Cameron at 10

by Anthony Seldon

  Cameron reads it sitting on his chair next to the fireplace in his still new office. He is very quiet and seems lost in thought. ‘This is the most shocking report I have ever seen,’ he tells aides. He wants to give nothing less than a full apology.6 At 6 p.m., he convenes a meeting for those most directly concerned. Present are Paterson accompanied by Caine, Nick Clegg, Ed Llewellyn, Fox, Attorney General Dominic Grieve, and the chief of the general staff, David Richards. Cameron picks up the summary off the table and throws it dramatically back down again: ‘I’ve just read this twice. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever read and I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m going to do about it.’ He proceeds to tell his hushed audience the gist of what he wants to say in his parliamentary statement the following afternoon, the tenor of which remains unchanged. Those present murmur agreement, even Richards, a surprise to Cameron’s aides. As Britain’s army chief, they had anticipated more resistance, though even Richards is comfortable with the apology being unequivocal. Cameron reassures Richards that he is aware of the nuances of this, and how the apology must avoid denigrating the record of service by British forces in Northern Ireland throughout the decades of the Troubles – a point that Paterson also makes. ‘We can’t let Bloody Sunday be the defining point of the entire Operation Banner,’ says Caine, referring to the code name given to the British military operation in Northern Ireland between 1969 and 2007.7 ‘Hear, hear,’ responds Richards, very audibly. The MoD’s preference for a more nuanced response is, Cameron makes clear, not an option. Fox sees the way the wind is blowing, and decides against opposing the prime minister’s settled will.

  Cameron’s speechwriters, Ameet Gill and Tim Kiddell, are frantically taking notes while Cameron has been speaking. The meeting breaks up and Gill and Kiddell work to turn Cameron’s off-the-cuff words into a formal speech, complemented by drafts from the NIO and Cabinet Office. They sit around Kiddell’s screen, joined by Caine and Simon Case, another official, working until midnight producing a draft speech for Cameron to deliver the following day which they put in the PM’s overnight box.

  Cameron rises as usual soon after 5 a.m., finds their draft but makes relatively few comments on it. At 7.30, Paterson and Caine come into Downing Street to discuss final tuning of the speech. They have little to contribute because Cameron is so clear on what he wants to say. At 9.00, Tom Strathclyde, Leader of the House of Lords, comes in for a briefing as he will be speaking on the government’s response in the Upper House. At noon, Cameron leaves for the Commons. He reads through the speech once more before asking for his Commons office to be cleared: ‘I want to go through it on my own to give it one final polish.’ He strikes observers as more than usually calm, confident and focused.8 In Londonderry (or Derry as it is known by nationalists and republicans), where Bloody Sunday occurred, many expect the worst, believing Cameron will seek to make excuses. Crowds gather outside the Guildhall in the city, where relatives of those who died have been invited to read the report. A giant TV screen outside will broadcast live Cameron’s statement in the House of Commons. The long wait is over. At 3.30 p.m., on the dot, the prime minister rises in the chamber:

  Mr Speaker, I am deeply patriotic. I never want to believe anything bad about our country. I never want to call into question the behaviour of our soldiers and our army, who I believe to be the finest in the world … But the conclusions of this report are absolutely clear. There is no doubt, there is nothing equivocal, there are no ambiguities. What happened on Bloody Sunday was both unjustified and unjustifiable. It was wrong … In the words of Lord Saville, what happened on Bloody Sunday strengthened the Provisional IRA, increased nationalist resentment and hostility towards the army and exacerbated the violent conflict of the years that followed. Bloody Sunday was a tragedy for the bereaved and the wounded and a catastrophe for the people of Northern Ireland.9

  Cameron will not make a better-received speech over the next five years in the House. In Derry, the crowds applaud and there is cheering. ‘Last Tuesday was an unforgettable day,’ writes Edward Daly, the priest who attended to the dying on Bloody Sunday. ‘The great dignity of the families, the immense power and magnanimity of the prime minister’s speech, the international media presence, the brilliantly sunlit afternoon, the ringing declaration of innocence of each and every victim and the minute of silence for all the victims of the past thirty years all added to the wonderful emergence of the truth after such a long time.’10 Even that morning it seemed inconceivable that a Derry crowd could respond positively to a Tory PM. In fact, security arrangements are made to ensure that officials could escape from the Guildhall should the atmosphere turn ugly. Julian King, British ambassador in Dublin, is profoundly struck and moved by the reception on both sides of the border in Ireland. The statement from Cameron so early in the life of the government sets the context for the British government’s relations with Dublin and Belfast for the years that follow.11 It paves the way for the Queen’s historic visit to Dublin in May 2011, the first by a British monarch since Ireland broke away from Britain in 1921, and for the Irish president’s return visit in April 2014.

