Two: you go to the UN, you go to the inspectors, you go to Parliament, you gather all the evidence. You do it more slowly.
I put in a call to Obama to discuss what course of action to take. For four days I waited for him to call back. Four days. A large-scale chemical attack happened midweek, and the leaders of two of the world’s biggest military powers and the world’s (supposedly) strongest two-nation alliance didn’t speak until the weekend.
When he did finally call, Obama said he was considering a brief surgical ‘punish and deter’ attack, and would like Britain to be part of it. Indeed, he actually said that only Britain really had the capabilities to make a difference, like submarine-launched Cruise missiles. We might be taking action within thirty-six hours, he said. Was I with him? I said yes.
This was almost in the realm of option one – acting immediately and reporting to Parliament afterwards, as we had done with Libya. John Casson rang the MoD and asked them to turn around the submarine we had near Gibraltar. But too much time had elapsed for such a simple approach.
So I decided to write Obama a follow-up letter at this point. First, because of the delay, we were on a timetable where we were going to have to do more things. Second, though Clegg was supportive, he was saying his support rested on making an attempt to secure UN approval. I wrote that I was ready in principle for the UK to take part, but some measures needed to be taken if we were to prevail in the court of public opinion. These were: clarity about the UN inspectors (at that stage the Assad regime had prevented the inspectors’ investigations), an attempt to achieve a condemnatory resolution in the UNSC, and a strong public declaration that the US and its allies could not stand aside in the face of a chemical-weapons attack.
The heads of the intelligence agencies, the military chiefs of staff, and those highest up in the national security adviser’s team were all of one mind: this was a complete contrast to Iraq, and very targeted, very surgical strikes – a short, sharp shock that would put Assad’s chemical weapons beyond use – were doable. Even the Lib Dems supported action, with Nick Clegg confirming that, in spite of his insistence on action at the UN, he was in fact very keen.
I thought Parliament would be supportive too. I knew there would be a desire for UN involvement, which had become, in the national consciousness, the test that needed to be passed for people to be satisfied that this wasn’t another Iraq. This was complicated by the fact that Russia would just veto a resolution. Obama saw no point in it, but I knew the political importance of at least trying.
I did try speaking to Putin, but any goodwill had dissipated, and the conversations became fractious once more. ‘You must accept that these chemical-weapon attacks are from the regime,’ I said. ‘No, no, no – it’s only the opposition that would benefit from this sort of publicity,’ he said. It got rather heated, although he ended the call by saying something like ‘I hug you’ in Russian. I was never sure whether that was a hug in a make-up sense or a mafia sense.
By Monday, 26 August, US Navy warships were in position to attack Syria. But the timetable was slipping still further. Obama had suddenly announced that he would wait for UN weapons inspectors to return from Damascus. But they were detained, and we could hardly launch airstrikes while they were still there. Another card cannily played by Assad.
Because of the delay, we were now well into the realm of option two. We would have to consider recalling Parliament – and whether to hold a vote if we did.
There is no constitutional requirement for a prime minister to ask Parliament before committing British forces to military action. In 2003 we voted on Iraq before the invasion, but in 2011 we voted on Libya only after the first strikes had already taken place. However, I feared that even if I didn’t take the initiative I could effectively be forced into it. While the speaker does not have the right to recall Parliament, I knew that he was quite capable of saying that it needed to happen – putting me in an almost impossible position if I said no.
In addition, I felt confident about the case, and thus about the parliamentary position. I believed I had answers to all possible questions; certainties for most doubts. Would it endanger civilians? No, it was targeted on military facilities. Would our troops be at grave risk? No, there would be no boots on the ground. Would it work? Yes, we could take out targets, and it would raise the price on using chemical weapons again. Was it legal? Yes, you’re permitted under international law to intervene to protect civilians by deterring the use of chemical weapons.
So during a meeting on Tuesday, 27 August we took the decisions over whether to recall Parliament, hold a debate and have a vote on a substantive motion backing military action, or to make a statement or hold a debate without a vote.
William Hague said yes to a recall of Parliament and a vote. He’d always argued that if there was time Parliament should be recalled, and that this was about the credibility of our word.
Craig Oliver said we had to have a vote if we were recalling Parliament. Otherwise what would we be calling people back for? A conversation?
Hugh Powell later told me how much he regretted not speaking up. For him, the politicians were taking a very big decision about Parliament very quickly, without discussing the risks or alternatives.
As for me, I said I thought it would be difficult, but – and this was the moment when I got it totally and utterly wrong – I also thought the outrage about the chemical weapons would be widely shared, and would stir in everyone what it stirred in me: sheer revulsion and a desire to stop it happening again. Not for the last time, the rational optimist in me got it wrong. But it was done. MPs would be summoned.
So far the biggest obstacles had been trying to convince Putin of the merits of a diplomatic solution, and to push Obama into creating pressure on the ground. It had been a tale of frustrations with cabinet, the military, the security services, Whitehall and the US. But now that a parliamentary vote on military action was on the horizon, there would be another major player to convince: Ed Miliband.
