Unleashing Demons

by Craig Oliver

  I don’t want to set any hares running, just saying the PM will hold a Cabinet ‘soon and in good order’ after the renegotiation. Despite that, Norman Smith thinks we will have to relent – and the next bulletin reflects that.

  When I brief the PM, he’s clearly worried by this. He wants to say there are only Cabinets on a weekend in a national emergency – and this won’t be a national emergency. He is working in the lounge of his suite, with great views of snowy mountains all around. I persuade him there’s no need to box himself in now.

  Most of the European Commissioners are in Davos and the PM is keen to grab Jonathan Hill, the British Commissioner responsible for Financial Stability and Financial Services, to get his take on what is going on.

  Jonathan sweeps in wearing a heavily patterned scarf and the PM offers him a coffee. I’m the only one who seems to be able to work the fiendishly complex capsule machine in the corner, so it’s left to me to make him one.

  Jonathan doesn’t varnish the truth. His view is that: ‘They [the Commission] are shitting themselves.’ He says they are scared to death about the migration crisis. He believes they’ve had a disastrous last year, and 2016 could be even worse. He says, ‘They want to have a quick win, taking our thorny issue off the table.’ He thinks they believe we are desperate to do a deal and are consequently ‘low-balling’ us in their offers. He also thinks what they are offering on welfare is nigh-on incomprehensible. ‘We need to get them to the politics of this. At the moment it’s all too techy. They need to understand that if they don’t get this right, the whole thing could unravel – with Britain leaving the EU.’

  DC says the briefing has ‘hardened his heart’ and that with the polls tight, the one chance we have of a ‘game changer’ is coming back with a strong deal. We agree he will use his Europe speech this afternoon not only to call for business to speak out, but also to say he will walk away from the February Council without a deal if it isn’t good enough.

  The pause button could be pressed. This is big news. If there’s no deal in February, June would be out of the window for a referendum and the next suitable date could be November. We are all worried about September because it will probably have been after a summer of ‘Migration Crisis 2’. I worry about having it after a Conservative party conference – but that is a discussion for another day.

  We make our way to the conference centre. The weather is cold, but it’s a clean, bright day. Inside it’s all thick carpets and café bars. Delegates from around the world sip lattes and hammer away at their laptops. ‘What are they all getting out of this?’ I wonder. The common answer is: you can set up the number of meetings you normally have in a month in a single day. But no one seems to be doing much.

  We go to a tiny prep room for the PM’s speech. He’s started to think he shouldn’t be doing it off the cuff, as he needs to land two key points: challenging business to speak out over the referendum, and saying that if the right deal isn’t on offer in February, he’ll walk away.

  Before he goes on, Mark Rutte, the Dutch Prime Minister, drops in. Gordon Brown is on mute on the conference TV channel, and I imagine his dour, apocalyptic tones.

  Inevitably the renegotiation comes up. Rutte looks spry and self-confident, leaning back on the oatmeal sofa in the dimly lit room. He says he’s been told the British people are too conservative to leave – and they’ll end up coming on board, just like in Scotland. All of us think it is a dangerously complacent view and realise European leaders need a jolt of electricity to make them wake up.

  We head into the hall as it is filling up and I sit in the front row. DC arrives on stage, laying his notes on a high table to the side, but doesn’t refer to them once. As ever, he’s a class act, looking confident and in control – effortlessly making his case for reform and getting in the two key news points.

  I check social media as he gets to the Q&A. Tim Montgomerie, a leading Brexit journalist, is already tweeting that IDS, Chris Grayling and Theresa Villiers should resign from the Cabinet immediately, because the PM is campaigning flagrantly and they are not.