  It is not all plain sailing. On 1 October 2011, Cameron experiences an unpleasant personal encounter in Downing Street. The controversy surrounding the death of Pat Finucane, a Belfast solicitor murdered in 1989 by loyalist paramilitaries who had been colluding with British security forces, was left for Cameron to deal with following the previous Labour government’s unfulfilled commitment to hold a public inquiry. Finucane’s widow, Geraldine, and her family are demanding a fully independent inquiry into the whole episode, something which has the support of the republicans and all parties in the Republic, but is opposed by unionists. The government thinks a review by a senior QC will establish the truth of what happened more effectively and speedily than a statutory inquiry. The review itself would be entirely independent. The family are not convinced by this: so Cameron takes a personal decision to invite Mrs Finucane into Downing Street. He knows the meeting will not be easy. He sees her, one of her sons, a lawyer, and Pat Finucane’s two brothers in the white drawing room on the first floor. Paterson, Caine and two other officials are also present. From the very beginning, it is clear she is in no mood to be mollified; Cameron tells her ‘I know you have no reason to trust or believe me, but I think that a statutory inquiry is neither right nor necessary. It will take years and be bitterly fought over. But there is someone I know who can get to the truth for you far more quickly.’ While Mrs Finucane is extremely disappointed, she remains dignified throughout. At one point the officials believe that one of Finucane’s brothers is about to thump Cameron. Sensing the tension in the room, Cameron draws the meeting to a swift close. Mrs Finucane then storms out of Downing Street to the waiting press outside, telling them that she is so angry she can hardly speak. ‘All of us are very upset and disappointed,’ she exclaims.12

  Northern Ireland continues to simmer throughout the next five years, with violence never far away, and political difficulties after the failed talks in 2013 led by the American diplomat Richard Haass, which tries to resolve disputes over the use of flags, parades and other ‘legacy’ issues associated with the Troubles. Many both north and south of the border, as well as in London, are disappointed that the government didn’t build more on the momentum and goodwill of the Bloody Sunday statement to settle outstanding issues. Progress is made with the Stormont House Agreement in December 2014, following cross-party talks initiated by Theresa Villiers, Paterson’s successor as Secretary of State. A crisis is averted over Stormont’s budget and some consensus emerges on dealing with the sensitive legacy issues.

  Cameron’s Bloody Sunday response remains his defining moment concerning Northern Ireland. It sees him at his best, instinctive, courageous, fired with moral zeal. Here, his pugnacity does not land him in trouble, as it would later do periodically. The tone of the speech and the words, unusually for a prime minister, are almost entirely his own. ‘It wasn’t my first opportunity to speak on Norther
n Ireland. It was my first opportunity to be prime minister,’ he said shortly afterwards. He might have favoured similar openness on Iraq, but he deemed it inappropriate to intervene while the long-awaited Chilcot Inquiry was still deliberating. But he could press ahead on Britain’s other twenty-first-century war: Afghanistan.

  SIX

  Chequers Summit on Afghanistan

  June 2010

  Tuesday 15 May, one week in, sees Cameron’s first visit to Chequers as prime minister. His convoy slows down as it approaches the house so he can savour the full impact of the sixteenth-century mansion in Buckinghamshire, given to the prime minister in 1921 as the official country residence. Staff and the trustees present themselves formally to their new master. He is typically at ease with them. He had visited once when much younger; it is bigger than he remembered. Hamid Karzai, Afghan president since 2004, is his guest. Cameron wants to show him that he means business in Afghanistan, and is focusing his attention on it. Hence the honour, not missed on Karzai, of being his first overseas visitor to Chequers. Invited too that day are Britain’s most senior military figures, including Chief of the Defence Staff (CDS) Jock Stirrup, Vice Chief of the Defence Staff Nicholas Houghton, Chief of the General Staff (CGS) David Richards, Commander-in-Chief of Land Forces Peter Wall and First Sea Lord Mark Stanhope. Here is the cream of the British armed forces. Differences though there are between them, they are united today wanting to make a positive impression on the new prime minister, not least with the Spending Review in the offing. On the horizon too is the imminent appointment of Stirrup’s successor as CDS, with Houghton and Richards the frontrunners.