Ed was a far better leader of the opposition than I would ever have admitted at the time. He knew just how much baggage his party was still carrying from Iraq; he had won the leadership after condemning Blair’s actions. And he knew something I had also learned during five years as leader of the opposition: you never just hand a blank cheque to your opponent. But I don’t think I’d ever have behaved as he did over Syria and the use of chemical weapons.
The day we announced that Parliament would be recalled he came into Downing Street with the shadow foreign secretary, Douglas Alexander, and his chief of staff, Tim Livesey. He posed four questions. Shouldn’t we wait for the UN inspectors’ full report? What was the legal authority for action? What were the military objectives? How could we avoid escalation or making something worse happen?
The answer to each was clear. A full UN resolution authorising force was a non-starter because we knew Russia would veto it. The legal advice was that our proposed action was lawful, and we would publish a summary. The mission was to deter and degrade, and it was not aimed to have effects over and above that.
He called me that evening to say that the classified intelligence report we had given him proved the case for deterrence. It was indisputable. But then he called again, to say he was uncertain about two points – the timing of the report from the inspectors, and having a proper UN resolution. That was his new red line. I conceded.
The following day I saw him again. I had managed to deliver on both those things – our representative at the UN, Mark Lyall Grant, had circulated a proposed resolution to the Security Council, which the Russians had made very clear they would reject.
Now I was giving Miliband the draft motion he wanted. Still, he said he’d have to take it away and look at it. I said we needed an answer by 4 p.m., the deadline for tabling it.
He didn’t ring back until 5.15 p.m., when he said, ‘We’ – it was very much we; you could tell he was u
nder duress from his party – ‘We don’t think it goes far enough, and can’t support it.’
I was astounded, and furious. ‘But I’ve given you what you want – the draft of the proper UN vote and the inspectors’ report …’
‘No, we need a second Commons vote,’ he replied.
‘A second vote?!’ I said. He was pulling red lines out of thin air now. ‘For heaven’s sake Ed, this is ridiculous. You’ve never mentioned a second vote before. When do you think you’re going to have this second vote?’
‘On Sunday. You can reconvene on Sunday,’ he murmured.
‘This is hopeless. You’ve got to understand you’re putting yourself on the side of Vladimir Putin and Bashar al-Assad by not standing up to this. Ed, we’re going to lose this if we don’t have Labour’s support,’ I said.
I’d just been told by the chief whip that we were in deep trouble on our current motion. A third of Tory MPs would vote with us, but another third were very worried about action, and the remaining third were outright opposed to a quick decision to act.
From 5.30 to 6.30 – we’d managed to push the deadline for tabling back and back – I sat with George Osborne, William Hague, George Young, Ed Llewellyn and Nick Clegg deciding what to do. William advised a motion saying that the House would discuss the situation in Syria – anything else risked defeat, and that was too dangerous. I argued for a motion that spelled out the whole thing – go to the UN, listen to the weapons inspectors, have a second vote, everything Miliband wanted. The chief whip said he thought that was a motion we could carry. So that was the decision.
The tabled motion called for military action ‘if necessary’ – endorsing the principle of action once weapons inspections were complete. Authorising actual military action would take place only after a second vote.
I went to bed that night feeling relatively confident. I thought that if I were Labour, I’d look at this motion and declare victory. I’d promised a proper UN vote, a report from the weapons inspectors, and a second vote in the House of Commons before action could be taken.
Instead, the first thing I heard on the Today programme the next morning was that Labour would oppose the motion. They would put down an amendment with roughly the same requirements as ours, but calling for ‘compelling’ evidence that the regime was responsible for chemical attacks. No finger of blame pointed at Assad.
I spent the whole afternoon seeing potential Tory rebels. One by one they came into my Commons office. ‘Why are we doing this?’ ‘How can you be sure it was Assad?’ ‘Won’t this just inspire more terrorism?’
We started the day forty short of a majority, and ended it twelve short. All I had left to persuade them with was my speech. Looking back, it was very defensive – every sentence an attempt to exorcise the ghost of Iraq. We weren’t talking about invading Syria, I told a packed House. We weren’t trying to topple the regime. On this occasion we weren’t working with the Syrian opposition. We weren’t even voting on immediate action. We were having a vote on whether to have another vote on whether to respond to the large-scale use of chemical weapons – a war crime that Britain had agreed, indeed led the way on, outlawing back in 1925. This was about upholding the rules-based international order. It was the bare minimum from a civilised nation.
Europe had been divided over Iraq; but it was united over responding to the chemical-weapons use in Syria. NATO had been split over Iraq; this time it had made a very clear statement. The Arab League had been opposed to Iraq; but when it came to Syria, it was calling for action.
Ed Miliband’s speech was dreadful. I was sure he had wanted to do the right thing initially, but he was no longer willing to do it.
When it came to the vote, it wasn’t just the usual suspects who rebelled. It was people like Tracey Crouch, Adam Holloway, Nigel Mills. People I’d fought alongside at the election, and felt were part of my team. People who were moderate and sensible. David Amess, the independently minded MP for Southend West, said to me, ‘I’m not voting about Syria, I’m voting about Iraq. I made a promise to myself I’d never let something like that happen again.’ It was official: the Iraq War could now count among its victims the Syrian people.