  When it’s over, we do a couple of interviews. First with Robert Peston and then TF1 – a French TV station. The reporter reads from a sheet of paper, saying she plans to ask the questions in English, but that she won’t be able to understand his answers. We joke that it sounds like the ideal interview, but inevitably there’s a screw-up. She ask him if he considers himself a European. He responds with a fulsome, ‘Yes.’ Of course, he should have said he considers himself British first. The front page splashes of tomorrow’s Mail and Sun form in my mind within moments of him saying it. It’s a rare mistake from him and probably our fault for putting him in such a bizarre situation.

  My phone then comes alive with texts from London. Theresa May has been seen lunching with the leading ‘Outer’ Liam Fox at Quirinale. The hacks say it’s the kind of restaurant you go to if you want to be seen – and feel she is playing games. I ignore attempts to get us to comment.

  The next few hours are like a strange Davos dream, where I encounter Sheryl Sandberg, the CEO of Facebook, as well as Bono, Kevin Spacey, David Miliband, Tony Blair and Richard Curtis – most of them in a former asylum where an international aid event is being held.

  We then depart for a private dinner. Kate Fall has assembled an eclectic group including the historian Niall Ferguson, Anna Botin, the CEO of Santander, the Chancellor, the Director of BBC News, James Harding, and the Governor of the Bank of England, Mark Carney, whom I sit next to.

  The conversation at my end of the table turns, inevitably, to Europe. I’m curious to see where Niall Ferguson stands on it. It turns out he’s a firm Remainer, saying it’s better to be in meeting rooms than in trenches. He believes the atavistic sentiments that plagued the continent in the first half of the twentieth century are strong undercurrents now, and the EU plays a benevolent role in calming them.

  James Harding asks why we aren’t more enthusiastically pro-European. I explain as gently as I can why that approach is dead wrong – the key ‘in play’ groups being the ‘Hearts vs Heads’ and ‘Disengaged Middle’, who are deeply cynical about the project, especially now it is plagued by an immigration crisis.

  As the drink flows, I get drawn into a conversation with James Harding and George about whether Theresa May will make a bid to lead the Out campaign. George says he doesn’t think she would take the risk as she’d been too pro-European in the past. I volunteer the one line I think she can utter that will give her credibility, ‘When the facts change, I change – and there has been a step change in the issue of migration, which means I can no longer support our membership.’ That and the Mail and Sun cheering her on could ease her in.

  I run into Richard Curtis, the film director and leading figure in Comic Relief, at a late party hosted by the public relations guru, Matthew Freud. We walk back to our hotels. He’s one of the most charming yet insightful people I have met in this job. He’s spotted a key problem – hardly anyone has much concept of the European Union, or how it impacts on their lives. We agree there needs to be a re-education programme, but I’m also not sure a lot of people will take the word of key figures, or more to the point, if there’s the time available. It’s increasingly apparent to me that no one has done the EU’s public relations very well in the last forty years. With that, he bids me farewell and disappears into his room in the converted asylum.

  I take the funicular down the mountain. I find myself wondering – should that PR have started properly in 2013, when the referendum pledge was made? An organisation could have been set up way back then, designed to explain the benefits of the EU and why it’s crucial to our economy. At the moment, it looks like something won’t really get moving until after the renegotiation ends – probably next month.

  The next morning the PM wants to know if I have partied the night away. I report back on the Freud party, including having run into Tony Blair there. DC tells me he arrived back at his suite to discover Blair had used it to m
eet someone for a nightcap. He is understandably bemused, but we think Blair had thought it was OK because it was a British Government resource. I joke that I’m sure he didn’t need to worry too much, ‘though I’m sure he took time and found comfort in the loo.’ This is a peculiar line from Blair’s autobiography, which both of us periodically joke about. DC laughs and winces, ‘No … please …’

  As we wander around Davos on our way to a meeting on our final morning, I consider how this is a place the Brexiteers would hate – with car parks filled with the same model of black Audi, and the sense that everywhere you might run into some of the most famous and powerful people on earth. They see this, with some justification, as the ultimate expression of the gilded elite being literally out of touch – up a mountain in an exclusive ski resort – ultra-European and in complete denial.