  Cameron has no illusions about his own lack of experience in military and defence matters. In Opposition, he announced at the 2009 party conference that he would be taking advice from Richard Dannatt, Richards’ forceful predecessor as CGS, who had spoken out strongly in favour of more support for the British war mission in Afghanistan. The idea proved unpopular, and Cameron tried to drop it quietly. Similarly he brought into his circle Pauline Neville-Jones, a retired diplomat and past chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC), whom he appointed shadow Security Minister in July 2007. She was important in giving him gravitas in this area until the authority of the PM’s office obviated the need. Cameron is now bolstered by the constant presence of Ed Llewellyn, who has worked closely with Paddy Ashdown in Bosnia and with Chris Patten when governor of Hong Kong. Cameron does not take decisions in this realm without aligning first with Llewellyn.

  Cameron has never served in the armed forces, nor spent any time shadowing foreign or defence departments. The responsibility on his shoulders as prime minister to protect British lives, servicemen and women in the field and civilians on the streets of Britain weighs heavily. He is an avid imbiber of military and diplomatic history, and a serious patriot. He would have loved to have been Foreign Secretary, and he revels in broad strategic discussions about Britain’s place in the world. He enjoys talking to soldiers in the field and to his Foreign Office staff, chatting to them late into the evening after his domestic officials have gone home.

  But Cameron is no romantic. Friends from Eton, Oxford and elsewhere are now in middle-ranking positions in the services. He listens carefully to what they have to tell him about the top brass. He watched with growing alarm as he saw army chiefs run circles around Brown at Number 10, colluding, as some saw it, with the Sun to whip up support for the boys at the front to gain financial leverage for more equipment and more men. His most pressing concern is the scale of the black hole in the MoD’s budget, which runs to tens of billions. Cameron is clear that civilians are going to regain control of British defence policy and its finances and that he, not the army chiefs, will decide what will happen over the biggest military decision he is likely to take as prime minister, the future of the British commitment to Afghanistan. So he is on his guard as the top brass arrive kitted out in their pristine uniforms at Chequers. They chance their luck with a couple of requests which he firmly declines with a respectful smile. An aide records that Cameron is ‘charmingly steely and quite effectively sees them off’. He knows that Afghanistan has the potential to tear his premiership apart, as it almost did Brown’s. He is painfully aware of a complete lack of consensus in Britain, and abroad, on the best way forward. Britain’s allies in Afghanistan are going in different directions. While the US commits to a surge in troops from 30,000 in mid-2009 to 90,000 in 2011, France announces in January 2010 it will send no more forces to Afghanistan, and the following month the government in the Netherlands collapses after trying to extend the mission of the Dutch forces. Simon McDonald, the senior foreign policy adviser in the Cabinet Office under Gordon Brown, writes a minute soon after the election to say that the war in Afghanistan is not being won and will never be won. Britain needs to get out.

  Cameron suspects that the service chiefs are trapped into conventional ways of thinking on Afghanistan, so he decides to return to Chequers for a ‘summit’ on Tuesday 1 June where he will deliberately confront his senior military figures with some left-field thinkers to shake up their thinking. The seminar will be in two halves. The ‘wild men’, as he dubs them, will be present at the first session in the library upstairs from 9 a.m. in the morning to act as the grit in the oyster. A lunchtime session will then be held in the dining room after the outsiders have left.

  Few areas have exercised his mind when Opposition leader more than Afghanistan, and he has spent many hours pondering the problem and talking to those with unorthodox outlooks. Prime among them is Sherard Cowper-Coles, the Foreign Secretary’s special representative to Afghanistan and Pakistan who had become highly sceptical of the prospects of success of continued military engagement. Cameron talks to him on his visits to Afghanistan, where the seasoned diplomat is brutally clear that the war cannot be won.1 Rory Stewart, the intellectually brilliant former diplomat, author and now Tory MP, who had walked across Afghanistan and served as a senior official in Iraq, is another invited, as is James Fergusson, an Old Etonian and Oxford friend of Cameron’s and author of three books on Afghanistan, the third of which advocated talking to the Taliban.

