by Craig Oliver
This sinks in among the group. In order to manage expectations, we disappear downstairs to tell the hacks. Everyone seems depressed by the idea that this really could drag on.
By midnight there is no prospect of a deal and it looks like we will be up all night. Word from inside the Council, where no aides are allowed, is that no progress is being made and people are getting tetchy. They spend two hours discussing whether inverted commas should be put round a phrase.
Finally the PM emerges. What’s frustrating is that we are into a new day and no progress has been made.
DC looks fresh and neat as he sits in one of the swivel chairs. He says Tusk is too willing to let people waffle. At one stage Hollande said, ‘Come on Donald, just end the meeting.’ Tusk responded feebly, ‘But people still want to speak.’
The PM then goes into a small meeting with Tusk. We sit in the meeting room, put our feet up on some swing chairs, and sleep. This pattern is repeated three times throughout the night, with the PM coming back to wake us up and update us on how little progress is being made.
Finally everything breaks up at 5.30 a.m.
We traipse down to the entrance, where a few hacks are waiting, before being taken in convoy to the residence. The police drive fast and put on the sirens, patently not giving a damn about the locals.
Back at the residence, the staff have been waiting for us to emerge and are standing by a drinks trolley when we arrive. No one is really in the mood for this. DC stands around for a few minutes, clearly not sure how momentum can be developed to do a deal.
I go to bed with a low-level headache, knowing that I will get less than three hours’ sleep.
Chapter 8
Clash of the Titans
I AM WOKEN UP by calls at 9 a.m. Brussels time (8 a.m. UK) – and listen to poor Amber Rudd, a pro-EU Cabinet minister, who we’ve put out to defend this with virtually nothing to add. She does an admirable job.
It’s a relatively leisurely start to the day. The Commission are trying to have a series of bilats, before talking to us again. We sit at breakfast, which is served silver-service style by men in black ties. Over the fruit salad, egg, bacon and sausage, it’s obvious that everyone thinks this could go either way. We really could be in a position where we have to walk away. The PM’s view is that it would mean we kissed goodbye to another summit next month – we would be revisiting this in the autumn. An alarm bell is clanging in my head. Something tells me if we walk away this is going to get worse, with other European governments entrenching and assuming we are not serious.
I suggest the PM does do a short clip on the way in, which is essentially a repeat of what he said yesterday: battling for Britain, not going to take a deal that isn’t right for Britain. It helps them fill the vacuum.
By lunchtime there’s a sudden sense this process is moving. The biggest symbol of this is the ‘English Breakfast’ that had been scheduled has turned into a lunch and then a tea on the Council schedule – they’re giving time for a deal to be done.
The PM is lying down on a raised section of floor by the windows, trying to rest his sore back, when we hear Angela Merkel wants to come and see him. The room is a mess, bags and papers strewn across the seats. There’s a flurry as he stands up and I clear up.
Merkel sits down opposite me. She is wearing chunky black shoes, a pair of dark trousers made of heavy material and a blocky fuchsia jacket. It’s pretty clear this is the first time she has focused properly on the detail of a deal. DC goes through what he wants, including an emergency brake on welfare payments to help curb immigration, which starts at seven years and is renewed for two bursts of three years.
DC goes on to say that he will face ‘a barrage of criticism’ if there’s seen to be any further watering down of the deal.
Angela Merkel turns to one of her aides. ‘What is barrage?’ The PM offers up ‘blitzkrieg’ as a translation. She smiles like he is a naughty schoolboy.
She leaves to consider.
It’s 4.30 p.m. and way past the point where we could be flying back to Britain for a Cabinet tonight.
The next hour or so is filled by bilats and people munching on bad food.
At 5.45 p.m. I get a call from Laura Kuenssberg, the BBC’s political editor. She’s heard that Michael Gove is confirmed as Out. I know she can’t tell me her source, but I need to know if she’s fishing or knows for a fact – after all, her opposite number at ITV, Robert Peston, has been reporting it’s believed Gove’s heading in that direction since Wednesday. It sounds like it’s credible. The PM is with some policy people when I break the news. He says Michael has always told him he’d let him know in person before others learned.
I call Michael Gove, telling him what Laura is saying. He acts as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and there’s no real news here. I ask him what his team are going to say when asked and he responds, ‘We’re not saying anything until after the negotiation.’
I say, ‘You do realise that will be seen as confirmation you are Out?’
He says he’s aware of that. It’s all done in his usually ultra-polite way, but there’s no doubt this is the moment he makes clear he is going against the PM.
I speak to DC, telling him what’s been said. He’s not angry, but there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice as he tries to make light of it.
‘That’s him off the Christmas card list.’
Later Kate Fall tells me Gove’s people believe I am responsible for outing him. We agree it’s absurd. Why would I want to do anything negative that cut across the renegotiation deal?
We build up to the PM going to the dinner. When he does, I disappear downstairs to talk to the hacks who’ve spent all day bored out of their minds, sucking their pens and desperate for information. They horde around me and I have to be tough in saying we can’t give you anything. They’re reduced to asking how many bags of Haribo sweets have been eaten in the delegation room.
Suddenly the log-jam breaks at 9.20 p.m. UK time – it looks like they have done a deal. I immediately email the PM – we need to get him out there for the 10 p.m. news. He responds he will try, but his draft speech is nowhere near ready.
His first-class, immaculately dressed speechwriter, Tim Kiddell, has been hanging around all of this time and suddenly has to explode into life. I watch him try to log in five times – more hurry, less haste. I start to dictate what he should say: ‘A few moments ago … etc.,’ expecting it will be collaborative, but find it’s easier just to dictate.
