by Chris Patten
These were not, then, my happiest days. The job was ten times more difficult than I ever thought it would be – a sort of non-chairman Chairman, Poobah cheerleader for (so it was claimed) a bloated lefty organization. How could one explain to its vociferous critics that it was still regarded by the British public as one of the institutions of which it felt most proud? Its trustworthiness as a news organization was and is as embarrassingly large as a Warsaw Pact election result, so much greater than that of any of the newspapers that attack it and therefore of course unreported by them. In 2016–17, the government decided to recast the governance structure, passed the regulatory function to the telecoms regulator OFCOM, and established a unitary board under the banker Sir David Clementi, who had himself proposed this model of management. The biggest problem that he and his colleagues will face is the extremely tough financial settlement within which the BBC is going to have to operate. This will put it at an increasing disadvantage with its commercial competitors: for example, the online broadcasters and content creators such as Netflix. An early challenge will be whether the BBC can hang on to sports coverage, given the amounts spent on it by commercial channels and the limited BBC budget. At precisely the time that we need a public service broadcaster ever more, the financing of the best one in the world will be under greater threat. The Russians, Chinese, Murdoch–Foxes and others must think we are mad, and are doubtless smiling quietly.
Walking to my BBC office in the spring of 2014 from the Tube station at Great Portland Street, I found myself increasingly having to stop for breath. (I would sometimes regret that I had given up my chauffeured car, not least since, when I surrendered it to save money, it was immediately snapped up by a senior BBC executive.) Even mild exertion was tiring me. I decided that I must report this at my next medical check-up. Well before this I was rushed into the A&E Department at the Chelsea and Westminster hospital in the middle of the night, and saved from a serious heart attack by a beautiful philosophy graduate turned doctor from Somerville College, Oxford. I was then transferred to the Royal Brompton hospital, where I had angioplasty for the second time (the first had been over twenty years before in Hong Kong). I also had a coronary bypass operation using keyhole surgery. (If only such meticulous science had been available when my parents could have benefited from it.) This was the NHS at its best, great British doctors and a team of paramedics and nurses almost entirely drawn, as it happened, from the rest of the EU. Was my condition caused by stress? Partly, it seemed. ‘Stress isn’t necessarily bad for you,’ said one doctor, ‘unless you are not enjoying it.’ I wasn’t enjoying it. I resigned from the BBC Trust in May 2014 and got my life back.
There was one other Poobah experience, one with a clerical dimension. In this case, though, there was no doubt where authority lay, at least in theory. In the late summer of 2014, after some wonderful months of recuperation in France, I had a telephone call from the office of Cardinal Pell, an Australian archbishop brought to Rome from Sydney by Pope Francis to clean up and reform the finances and management of the Vatican. This was no small task, like trying to cut back one of those huge garden brambles which colonize another plant. Others had tried their hand at it in the past. Pope John XXIII concentrated on a religious renewal of the Church, opening its windows to the twenty-first century. He simply bypassed senior members of the Vatican court, listening to and following the advice of outsiders. He was both holy and wily, and took with him to St Peter’s throne a huge amount of experience accumulated as a Vatican diplomat. His successor, Pope Paul VI, an intellectual sufficiently liberal to have been denied his cardinal’s hat by Pope Pius XII, originally considered just moving out of the Vatican and operating as Bishop of Rome from the cathedral church of St John Lateran. Alas, he was persuaded against this idea. Pope Paul was a Hamlet-like figure, a tortured liberal who was torn to shreds by critics as he tried (successfully) to avoid schism in the Church. On the receiving end on one occasion of a long lecture during an audience from Graham Greene, he leant forward, touched the author on the knee and said politely, ‘But Mr Greene, I too am a Catholic.’
No pope should be expected to embrace spreadsheets and organograms. Pope Francis turned to Pell, a good and tough manager with nothing to lose. Cardinal Pell asked me whether I would contribute to his work by chairing a committee to reorganize the Vatican’s media, an operation which is large, expensive, of variable quality and not obviously focused on delivering news in the way that most people receive it today.
I had had some experience of working with the Vatican before when David Cameron asked me after the election in 2010 to take over the co-ordination in Britain for the visit of Pope Benedict later that same year. At an early meeting at Buckingham Palace, he had picked up (doubtless from officials) that the arrangements were in a bit of a mess. Gordon Brown and Tony Blair had persistently invited Pope Benedict to visit Britain, but when he agreed to do so they seemed to lose interest in seeing that the visit went smoothly. A very good and decent Scottish Labour minister, Jim Murphy, was nominally in charge but had to work through a committee of ministers, with no agreed budget and with insufficient input from the very professional civil servants in the Foreign Office who normally organized official visits. Pressed by Downing Street to agree to take on the task myself, I initially declined or at least begged for time to consider the offer. The next day I was telephoned to be informed that the Queen had been told that I had agreed to do it. Thus bounced, I made three conditions: first, that the hierarchy in England and Scotland were happy about this arrangement; second, that I could do it on my own, with no committee of ministers, answerable only to the Prime Minister; and, third, that I could have a modest budget which I would not exceed. David Cameron agreed immediately and was as good as his word. I worked with an excellent team of officials, including the capable Foreign Office visits team, led by an outstanding Permanent Secretary, Helen Ghosh.
