Chris Whitty: The man with the health of a nation in his hands

Sean O'Grady looks at the consummate public servant whose life has been touched by tragedy but is now key to Boris Johnson – and Britain’s fight against the coronavirus pandemic

(AFP/Getty)

Last year, and pre-Covid, Chris Whitty, now chief medical officer for England and chief medical adviser to the UK government, suggested banning Jammie Dodgers. The biscuits, that is, not the likes of Dominic Cummings. He was joking, of course, which may come as a surprise to those who only see this tall, slim, slightly austere-looking figure in a grey suit explaining sombre aspects of the coronavirus crisis. Resembling a long lost brother of Chris Grayling, his colleagues speak admiringly of his “warm but reserved” manner and his ability to “handle” the politicos. He looks like the kindly doctor he is, enjoys a drink with friends and colleagues, is personable and plays tennis badly. You may guess from the rumpled suit he is not a vain man. Beyond that, he is a very private person, as they say.

Back to biscuits, though. Whitty was wielding the figurative Jammie Dodger during an address to the Medical Research Council, and was, as you’d expect, making an insightful point. Whitty has spent his entire working life in medicine (mostly specialising in blood and infectious diseases), public health and, for the last 11 years, advising governments of all three parties. He was sharing the benefits of that experience with his audience by constructing a simple analytical framework – a triangle to help them get the best from their dealings with politicians and officials, or play the system if you like. On one side, you ask how strong is your scientific evidence. The second side is a measurement of how difficult your advice would be politically – popularity or expense, or both. The third is how big an effect your initiative would have. The Jammie Dodger would thus probably not be banned because it would be politically impossible to convince the public, and the marginal effect on childhood obesity, say, would not be worth the effort, even if the scientific assessment of the nutritional value of a jam and custard biscuit sandwich is reasonably sound. So don’t ask Boris Johnson to ban them. (As if).