Decline & Fall

by Chris Mullin

  This evening, via the Number 10 switchboard, a call from Nita Clarke asking if I would add my name to a statement being organised by Karen Buck, calling for calm. I duly agreed.

  Wednesday, 6 September

  The signatories of Chris Bryant’s missive are mainly bright, shiny, upwardly mobile New Labourites, including no fewer than seven parliamentary private secretaries. It’s like a mass suicide pact by members of a religious cult. The junior minister is Tom Watson, who always struck me as decent and reliable, though never hero material. He has duly resigned or been sacked, resulting in an acrimonious exchange of letters. Panic is everywhere. New Labour is in meltdown. All, so far as I can see, self-inflicted. There is no serious pressure from outside the party for a date to be named; no great ideological differences between the contenders. The Man has said he’s going anyway. The rest of the country looks on bemused. Have we all gone barmy?

  Thursday, 7 September

  The Man made an outing to a school in St John’s Wood. Outside 11-and 12-year-olds in uniform mysteriously waving ‘Blair must go’ placards (which unscrupulous adult put them up to this?). He made a conciliatory little statement, apologising to the public for the recent turmoil (he does humble very well) and including a formula, presumably agreed with Gordon, suggesting that he will be going sooner rather than later, but conspicuously declining to name the day. Will this be enough to douse the flames? This evening that most sensible fellow, Tony Wright, was on the airwaves. ‘What colleagues have to consider,’ he said, ‘is whether they really want to start a civil war, not over whether Tony Blair is going – he has said he is; not over which year he is going – we already know he’s going next year; but over which month he should go.’

  Saturday, 9 September

  Just as the flames were dying down Charles Clarke has opened a new front with a head-on assault on Gordon Brown, questioning his fitness to lead. Real gloves-off stuff. Talk of ‘psychological issues’, ‘control freakery’, ‘delusions’. My first reaction, dismay. Upon reflection, however, there is a strategy behind this apparent madness. Charles wants to stop Gordon and realises that time is running out. If he waits until the starting gun is fired, it will be too late. It may be too late already. There is a large grain of truth in what Charles said. We all know that, but until now (with the fleeting exception of Alastair Campbell) no one has dared say so out loud. Now it’s all on the table instead of being whispered. Perhaps, after all, we shall be allowed an election instead of a coronation. A high-risk strategy, however, since if it fails (and the odds are that it will), we shall find ourselves saddled with a leader who is badly wounded and who may well be unelectable.

  Sunday, 10 September

  Gordon has responded to Charles Clarke’s outburst with a statesmanlike interview with Andrew Marr, designed to demonstrate that he is really a sane, lovable, tolerant man of the world. He talked loftily of forming a government of all the talents, even suggesting that it might (for goodness’ sake) include Charles. Perhaps if I were to question Gordon’s sanity, he might consider me for a place in his Cabinet.

  Cleaned the street, cut the hedge and then Ngoc gave me a lift to Darlington, from where I caught a train to London.

  Monday, 11 September

  To Heybridge to see Mum. We sat outside in the little courtyard. She remarked several times that the weather was surprisingly good for December. That apart, she was on good form.

  On return to the House, I ran into Keith Hill and we briefly discussed the events of last week. Keith is firmly of the view, which presumably reflects that of his master, that the events of last week were a coup attempt, citing by way of evidence Tom Watson’s visit to Gordon in Scotland.

  Today was the warmest September day since 1949 – almost 30 degrees in London.

  Tuesday, 12 September

  The Lycee, Kennington

  Awakened at 3 a.m. by the sound of heavy rain; couldn’t get back to sleep so I sat up finishing Christopher Meyer’s book, DC Confidential. His comments about ministers are caddish, but accurate, and his account of the lead-up to Iraq fascinating. Meyer reckons, as he freely admits with the benefit of hindsight, that (a) The Man failed to make sufficient use of his leverage with the Americans; (b) had the weapons inspectors been given more time, a French veto was not inevitable and (c) the war could have been postponed until the autumn of 2003 or even until early the following year and the time gained might have been used to get Saddam to back down or to obtain greater consensus for an attack.

  To the House, where I ran into John Spellar and Bruce Grocott in the lobby of 1 Parliament Street. Bruce said firmly, ‘Gordon Brown will become leader and no one should do anything to undermine him.’

  Wednesday, 13 September

  A call from Steve Byers, who is taking soundings on behalf of The Man as to when he should go. I asked what the options were. Steve said an announcement in mid-February was a possibility, although Tony would naturally prefer to go on much longer. Gordon, of course, would like him gone by Christmas. According to Steve, The Man is well aware that, whatever happens, Iraq will be his monument. What was it he said to me in December 1994? ‘It may all end in tears and disillusion . . .’ So it has.

  Friday, 15 September

  Just as everything is quietening down up pops that most cautious of politicians, Geoff Hoon, to say that The Man should go sooner rather than later. If he can’t carry the Geoff Hoons of this world, then he really is in trouble.

