Decline & Fall

by Chris Mullin

  Monday, 30 April

  A long talk with Alan Milburn in the Tea Room this evening. He, like everyone else, now seems reconciled to the inevitability of Gordon, although he believes Miliband could have won had he been persuaded to stand. Why are we all falling in behind Gordon even though we know in our hearts that it makes a fourth victory less likely? It is not, as some commentators allege, that we have been consumed by a collective fit of madness. Merely that no one can see the point of having a contested election when the outcome is preordained. Also, we know that defeating Gordon would require a huge and damaging earthquake which could prove fatal anyway. And so we soldier on, marching without enthusiasm towards the sound of gunfire, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.

  Wednesday, 2 May

  To the Home Office to discuss asylum with Liam Byrne. The latest round in my campaign to prevent the removal of families with children to dysfunctional countries like the Congo. I suggested he ought quietly to let those who have been here for several years stay. He listened sympathetically, but I am not sure anything will change unless he is ordered by the courts. Hearts have hardened as a result of the battering we have received in recent years. I floated the idea that we should stop facilitating arranged marriages, a huge loophole in the immigration rules. To my pleasant surprise Liam is moving in that direction. It is proposed to raise the age at which spouses may be imported from 18 to 21 – a proposal that met stiff resistance when I first suggested it three years ago – and to require spouses to speak passable English.

  A bizarre suggestion from Steve Byers, who I briefly encountered in the Tea Room. It’s being suggested, he said (by whom he did not say), that even those of us who are sceptics should nominate Gordon in a great show of unity and put out a little statement as we do so. We didn’t get as far as discussing what this statement should contain, but presumably it would seek to distance the signatories from the common herd of Brownistas. Sounds completely potty and I told him so. My guess is that all those who have been most opposed to Brown will end up nominating him, leaving mugs like me swinging in the wind.

  Steve added that Charles Clarke was willing to run, if nominated, but he thought that would be divisive in view of Charles’s behaviour last year. Indeed it would.

  Tuesday, 8 May

  This evening, for the first time, I was approached by one of Gordon’s agents, Nick Brown. ‘We’ve got you in our “unknown” column,’ he said. I replied that I was planning to nominate Michael though I bore Gordon no malice. Nick didn’t seem bothered by this, remarking only that Gordon was anxious not to have to tour the country sharing a platform with John McDonnell.

  As Nick and I were talking, alone in the Aye Lobby, Alan Milburn passed through and gave me a quizzical look. I could see he thinks I’m playing some sort of double game, but he’s wrong. I am a man with no prospects.

  Wednesday, 9 May

  To the City for a meeting of the Prison Reform Trust. The deputy director, Geoff Dobson, recounted a recent telephone call from an anonymous police officer who described seeing a prison van parked in Horseferry Road, rocking alarmingly from side to side. Upon inquiry he was told by the escort that they were awaiting instructions as to which prison they should deliver their human cargo. They had been waiting some hours, all the local prisons being full, it was a hot day and meanwhile the inhabitants of the van were becoming agitated. Hence the frantic rocking. He had heard later that they had finally been accommodated in court cells because no prison vacancies could be found. Evidence, if any were needed, of the knife edge on which the entire prison service is living. I later relayed this to Charlie Falconer, who has this very day inherited responsibility for prisons in the new Justice Department, but he merely remarked that he had recently visited half a dozen prisons and they seemed to be coping.

  This afternoon I was lobbied by Bob Ainsworth, who has hopes of becoming Chief Whip under the new order and asked me to put the word about. I said I would do what I could but pointed out that, as he had not long ago reminded me, I am these days a person of little or no influence and, therefore, in no position to assist his advancement.