In the event, Pope Benedict’s visit – to Edinburgh, Glasgow, London and Birmingham – went well, despite the criticism that preceded it and some of the complexities of organization. This was partly because the Pope’s own gentle nature and the intellectual quality of his sermons and talks were so impressive. The pontiff whom people actually met – a gentle and courtly intellectual – was very different from the tough authoritarian whom the media led them to expect. Negotiating one or two issues between the Vatican and the First Minister of Scotland (Alex Salmond) was painful, and not because of anyone in Rome. Success was pretty well guaranteed as soon as the Pope was greeted by enthusiastic crowds in Edinburgh. For me, the high point was an Evensong in Westminster Abbey, with a Church of England liturgy at its best, the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, leading a procession down the aisle as the great ecumenical hymn ‘The Church’s One Foundation’ thundered out. I enjoyed some Vatican officials’ bemused and rather belated recognition that Britain was not a God-less zone and had a diverse, active and joyful faith community, including the Catholic component. National stereotypes are interesting; perhaps the British have an equally stereotypical view of the Irish, or Italians.
With this experience to encourage me, I gave a quick affirmative reply to Cardinal Pell. The job was not particularly challenging intellectually. Cardinal Pell had been given a very rational and sweeping set of proposals for media reform by McKinsey’s. The trouble was that they envisaged cost savings by extensive redundancies, not something which Pope Francis would contemplate. McKinsey’s showed both the good side and the more questionable side of consulting work, but they provided a sense of the direction in which we should move. We duly provided a well-constructed plan after just over a year of regular monthly meetings by a group which comprised some insiders with a majority of very good outside experts from the wider Church. We proposed pulling a compartmentalized organization into a modern media operation targeting news gathering and reporting through the channels which audiences actually used.
Visiting Rome every three or four weeks was a particular bonus. I en
joyed seeing Vatican officials at prayer and even at work. Like all bureaucracies, the Vatican has its own culture, which was denounced in a galvanizing lecture by the Pope at Christmas in 2014. One of his milder criticisms was that it suffered from ‘spiritual Alzheimer’s’. My own three principal observations were, first, that there are parts of the Catholic Church’s civil service that work conspicuously well. This is particularly true of the Church’s diplomatic service, which is linguistically far more gifted than those of most nation states and with a wealth of experience of some of the world’s most dangerous hot spots. If you want to know the position in an African war zone or the human rights situation in a Latin American country, you will not get a much better read-out than from these diplomats. There are others working elsewhere in the Vatican who are very professional. The secretary of my working group was an Irish monsignor, now a bishop in the Culture dicastery. Paul Tighe is an expert on social media, full of insights into what is going on in Rome, extremely competent and proof that you can be amusing company while also being teetotal. Paul helped make my time in Rome especially enjoyable and reminded me that some of the best diplomats and European officials I have worked with over the years were from Ireland. Working with him also made me realize, once again, that you go on making friends deep down the years.
Second, the Vatican works for the whole Church; it has of course done so since the beginning of its existence in Rome. It would be surprising if the Italian ambience did not impregnate almost every aspect of its existence. I know little of Italian bureaucracy, too little to generalize. But I have never heard anyone, not even an Italian, praising it, though we have often been told that Benito Mussolini made the trains run on time.
Third, as an enthusiastic supporter of Pope Francis and his efforts to get the Church to behave, as he has suggested, more like a generous, forgiving pastor and less like a stern, finger-wagging authoritarian, I was keen to see him close at hand, something that literally happens if you stay or work in the Vatican hostel – the Santa Marta – that he has made his home. It is simple, though not austere, a newish building, white walls, holy pictures, no sign of a television, a beautiful chapel for the Pope himself, and little noise save the swish of passing habits. Visitors were regularly surprised to have breakfast or lunch in the canteen there and be confronted by the large figure of The Man in White. What of the others there – the assembled hierarchy of the international Church? It would be a surprise if some of them were not biding their time, riding out this Franciscan storm, hoping that things will return to the ‘status quo ante’ once age or infirmity take their toll of this remarkable man. ‘Basta,’ he said to the archbishops who were trying to drape the fur-lined stole around his shoulders when presenting him to the crowds in St Peter’s Square after his election. ‘The carnival is over.’ Scolded by his bodyguards for accepting a drink of the South American herbal drink mate from a group of pilgrims in St Peter’s Square one day on the grounds that it could be poison, Pope Francis responded, ‘What’s the matter? They were pilgrims, not cardinals.’ We do not really anticipate Renaissance behaviour from the Curia, yet the Pope must know how much opposition ending the carnival has engendered. I do not myself think that turning the clock back to pre-Franciscan days of rigid certainty and ubiquitous scolding is an acceptable option for most Catholics. Pope Francis is a man who displays enormous simplicity and humility in face-to-face meetings, and on more public occasions hugely impressive grace and authority.
