Media Matters: Why Britain’s P.M. Is Popular Abroad But Hated At Home

When Gordon Brown went on his second official visit to the United States in mid-April, all three presidential candidates made time to meet him—Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton even took a morning off from their fierce campaigning in Pennsylvania. Yet the British press corps used the occasion to slam the prime minister for his timing, which coincided with—and let him be overshadowed by—Pope Benedict XVI's stateside tour. Likewise, when Brown, at the end of his trip, gave a major address on globalization in Boston that was serious and carefully argued—vintage Brown—the Americans lapped it up, while the British press corps snickered.

Seems the more Brown is lauded abroad, the more he's reviled at home. When French President Nicolas Sarkozy visited London, he praised Brown for his "courage and loyalty"—yet the U.K. press took this as another embarrassment, since it highlighted Brown's support for the unpopular Treaty of Lisbon (which will allow EU governance of Britain in place of a constitution that British voters would reject). Similarly, when Brown met George W. Bush at the White House, the president was full of praise, in sharp contrast to their first, chilly meeting last July. But how did Brits take it? "There goes his re-election," quipped one U.K. journalist.

What explains this divide? Brown's tenure has produced no major scandals, and no one seriously blames him for the country's economic woes, given the global credit crunch. Yet his national media's attacks grow ever fiercer. "There's a pack mentality among the British press," says Sunder Katwala, general secretary of the Fabian Society, a Labour-oriented think tank. Clearly, the pack's now baying for blood: Brown's approval ratings have plummeted during his 10 months in office, from 59 percent to 28 percent—16 points behind the Tories—due in no small part to his press portrayal as remote and inaccessible. Most recently, he took a beating when he proposed to eliminate the 10 percent tax rate for the lowest-income people, as middle-class Brits complained it would increase their own bills. Brown modified his stance after a revolt by a group of Labour M.P.s—and was blasted for the "humiliating U-turn."

Even Brown's mild image makeover—smiling more, doing an "American Idol" charity event—has met with derision at home. Peter Hennessy, professor of contemporary British history at the University of London, says it's the inevitable result of Labour's nearly 11 years in power. "This is an endgame government," he says. "When things go wrong, the penalty you pay is magnified because you've been around so long." Seems this is yet another gift Tony Blair bequeathed his successor.
—Rod Nordland

A Class Revolt: Litigation On The Rise
As Americans debate ways to tone down litigation culture, Europeans are expanding their own. Underway in Frankfurt, Germany, is Europe's biggest experiment yet with class-action suits. Sixteen thousand investors who lost their savings when Deutsche Telekom's stock collapsed in 2000 are suing for €80 million, saying the firm misstated assets. Last December, Italy passed a law allowing collective suits initiated by consumers, and the European Commission is making it easier to seek damages from price fixing.

Why the changes? It's been hard to sue companies in Europe, even if the damage is obvious. Claimants rarely get access to corporate documents. A "loser pays" system means individuals can get stuck with corporate lawyers' bills.