  Thursday, 10 May

  To the University of Birmingham for a conference to mark the tenth anniversary of the Criminal Cases Review Commission. A number of faces familiar from campaigns past – including Sir Igor Judge, who represented the Crown to such devastating effect at the 1988 Birmingham appeal and who is now in charge of the Court of Appeal; charming, amiable (‘May I call you Chris?’), reasonable – yet another instance of how one’s ogres tend to confound expectations on contact (I hope he feels the same about me). What a sea change there has been in the last 20 years. None of the old smug arrogance. No one now pretends the system is infallible. Ken Macdonald, the Director of Public Prosecutions, actually began his contribution by saying that he kept a copy of Error of Judgement on his shelves as a reminder of what had gone before. I asked about the ever-threatened demand that suspects should be detained for up to 90 days and he replied, ‘Twenty-eight days has been useful to us, but we’re not asking for an increase. The police aren’t asking for one either and yet it keeps coming back. I don’t know where it is coming from.’ We all know where it’s coming from, of course – from posturing politicians seeking to appease the mob. I put that to him afterwards, and he didn’t disagree.

  Meanwhile, The Man flew to Sedgefield to announce the date of his re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere. It is to be 27 June.

  Friday, 11 May

  A vast industry has grown up analysing The Man’s place in history. So great is demand that a tented media village has been erected on St Stephen’s Green. An average statesman, not a great one, is the Telegraph’s grudging verdict. ‘Progressives who can win elections are rare,’ says the Guardian. ‘He was a winner, that is not unimportant.’ What do I think? That at his best he was courageous, far-sighted, brilliant, idealistic, personally attractive, but that his undoubted achievements are eclipsed by one massive folly: that he tied us umbilically to the worst American president of my lifetime with consequences that were not merely disastrous, but catastrophic. The Man was touched by greatness, but ultimately he blew it.

  Monday, 14 May

  Jack Straw buttonholed me at the parliamentary party meeting this evening and asked who I was intending to nominate. I repeated what I said to Nick Brown the other evening: Michael Meacher, but I bear Gordon no malice. He seemed most interested in whether I would transfer to John McDonnell if Michael went out. I told him I wouldn’t, which seemed to satisfy him. Later, I heard that Michael had pulled out, having secured fewer nominations than John. Meanwhile Hilary Benn, my preferred candidate for the deputy leadership, is struggling to get on the ballot paper, having just over 30 nominations, well behind the other candidates.

  Tuesday, 15 May

  Ran into Michael White, who recommended Alan Johnson for deputy leader on the basis that he was capable of standing up to Gordon. He quoted someone who had worked for Alan: ‘In any confrontation with Gordon he would say, “Let’s go away and reconsider our positions.” They’d come back, both having moved. The difference was that Alan would admit it and Gordon wouldn’t.’

  Now that Michael Meacher is no longer in the race I am much sought after by the McDonnell camp. I could end it all by simply nominating Gordon, but I’m rather enjoying the attention. A long call from my old friend Jon Lansman, followed by a slightly heavier email, invoking the spirit of ‘81 with just a hint of betrayal should I fail to comply. By evening I’d had enough and went off to nominate Gordon.

  9 p.m., Room 219, Portcullis House

  Hilary’s HQ. From the window a stunning panorama extending from Big Ben, across Parliament Square to the Abbey. Dramatis personae include the following: Gareth Thomas, Jonathan Shaw (whose room this is), Hugh Bayley, Gordon Banks and Beatrice Stern (Hilary’s special adviser) crammed around a small circular table. Ian McCartney’s unmistakable, if at times incomprehensible, Scottish brogue emanates from a mobile phone on the
table. I am seated somewhat to the rear, there being no room at the table. Hilary is in the room next door, chasing up stragglers, some of whom are hard to track down and who, even when cornered, are proving a mite slippery; occasionally his head appears round the door to report progress. Atmosphere: frenetic. We have less than two days to find another dozen votes from the diminishing pool of those who have yet to nominate. Beatrice has printed out a list and we are working our way scientifically through it. Two people have indicated that, while Hilary is not their first choice, they will if pressed provide the magic 45th nomination, but they are not willing to come aboard before then. Another two of our promises are abroad, but that still leaves us well short.