  The meeting begins. ‘It is pointless to put in more troops,’ Fergusson says, feeling self-conscious at finding himself placed between the head of MI6 and the chair of the JIC. ‘We have to speak to the Taliban,’ he says. ‘Oh it’s very difficult to talk to the Taliban,’ interjects Foreign Secretary William Hague. Fergusson believes that Mullah Zaeef will be an excellent intermediary: he has spent five years as a prisoner in Guantanamo, but is not bitter. Fergusson describes him as a ‘nice man’. ‘This is a unique opportunity,’ he says, ‘as the Taliban respect the British and really quite like us, as opposed to the Americans, who they regard, above all due to Guantanamo, as beyond the pale.’2 Fergusson is listened to by the great and good in respectful silence. ‘You’re not exactly on the same page as most of us,’ confides Pauline Neville-Jones to him at the coffee break.3

  Graeme Lamb, who has been commander of British Special Forces and has aggressively pursued al-Qaeda operatives in Iraq, presents a sharply different view. Lamb is a no-nonsense kind of soldier who talks and looks like a battle-hardened warrior. He exudes charisma and authority. ‘Prime Minister, you have nothing to worry about with the Taliban in Kunar Province because we’ve killed them all,’ he starts. Fergusson, at the other end of the table, disagrees because he’s recently been talking to Taliban who are still ubiquitous in Kunar Province. Cameron and Clegg, in the middle of the table, turn their heads from side to side as Lamb and Fergusson testily dispute the facts, as if watching a tennis match.4 Lamb’s formula is: ‘Either we’re going to beat these guys, or we’re going to have to do a deal with them. So let’s start thinking about what that deal should be.’

  Cameron asks Cowper-Coles to speak about political strategy for Afghanistan. ‘The military campaign is important, but not enough,’ he asserts; and the political strategy has to be given top priority. ‘We also need to talk
to our regional partners, India, Pakistan, Russia and Iran. We’ll never solve Afghanistan unless we work with the regional powers.’ At a break, Cowper-Coles confronts Cameron: ‘We are part of an American war, this isn’t our war. You need to talk to Obama.’ Cowper-Coles knows that Obama is sympathetic to a political strategy, and had been disappointed not to have received more support for it from Brown, who had gone public about never talking to the Taliban. Cowper-Coles believes that Britain is making a mistake, as it had in Iraq, in letting the US administration think that its support was unconditional, meaning that it was taken for granted. Rory Stewart also strongly denounces Britain’s existing policy.

  The ‘wild men’ depart after the morning session, leaving behind just the cool-headed men and women. They are a diverse crew – too many for Cameron’s liking, as he had wanted more of a free-thinking and less official seminar. Present are senior Cabinet ministers, service chiefs, assorted diplomats, including William Patey, the new ambassador to Afghanistan, and the ‘spooks’ (the heads of MI5, MI6 and GCHQ). At the forefront of their minds is how quickly the Afghan army can be trained to take over the security of the country. There are secondary concerns about what kind of a signal setting a date for a British departure might give to NATO allies, particularly the United States. If too early, it could damage relations with allies, undermine the progress already made, and open Britain up to the charge of cutting and running. If the departure is too late, even more lives and money will be lost.

  Cameron chairs the meeting with a hint of irritation in his voice. He is being kept awake at night by the fans in Number 10. The upstairs flat is being renovated and he is not sleeping well. He is particularly testy with the service chiefs. He is very wary about the numbers of troops on the ground and of any talk of ‘mission creep’. He, Osborne and Hague will decide what is to happen with Afghanistan. Osborne recoiled in shock when he was told that the cost of the war in Afghanistan might approach £26 billion over the life of the parliament. To the chancellor, Britain can’t get out quickly enough. Even before they come to power, he and Cameron have reached a secret understanding that Britain will get out of Afghanistan; they have only to decide how and when to do it.