  Wednesday, 20 September

  A call from Michael Meacher. He wants to run for leader. Would I be willing to nominate him? He reckons to have about 30 names so far, though he has no plans to publish them. I replied that Hilary Benn was my preferred candidate, but I don’t expect him to run, in which case I would be happy to consider Michael in the interests of ensuring a contest. Good old Michael. He has been in parliament 36 years and yet his energy and enthusiasm remain undiminished. If only I could say the same.

  Monday, 25 September

  Manchester, Labour Party Conference

  Gordon’s big speech. The stakes were high. He had to convince everyone that, despite everything, he is papabili, which he just about managed to do, ringing most of the right bells, referring by name to a dozen or so Cabinet colleagues (to the distress, no doubt, of those omitted); hinting at better things to come – greater powers for Parliament over patronage, war and peace etc. A glowing tribute to The Man, accompanied by a couple of unsynchronised nods in his direction. The word ‘regret’ even escaped his lips for past unpleasantness. A tiny shot across New Labour’s bow (‘politics is about service, not image’). Huge applause when he said he would relish a chance to take on Cameron’s Tories, followed by a long, heartfelt standing ovation. For a glorious moment all doubts were swept aside; like it or not, the succession seemed assured; the audience, after all, comprised the bulk of the selectorate. Who will dare take on the mighty Gordon after this?

  It took little more than an hour for the warm glow to dissipate. I was sitting outside, enjoying a cup of tea in the sunshine with Tony Benn when the rumour reached us that Cherie, on hearing Gordon speak of his pleasure in working with her beloved, had been overheard hissing, ‘That’s a lie.’ There is only one witness, a reporter from Bloomberg, and Cherie needless to say is denying all, but no one believes her. The hacks are beside themselves with joy.

  Tuesday, 26 September

  Manchester

  The headlines this morning:

  Cherie rains on Gordon’s parade (Mail)

  Brown makes peace with one of the Blairs (The Times)

  Cherie in the Brown stuff (Sun)

  ‘That’s a lie,’ the remark that wrecked Brown’s day (Guardian)

  Only the Express (‘Romanian migrants in £8 flights to Britain’) is away on a little fascist fantasy of its own.

  Gordon must be incandescent.

  This afternoon it was the turn of The Man. The incorrigible New Labour spinners had been hard at work, distributing handwritten placards, no slogan
too fatuous (‘We love you, Tony’, ‘Best PM ever’ and so on). A series of brief, hysteria-inducing standing ovations triggered by I know not what. Then we were treated to a short film trailer listing ‘his’ (‘our’) greatest achievements. ‘And I thought I was in show business,’ whispered David Puttnam sitting just across the aisle. And suddenly, he was among us. The big question on everyone’s mind: how would he deal with Cherie’s Latest Blunder? We needn’t have worried. A finely judged little joke about ‘the bloke next door’ and the record was expunged. Uplifting, unapologetic, always on the high ground, eyes fixed on the wide horizon, his every sentence applauded (even a reference to ID cards). For a fleeting moment the grim realities of Iraq and Afghanistan, the love affair with George W. Bush, were banished. We were up there with him in the stratosphere. He ended by affirming his undying support for the Labour Party ‘wherever I am’ – a touch of the New Testament here, was he about to be assumed into heaven? (Or onto the board of News International?) No matter. By common consent, his greatest performance ever. There were even unconfirmed rumours of a tear or two among the press corps. We are going to miss him when he’s gone.

  Wednesday, 27 September

  Manchester

  Sure enough, the hacks had no choice but to report it straight. The Man’s finest hour etc. Everyone agrees. But with the dawn of a new day daylight seeps in on magic. The plain fact is that we are in deep shtuck. The party is all but bankrupt (and ironically more dependent than ever on the unions), membership is in freefall and we are locked into unwinnable wars in Iraq and Afghanistan – not to mention the wars with much of the public sector, which used to form the core of our support. This, too, is an unavoidable part of his legacy with which we who remain must grapple while he jets off to fame and fortune.

  Thursday, 5 October

  Sunderland

  A call from a woman who claims that Maxine Carr, ex-partner of the Soham murderer Ian Huntley, has moved into a nearby house. She hadn’t seen her, but a neighbour had. She has already been on to the Echo, the Sun and the Home Office and now she’s getting up a petition. ‘How can I be sure my children are safe?’ I pointed out that there was no evidence whatever that Maxine Carr posed a threat to children. She had never been suspected of being involved in the Soham murders, merely of providing a false alibi for her boyfriend on the grounds that she believed him innocent. Needless to say this cut no ice. As far as my constituent was concerned, and we have our odious tabloids to thanks for this, Maxine Carr is the new Myra Hindley. ‘She’s being protected by the government,’ the woman asserted. No, I replied, she’s being protected by the courts; not the same thing, but the distinction, of course, was lost on her. She then started on about the effect on the value of her house and how she had scrimped and saved to get out of a council estate. I pointed out that, if she carried on making her mouth go, she was going to get someone – not necessarily Maxine Carr – killed. That seemed to sober her up a little. As soon as she was off the phone, I rang the editor of the Echo, who said that the press was injuncted on pain of the heaviest penalties not to publish the slightest hint of Maxine Carr’s whereabouts and he undertook to remind his news desk of this. Then I rang Chief Superintendent Pryer, who said he would check with the Home Office. He rang back later to say that they would neither confirm nor deny, even to him, but he would send an officer to see my constituent with a view to calming her down. That was the last I heard.