  ‘Gwyneth Dunwoody?’

  ‘Your generation, Chris.’

  ‘You must be joking.’ Fortunately they are.

  ‘Who can talk to Bob Wareing?’

  ‘Milosevic,’ I venture.

  In the end we delegate the task to Tony Benn.

  And so it goes. We depart for the ten o’clock division, each with a little list of ears to be bent.

  As I am sitting in the Noe Lobby, waiting to pounce, who should sweep by but Gordon, exuding bonhomie. ‘How are you?’ he calls, as usual not pausing long enough to catch my reply; then, just as he pulls out of earshot, ‘You’re a good man.’ It is not often I get two sentences out of Gordon, so I spend a moment pondering the significance. Then the penny drops. He has just been informed that, along with just about everybody else, I have nominated him. Like others, I have done so not out of love, but out of recognition that his ascent is inevitable and we might as well make the best of it.

  Wednesday, 16 May

  Another meeting in Room 219. Hilary is still half a dozen nominations short. It’s beginning to look as if he won’t make it, though Beatrice is still sending out reassuring messages. Hilary looks tense, though personally I can’t see what all the fuss is about. There is very little power at stake and being deputy to Gordon won’t be much fun.

  In Speaker’s Court I ran into John Reid, alighting from his armoured Jag, surrounded by officials and protection officers. ‘Sorry to see that you are exchanging all this for a bus pass,’ I teased. The boys from the Branch were unamused, but John took it in good heart. ‘Why?’ I inquired, when we were alone. He said Gordon had been willing to leave him where he was, but he had been worried about becoming a focus of opposition every time he and Gordon had a row, which they did from time to time. Is that the explanation? Who knows? So few politicians surrender office voluntarily, especially one who is so at ease with power as John appears to be, that one is bound to be suspicious.

  The Dispatch Box, Portcullis House, 3 p.m.

  I am queuing for a cappuccino when a voice whispers in my ear, ‘Tell Hilary I am still available to trade . . .’

  It is the ever-affable Alan Simpson. He is saying that, if we can put one or two nominations the way of John McDonnell (who is still languishing in the upper twenties), McDonnell’s team will do likewise for Hilary.

  ‘Impossible,’ I say. ‘Everyone on our side has already nominated Gordon.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Then you are guilty of premature articulation,’ he says with a baleful smile.

  ‘Besides,’ I add, ‘Hilary is opposed to such deals as a matter of principle.’

  ‘In that case, he should tell his supporters to stop ringing me up,’ says Alan, melting away into the crowd.

  Thursday, 17 May

  Awoke to the news that Hilary has acquired his 45th nomination, thereby ensuring his place on the ballot paper. As for the leadership, John McDonnell has conceded defeat, the Brown steamroller having acquired enough nominations to make it mathematically impossible for anyone else to get on the ballot paper. Which means that, in effect, we are going to have two prime ministers for the next six weeks, with all that entails in terms of media mischief. It remains to be seen whether it is in Gordon’s interest, or the party’s, to have a coronation rather than a contest. Although Gordon has been putting it about that he was relaxed about the possibility of a contest, the truth is that he and his henchmen have been doing everything in their power to avoid one. Blair, by contrast, positively went out of his way in ‘94 to ensure that there was a contest, even to the extent of encouraging his supporters to ensure his rivals got onto the ballot paper. That’s the difference between The Man and Gordon. The one supremely self-confident, the other radiating insecurity.

  Norine MacDonald, who lives in Afghanistan, came in for lunch. We ate in the atrium at Portcullis House. Norine is just about the only foreigner who travels in the southern provinces without a military escort. The people are starving, she says. No one goes near the camps into which the displaced have been driven. She is full of praise for our military, who she says are very pissed off with our Department for International Development for the lack of an effective aid programme and for refusing to let the military go where DFID fear to tread. Meanwhile the Americans, as ever, are bombing and burning enthusiastically, pushing more people into the hands of the Taliban. A few weeks ago, she says, the Brits dropped leaflets saying, ‘We’re not the ones who are burning your crops’, which led to a dust-up with the Americans, resulting in our having to apologise.