What happened to Cardinal Pell and to our report on reforming the media organization? The cardinal, a very clever man with right-wing views on most issues, has been pushed to one side, weakened by the way he allegedly handled child abuse allegations in Australia in the past and by his candid and too public assessment of the quality of Italian management. While not agreeing with all of his opinions, I admired his intellect and thought he provided exactly the sort of heavy construction equipment that you always need to get any change in organizations where the bureaucratic cement has been setting for centuries. As for our report, it was accepted in full by Pope Francis and his inner circle of cardinals. Implementation was then given to a team of Italians. I hope to be pleasantly surprised. Que sera, sera.
I have focused in this chapter on the public sector responsibilities that I have taken on. I have also enjoyed working with a number of not-for-profit bodies, particularly Medical Aid for Palestinians and the International Crisis Group, a conflict prevention organization where I enjoyed my role as a co-chairman for several years. This excellent team was led by the veteran US diplomat Tom Pickering and the intelligent and tireless former Australian Foreign Minister Gareth Evans. We had a small team of clever foreign-policy experts, who added a wide range of insights to the work of conventional diplomats.
My experience in Rome, Oxford and the BBC taught me that they have nothing new to learn about politics from Westminster. Indeed, I suspect there may be a higher proportion of herbivores in the latter than in any of the other three. I have certainly worked in more dangerous environments than the House of Commons. These days, as a member of the House of Lords, the Elysian fields of the British Constitution, I do not feel threatened by anything except the voluminous evidence of the imminence of mortality.
12
Violence and Faith
Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander
returneth to dust, the dust is earth; of Earth we made loam; and why of that loam whereto he was converted might they not stop a beer barrel? Imperious Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
What after all is a good Catholic? One who keeps the observance of course but then? … there are times, I must confess, when I think there can be too much faith. Faith excludes humanity. I have seen faith elevated and distorted, so that only the Church was remembered and Christ forgotten.
Alan Massie, A Question of Loyalties
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, ‘Ulysses’
Whatever our identity, or our shoe size for that matter, we all have one thing in common. Sooner or later, like Alexander and Caesar, and of course poor jesting Yorick, we are all dead and ‘turn’d to clay’. Serb and Croat, Christian and Jew, Sunni and Shia, president, pope, pauper and pandar: for all it is the same – dust to dust, ashes to ashes. Without being excessively morbid, one tends to think about this rather more as one strides (or is wheeled) beyond the Psalmist’s ‘three score years and ten’. A friend of mine turns first every morning in the newspapers to the obituary columns, not to check that he is still alive but to have a look at the average ages of the recently departed. On a good day, there is a comfortable gap between his own age and the deathly median. But sometimes he has to concede that by that day’s tally he should have been dead for years. When I sent a copy of my last book, What Next?, to the Duke of Edinburgh (who was the Chancellor of Cambridge University while I had the same office at Oxford), he wrote back, ‘ “What Next?” When you are my age there’s only one answer.’
The answer can take a long time to arrive, though arrive it surely will. Some wish to speed the process, others to delay it for as long as they can; most probably try not to think too much of the train running inexorably towards the most terminal terminus of all. No leaves on the line, no snow on the points, can long delay the train’s inevitable arrival.
Bette Davis once said, ‘Old age ain’t no place for sissies.’ True enough. Many reckon, as I do, that if I’d known before what I know now about the bits of me that no longer work so well, I would have taken better care of them – knees and shoulders that creak from tennis, a paunch that threatens to bring on diabetes. Nevertheless, modern medicine – in my case cardiac surgery and statins – keeps many of us going longer than was once the case, and
these days we most likely have our own teeth, no longer the in-and-out variety of our parents’ and grandparents’ day. I recall the mug on my grandmother’s bedside table with its white frothing liquid and a row of dentures lurking like a shark’s fin just below the water line.
As medicine and our health service keep us on the right side of death’s door, many of us worry whether we will know who we are all the way to the end. There are 850,000 people with dementia in the UK, over 5 million in the USA, nearly 44 million in the world. This is not just a modern preoccupation. Juvenal called dementia ‘worse than all physical loss – forgetting slaves’ names, or the face of a friend who came last night to supper, the children one parented and named’. Jonathan Swift reckoned much the same when thinking about his decline, in ‘Verses on the Death of Dr Swift’:
Besides, his memory decays,
He recollects not what he says;
He cannot call his friends to mind;
Forgets the place where last he dined …
My wife sat next to the distinguished neuroscientist the late Lord Walton at a university dinner. He told her about a new test to check whether a patient was suffering from the early stages of Alzheimer’s. He told her what the questions were. ‘And what are they?’ I asked her the next day. ‘I’ve forgotten,’ she replied.
Maurice Ravel, attending the recording of one of his own works after losing his memory, asked anxiously, ‘Remind me of the composer’s name.’ Cicero thought that you could work away at keeping your wits in reasonably good order, like Tony Benn writing his voluminous diary. That approach produces all sorts of planned retirement occupations, some of which we may be better at than others. A brain surgeon explained to Margaret Atwood that he intended to take up writing on retirement. ‘What a coincidence,’ she replied. ‘When I retire I’m going to be a brain surgeon.’