regain their pre-2016 trajectory. The much-vaunted trade deals with non-EU partners have not yet materialized in the expected volumes. The Commonwealth, that sentimental favourite, has not rushed to fill the gap left by the European single market.
And what of the costs? Every silver lining has its cloud. The surge in exports may be a partial recovery from a deeper slump. The Office for Budget Responsibility has repeatedly estimated that Brexit will reduce long-run productivity by 4 percent compared to remaining in the EU. That is a permanent scar. A reduction in trade intensity, in foreign direct investment, in labour mobility. These are not abstract numbers. They translate into lower wages, fewer opportunities, a weaker safety net. The surge in exports, in this light, is like a patient with a chronic illness who manages a brisk walk: praiseworthy, but not a cure.
The patriotic narrative demands that we see Brexit as a success. And indeed, it has been a success in the narrow sense: we have left the EU, we control our own borders, we can sign our own trade deals. But the costs were always clear to those who bothered to read the economic models. The tragedy is that these costs have fallen disproportionately on the poor, the left-behind, the very people who voted Leave in the hope of something better. They are still waiting.
To my mind, the Brexit debate has never been about economics alone. It has been about identity, about sovereignty, about the kind of country we wish to be. But identity cannot be eaten, and sovereignty cannot pay the rent. The surge in exports is a welcome piece of news, a glint of sun through the clouds. But let us not pretend that it vindicates the grand departure. It is, at best, a partial adjustment to a new reality that we chose, not one that was forced upon us.
The Romans, in their decline, comforted themselves with victories on distant frontiers while the rot set in at home. They celebrated triumphs even as the barbarians massed. We should be wiser. The numbers are in. They are not as bad as the gloomsters predicted. But they are not good enough. And they never will be, until we acknowledge that the real problem was never the EU. It was ourselves.