  What with Wearside Jack and the Lotto Rapist, we’ve had them all this year.

  Wednesday, 11 October

  The Man was comprehensively done over at Question time. Cameron started with NHS cuts, then moved on to our overflowing prisons, before demanding to know whether The Man would be ‘happy’ to be succeeded by Gordon. Instead of replying ‘Yes’ and swiftly retreating to terra firma, The Man simply dodged the question, not once, but twice, to huge Tory ridicule and embarrassed silence on our side. The Tories were cock-a-hoop. A long time since I have seen him so badly wrong-footed.

  Saturday, 21 October

  Clare Short has resigned the whip. I am sorry it has ended like this. Despite everything, she was one of our most successful ministers and no one can take that away from her.

  Sunday, 22 October

  Heybridge

  To Brewster House to see Mum, cheerful as ever sitting among the gaga. ‘I’ll be like them,’ she said, ‘by the time I leave here.’

  Monday, 23 October

  House of Commons

  To a meeting addressed by Bahram Salih, a deputy prime minister of Iraq. It was he who spoke so eloquently in favour of the war on the night that Robin Cook resigned. Calm, frank, fluent, civilised. I wouldn’t have his job for all the tea in China. He came as close as anyone in authority to admitting that it was all a mistake: ‘Many of us are guilty of expectations that did not prove right.’

  Thursday, 26 October

  ‘It takes a special talent to turn the NHS into a vote loser,’ remarked Terry Rooney in the Tea Room. He was referring, of course, to Patricia Hewitt but, in truth, for all her patronising, she is merely the fall girl. Responsibility for our current difficulty has more to do with Treasury insistence that the huge deficits racked up by some trusts have to be put right within a single financial year. That plus New Labour’s addiction to endless, demoralising reorganisation and the fact that we have allowed ourselves to be conned by the medical profession into massively increasing their salaries in return for little or no increase in productivity.

  The midnight news is reporting that up to 60 Afghan civilians have been killed in a NATO bombing raid.

  Monday, 30 October

  From the station at Newcastle I rang the Speaker’s office to request an emergency (private notice) question on the reported deaths of Afghan civilians in a bombing raid by ‘NATO planes’ (for which read American?) on a nomad encampment near Kandahar at the end of last week. Considering the enormity of the slaughter, it has received remarkably little attention. Needless to say my request wasn’t granted, but I raised it at Defence questions this afternoon and received a vague reply from Des Browne, who seemed unfamiliar with the incident, despite having been in Afghanistan last week. The Tories meanwhile were blathering on about ‘our brave boys’ and no one else seemed interested. It is incredible how little concern there is for Afghan lives. Exactly how do we hope to win hearts and minds if this is how we carry on?

  The big news is that Nicholas Stern unveiled his long-awaited report on global warming and, by common consent, it is a very serious piece of work. He predicts catastrophic storms, huge waves of refugees, a 20 per cent loss of Gross National Product – all within our lifetime unless we undergo a drastic change of lifestyle. Interestingly, he suggests that catastrophe could still be averted by an investment of a mere 1 per cent of GDP. This assumes, of course, that China, India and the USA decide to grasp the nettle and all the signs are that they won’t, at least not until it is too late. The new-look Tories are making a great show of supporting Stern, even having the cheek to say that it is what they have argued all along and accusing the government of inaction. Their media friends, however, are still behaving true to form: ‘Secret Green Tax Blitz’ is the heading in yesterday’s Mail on Sunday and the early editions of tonight’s Standard are telling its readers that they will all have to pay an extra £2,000 a year. Inside there is a story quoting with approval the ludicrous Tory claim that the government’s proposed council tax reforms will result in ‘Londoners’ (they don’t care about anyone else) having to pay an extra £5,000. Presumably that’s in addition to the new green taxes touted on page one. Laughable if it wasn’t so serious. What hope of achieving anything in the face of this blizzard of lies?

  Tuesday, 31 October

  This evening a briefing by Greg Cook, the party’s number cruncher. He flagged up one ominous little straw in the wind: unemployment, the economy and tax are no longer big issues for the public; they have been replaced by, guess what, immigration and asylum.

  Wednesday, 1 N
ovember

  A debate on September sittings and the introduction of a proposed ‘Communications Allowance’ to legitimise the abuse of the postage and office costs allowance that has grown up in recent years. I managed to erode my already slender base within the parliamentary party by arguing robustly for returning in September and against the proposed new allowance. As soon as I sat down Jack Straw passed me a note saying my remarks were ‘uncharacteristically unfair to many of our colleagues in marginal seats (and others); and will be used against them’. I scribbled a defiant reply pointing out that my seat would be marginal next time round, too. ‘You wait until Ashcroft’s money starts pouring into your constituency,’ he said. ‘We’re counting on you to put a stop to that,’ I countered. He sighed, as though it’s going to prove more difficult than he at first expected.