  Monday, 21 May

  To Church House for the deputy leadership hustings, in the very room where Parliament once sat after the chamber was bombed. ‘I am glad you succeeded in stopping 90 days, otherwise I would have had to resign,’ whispered Peter Goldsmith, the Attorney General, who was sitting behind.

  We started with the six deputy leadership candidates. Each gave a little spiel and then answered questions. The format was ludicrous – 25 questions before anyone was given a chance to respond. John Cruddas was called upon to reply first. He simply ignored the questions and said what he intended to say anyway. Then Hilary Benn impressed everyone by responding by name to all 25 questioners, at which point the remaining candidates began frantically scribbling. Hilary and Harriet performed best. Harriet is attracting a fair amount of support but her difficulty is that not everyone has forgiven her for the embarrassment she caused us by sending her son to a selective school, not to mention the row over cutting benefit to single parents; on top of which no one thinks she is remotely capable of standing up to Gordon.

  Wednesday, 23 May

  To breakfast with David Currie, the OFCOM regulator, who gave an analysis of the impact of the digital age on television, every bit as gloomy as we pessimists forecast during the passage of the Communication Bill. Telecoms and broadcasting had collided, he said. Audiences are fragmenting. News, regional programming and children’s television were unlikely to survive on commercial channels in their present guise. The BBC, too, is at risk. Radio is going the same way as television. He talked of the ‘difficulty of sustaining the regulatory compact’ and concluded by asking, ‘How can a public service broadcasting system survive in this new age?’ The former BBC Director-General, John Birt, added fuel to the fire by talking of ‘market failure’ and ‘the inevitable demise of public service broadcasting on commercial channels – as we approach the digital switchover’.

  This afternoon to the School of Oriental and African Studies for the annual meeting of the Royal Africa Society. I walked back from Russell Square, through rush-hour mayhem, harassed every few yards by desperate migrants handing out freesheets. On a pavement in Kingsway, a begging Roma woman with what looked like a disabled child on her knee. Slowly, inexorably, inevitably the chaos beyond our borders is beginning to lap at our comfortable little world.

  Thursday, 24 May

  To breakfast at the Royal Commonwealth Club to hear Mo Ibrahim, businessman and philanthropist of Sudanese origin, whose foundation has recently launched a substantial annual prize for that rare bird: the African head of state who, having done something for his people, voluntarily relinquishes power. He pointed out that Ghana at independence was richer than Taiwan or Malaysia. ‘What happened? It is a c
rime. We Africans are responsible. Until we learn to put the public interest over family or tribe we are wasting our time. Everything goes back to governance. There is no point in going to the G8 and saying, “Give us the money.” No point. It’s about governance.’ So refreshing to hear this coming from an African.

  Wednesday, 30 May

  Another little ray of light on The Man’s style of governance. Robin Butler, who was Cabinet Secretary for the first eight months of our tenure, is reported in today’s Guardian as saying, ‘In the eight months I was cabinet secretary when Tony Blair was prime minister, the only decision the cabinet took was about the Millennium Dome. And the only way they got to take that decision was because Tony Blair had to leave the room to go to a memorial service and Prescott was left in charge. There were in fact more people against the Dome than for it and the one thing that Prescott could get cabinet agreement to was that they should leave it to Tony Blair. That was the decision.’ Incredible? On second thoughts, no. All too believable.

  Monday, 11 June

  Twenty years today since I was first elected.

  Jack Straw, addressing the parliamentary committee this evening, remarked inter alia that we are due a substantial pay rise and that he had said as much in a submission to the Senior Salaries Review Body, spouting some nonsense about comparators. And this when we are restricting the public sector to just over 2 per cent. Not on your Nelly, I thought. In fact I said so. So did a couple of others, prompting Jack to call us ‘hair shirts’.