  As if to prove the point, a Swiss army helicopter transports us back over a winter wonderland: trees coated in ice crystals protrude dark and jagged from the mountains, like whiskers on the face of a giant. There’s no sign of life, save for the occasional chalet apparently dumped in the middle of nowhere, with no obvious link to the outside world.

  On Monday 25 January, I find myself scribbling in my notebook: Is there anything but Europe?

  DC clears out the 8.30 a.m. meeting and tells a much smaller group, ‘I’m worried about the state of the renegotiation.’ He says he thinks we need to shock everyone into realising we really could walk away in February.

  Senior civil servants say they were in Brussels yesterday and all the mood music was that they understood they would have to do a deal that will work for us.

  The PM seems to be giving up on February – meaning he is giving up on a June referendum. He describes this as ‘not the end of the world’. Of course it isn’t, but it means we are opening up another six months of Europe, almost certainly having to go in November – after a divisive party conference.

  Other irritating things are happening on Europe. Stuart Rose, the former boss of M&S and Chair of the Stronger In campaign, goes on the Today programme and gets embroiled in a row about whether it is right to claim people will lose £3,000 if we leave the EU. Instead of constantly pivoting out of the question and pointing to his key messages, he just argues. The result – a missed opportunity.

  Then there are stories about the likes of Unilever, apparently saying that leaving the EU wouldn’t impact on their business. It seems to me they are being naive by saying they wouldn’t shut factories to journalists, who then print it without going into the nuance of the position, that it would have an impact on jobs and investment in the medium to long term.

  When DC hears, he says, ‘For God’s sake, Unilever’s Chief Exec is one of the biggest pro-Europeans I know!’

  The next part of the meeting is spent crawling through where we are on each of the four areas of renegotiation:

  Getting us out of ‘ever closer union’ (the sense we’d be drawn more and more into a politically united Europe).

  Reducing bureaucracy.

  Stopping members of the Euro dominating countries (like the UK) who have their own currency.

  Dealing with the pressures caused by freedom of movement (migration).

  The sense from the negotiating team is that we are delivering on the first three – but there’s more to do on the crucial fourth area.

  After a press conference with Enda Kenny, the Irish Taoiseach, DC calls Angela Merkel. She begins, ‘Allo. These are demanding times. Everything is so far OK. I have my health …’ It seems an odd thing to say – basically an oblique way of hinting she is facing endless pressure on migration in her own country.

  The conversation turns quickly to our area, with DC saying, ‘I’ll be very frank. There’s a lot of good will, but where we’ve got to on immigration and welfare is hopeless. If we let the official process grind on, it will be a car crash in February.’

  Merkel agrees, ‘It certainly looks like a typical European solution.’

  DC says, ‘Yes, too small and too complicated. If there’s a real deal, I can take it. But if there isn’t, I can’t, because we will lose.’

  Merkel is definitely in a mood to be helpful. At one point she starts floating the idea of what an acceptable limit would be on migration. She asks if we have a minimum wage and what it works out at a year. £13K a year, comes the reply.

  It’s Burns Night and there’s a special dinner at the Scottish Office. David Mundell hosts a great evening of poetry, questionable food and speeches. My favourite moment is the German Ambassador telling me and Michael Gove of his plan to send envoys to the UK to explain to us just how bad it would be if we left the EU. Both of us explain – awkwardly – why that might be counterproductive.

  The next day the 8.30 a.m. meeting is cancelled, which is usually a sign something is up. I walk through to find the whole Europe negotiating team talking to the PM. They have it on good authority what the first draft of the renegotiation document to be sent round in a few days will look like.

  The welfare/migration section will apparently accept there should be no ‘unjustified direct or indirect discrimination’, which means there is an acceptance that there could be ‘justified discrimination’. After all the ‘No discrimination’ shouting, this seems a major breakthrough. There are other encouraging sentences that build on this, but the rest is pretty mushy … certainly not enough detail that could lead us to saying we have a deal.