At 9 p.m. we sat in my Commons office and waited for the division bell to ring. John Casson – the truest colleagues are those as willing to convey bad news as good – told me we were probably going to lose. ‘I’ve got us into a right pickle here,’ I said to William. ‘I’ve overreached.’
At 10 p.m. we all trudged through the division lobbies.
Back in my office, we waited for the results.
Labour’s motion was defeated by 332 votes to 220.
Then our motion was defeated, 285 to 272. Thirty Conservatives and ten Lib Dems had rebelled. All the Labour MPs in the Chamber had voted against.
It was the first time that a government had lost a vote on a matter of war since 1782, when Parliament effectively voted to end the war against the rebellious American colonies.
My instinct was to concede publicly and generously. That’s all you have left when you lose – good grace. I said from the despatch box: ‘It is clear to me that the British Parliament, reflecting the views of the British people, does not want to see British military action. I get that, and the government will act accordingly.’
Back in my Commons office, George Osborne, Nick Clegg and I mulled it all over in semi-disbelief. Here we were, not wide-eyed liberal interventionists, but people who believed a line had been crossed by a chemical-weapons attack. We were militarily, legally and morally entitled to respond. But democratically we were not. The rebels, and Miliband, were channelling public opinion. People were told ‘legal authorisation to act militarily’, but all they saw was dodgy dossiers, WMD and the bungled Iraq campaign.
Our proposed action was merely to launch a limited series of strikes, principally with Cruise missiles. That was what the US, the UK and France ended up doing in April 2018 after a further chemical attack anyway. But in those days of delay it had been ramped up in the minds of the press and MPs to something approaching full-scale war. A copy of that morning’s Sun still lay to one side of my Commons office. ‘Brits Say No to War in Syria’ said the front page, with a poll showing that people objected to action by a staggering ratio of two to one.
For the Commons mess, I blamed myself. As prime minister you’re not just taking part in international action, you’re also managing a party and a Parliament, and in the end I miscalculated.
The following morning I listened to Today. Russia welcomed Britain’s vote.
Later I spoke to Obama. ‘Hey bro, you’ve had a tough week,’ he began. I was emotional. I said how sorry I felt that we couldn’t work together. America and our other allies would be out there, in the skies, deterring this monster from any further such attacks. Yet Britain, the world’s fourth-biggest military power, time-honoured defender of liberty, decades-long partner of America, would be hanging in the shadows.
Obama couldn’t have been more generous about it. He said the special relationship was just that: special. This was a bump in the road, no more. Nothing would happen for forty-eight hours, he said, which I interpreted as meaning an attack on either Saturday or Sunday night. That was a huge consolation: knowing, at least, that America would be doing something.
On the Saturday I had a call from my private office. Obama had made a statement, but it wasn’t to announce the number of missiles launched or targets hit. He’d taken a decision the day before – a now famous ‘walk in the Rose Garden’ – to postpone, and effectively cancel, military action. Apparently the House of Commons’ vote ‘weighed on the president’, as did the opinion polls. Instead, the US had done a deal with Russia for Syria to give up its chemical weapons. As one commentator put it, ‘Sometimes a lizard has to lose its tail to survive.’ Assad grew back his lizard’s tail, and would carry out over a hundred chemical attacks on varying scales in the years that f
ollowed.
I was shocked. A British PM had lost a vote, and an American president had lost his nerve. Yet Obama presented this as a decisive, strong-minded move. He even said in 2016 that the decision of which he was most proud was his suspension of strikes against Assad in August 2013. I can’t agree. Frankly, his handling of Assad is still the thing I regret most about his entire presidency. If we’d done more to help the Syrian opposition in the beginning, we might have rid the country of this murderous tyrant – and the later war against the ISIS brutes might not have been necessary. With the benefit of hindsight it still looks the same. The risks of action really were proved to be outweighed by the risks of inaction.
From 2014 onwards, as ISIS gained ground, it was the extremists in Syria, and over the border in Iraq, who became the global focus. No one can credibly claim to have foreseen in detail the ISIS breakout in Iraq and capture of Mosul, which I’ll describe later. But that extremists would grow in strength if the Syrian civil war continued is precisely what I had been arguing from the very beginning. It would require these jihadists to make Syria a more obvious threat to the West – planting bombs here, killing British and American hostages there – for action there to become acceptable to the public and to politicians.
The failure of August 2013 was, in retrospect, the end of a realistic strategy to solve the civil war in order to tackle the extremists effectively. If the West could not summon the political will for airstrikes, it would not find it to force the regime to the negotiating table via irregular forces either. Just as the Iraq War stands as a monument to many of the perils of intervention, to me Syria is a monument to the perils of non-intervention. It was a wicked problem that could have been solved, but for various reasons, it wasn’t.
That, however, is not the whole story. There were other ways the West could demonstrate its commitment to a better world, and we certainly did.
It’s February 2016, and I’m standing on a stage in London’s QEII Centre alongside Angela Merkel and Ban Ki-moon.
For the Record Page 59