  On an easier note – there’s a piece in The Times saying the leading Leave MP Bernard Jenkin botched an attempt to get Dominic Cummings fired from their campaign. Apparently he’d wanted it to happen at a board meeting, but Cummings got wind and rallied support.

  There seem to be two bones of contention:

  Cummings’ abrasive tone, slagging everyone off.

  His hare-brained scheme to campaign for two referendums. His colleagues appear to have worked out that they may not be chosen by the Electoral Commission to be the official Leave campaign, because they could come across as not really wanting to go. This is crucial in the competing ‘People’s Front of Judea’ and ‘Judean People’s Front’ world of the Outers.

  This is a morale boost as the In campaign meet in the Churchill Room in the basement of the Conrad Hotel. I run them through a variety of thoughts, including the PM doing a national address if there is a successful renegotiation.

  We are being approached about debates by the BBC, who are desperate to have a ‘bear pit’ format, where 12,000 people are in an arena. They also like the idea of Conservative ‘Inners’ facing Conservative ‘Outers’. After all the crap we went through in the election, I’m certain they need to revise those ideas now.

  Lynton’s right-hand man, Mark Textor, who is on a rare visit from Australia, is waiting for me back in my office. It’s always good to see him – total clarity of thought, reminding me of the ‘keep it simple and clear’ approach when it comes to the referendum: ‘It’s better to have one strategy that’s seventy-per-cent right, rather than ten that are one hundred-per-cent right.’ One team – all pulling in the same direction. That requires discipline and egos to be put in check. How that is possible with a coalition stretching from the Government to the Greens is going to be some task.

  He moves on to the mess that is Corbyn. I roar with laughter at his turn of phrase, ‘Oh yeah … we’ve been following all that on the news – the guy’s now an international superstar of fuckwittery.’

  Sajid Javid is due to go on Marr, ostensibly to talk about some BME proposals. George gets wind of it and is nervous that the gap between him and the PM on Europe will be obvious.

  I call Sajid to have a frank conversation.

  He’s very straightforward. Everything is meat and potatoes with him. He tells me, ‘I’ll sit on the fence and tell him I’ll wait for the deal.’ I tell him that worries me – he needs to sound much more like he’s behind the PM. I suggest he says, ‘The PM is fighting for Britain. This is a poker game – people are going to take positions. I have every
faith in his ability to sort it out.’ He also doesn’t need to answer hypotheticals, simply saying, ‘I’m totally united with the PM. I expect a deal. But I rule nothing out.’ He seems to take this, but I suspect a few more calls will be needed.

  On Friday 29 January, we take a circuitous route to Brussels. Up at 5 a.m. and arriving at Northolt forty-five minutes later, with the aim of meeting the PM in Aberdeen – before turning back to Belgium.

  When I get on the plane, the RAF flight attendant informs us that flying conditions will be ‘bumpy and challenging’ and because Storm Gertrude is so torrid, nothing is getting in or out of Aberdeen. We have to meet the PM in Edinburgh.

  The flight attendant wasn’t kidding. The whole trip is a rollercoaster ride: notebooks and crockery flying around, grasping the table in front of me just to keep steady.

  I go through the papers in these conditions – teasing the negotiating team with lines from Richard Littlejohn’s column in the Daily Mail, that the whole renegotiation exercise is a ‘dishonest, intelligence-insulting charade’.

  The Commission has been briefing hard – saying they are closing in on a deal. The idea seems to be that they want to box us in. The PM is doing BBC Scotland in the car down from Aberdeen. I advise him to say there are grounds for optimism, but there’s still a long way to go.

  DC arrives on the plane in Edinburgh looking windswept. He’s had a two hour and forty minute journey from Aberdeen, seeing overturned lorries and uprooted trees along the way. The metaphors seem obvious.