We need to explain why this is a success and that Britain has a truly special status in Europe – already out of the Euro and the Schengen cross-borders agreement, we now have four clear successes:
People told us the EU was too much of a political project – we are now exempt from the idea of ‘ever closer union’.
They worried about too much rule-making and interference – we’ve secured a target for reducing bureaucracy.
There was too much of a focus on what was right for the countries that are members of the Euro – there will be protections for the pound.
Finally, and crucially, people worried about the pressures of freedom of movement – we have secured massive benefit restrictions, reducing the ‘pull factors’ for migrants.
We send a version to DC.
I warn the broadcasters in London he will be able to do a live statement during the 10 p.m. news. Having edited both BBC and ITV programmes, I know not to come out bang on ten – not to interfere with their openings, etc. – and suggest we do it about nine minutes past. DC gives the thumbs up to the new version and we print it.
He comes downstairs just before ten. There is a bit of back-slapping, which I want to allow, but quite quickly push him towards doing the press conference. It will be a real coup if we get his statement broadcast live on both main news programmes.
We get into the lift with his printed speech and I march ahead into the press room, which is hot. No one seems that fussed about the EU flag being marginalised and the
Union flag being prominent.
We are on course, but it seems to take him an eternity to come in. I bring up the ToView app on my phone. There’s a thirty-second delay, after he walks in, but I can see the BBC News at Ten took him from the moment he started.
It is a full-on speech, where he speaks for around fifteen minutes. TV takes the first five. After a number of questions that were eminently predictable – we are gone. There’s a real mood that it went well as we walk out and get into the cars. He has managed to look better than when we went in, though I suspect all of this will drift away as this becomes a binary In/Out argument.
The mood on the plane is light, filled with relief. This could have been a disaster and it wasn’t. All of us have a drink – it’s a mini party, with most people standing up and mingling. The PM tells us about how the other leaders were in celebratory mood, feeling they’d achieved something … but there’s a sober realisation among us all that things are going to get even tougher.
A car takes me to the foot of my road. It is 1.15 a.m. I take in the cool air for a moment. The next four months are going to be a giant fight.
On Saturday 20 February, I wake up exhausted, the alarm the only thing that’s making me surface.
Broadcast and social media couldn’t have gone better. The papers range from actively hostile to sniffy, with even the Guardian claiming it shows the EU is a flat-footed organisation. It’s strange talking to others at No. 10, who seem rather pleased with the papers. It’s all relative, I guess, after the kicking the first draft received.
Everyone is in complete overdrive: the papers packed, the broadcasters wall to wall. There are endless vox pops – my favourite is of a woman saying, ‘I just want people to understand we are a maritime nation,’ with no further explanation.
I get into work early, going through the media plan. This is a major operation – we need to fill the waterfront showing why we’ve got a good agreement. I have done a deal with the Sun to run a piece exclusively from DC.
I go into a small group meeting with the PM. He’s trying to frame what he wants to say to Cabinet when he looks at his BlackBerry. He takes some time to read a message, elbows on his knees, glasses on the tip of his nose. With a resigned look DC says, ‘Well…it looks like Out.’ In fact, the email left no room for doubt, it’s clear Boris is going for Out.
He then reads it out. It is written in very human terms, beginning by explaining how he has been a tortured soul, but he has to ‘go with his heart’. There’s a real concern that what he calls a ‘hate machine’ will try to destroy him after taking this decision, saying there are plenty out there who will want to attack, ‘some of whom will earn good money’. He suggests at the end that he thinks we will end up staying in.
There’s a moment when we absorb what has happened. Some look sick, others resigned. Ed and I are impressed by how well-written, thoughtful and generous the message appears.
Some wonder if we should leak it. I am clear we should not. We need Cabinet to have its moment and don’t want to wind him up by starting a ‘Clash of the Titans’-style war and stealing his thunder. That will detract from our message and anger MPs.
Later in the day, about four hours later than the initial message, at around 1 p.m, I get a call from DC to make sure I am stopping anyone tempted to reveal Boris sent a message saying he will support Leave. The reason is there’s been another text suggesting he might change his mind and back Remain. I’m struck by how reckless Boris is being – we could just blurt all of this out at any time. His big moment could end with him badly tarnished.
I ask DC what makes him so sure Boris is wobbling. He reads out some parts of the text including the phrase ‘depression is setting in’ followed by a clear sense that he’s reconsidering. Neither of us is left in any doubt.
I am struck by two things: Boris is genuinely in turmoil, hating having to make this decision and flip-flopping within a matter of hours; and his cavalier approach. He must understand that the stakes are even higher for DC than for him. So why is he unburdening himself in this way to the man who could be so damaged if he chooses to go for leave? Perhaps it is out of respect and friendship, communicating with one of the few people who must understand what he is going through. Perhaps it is just insensitive.
The PM says ‘If he is in that much doubt the logical thing to do is go with the status quo.’ Others are less charitable, questioning his motivation.
In the time between the two messages, Cabinet files in. I see Liz Truss and chat with her about her decision to be In. She is concerned by Michael Gove being Out, but says she is persuaded that she doesn’t want to spend the next decade of her life wrestling with Europe.
There’s almost a festive atmosphere as everyone gathers, all with their pre-prepared speeches.
The PM comes in and sits down, and runs through the documents that outline his deal. The only emotional moment is at the end when he refers to ‘my team’ and there is a crack in his voice.
George is clear – the deal is good. He warns about the problems of trying to engage with the single market outside the EU. He points out that the Governor of the Bank of England is certain there will be an economic shock, meaning serious issues for ordinary people. Finally he speaks of the good sense in being part of a multilateral organisation of Western states versus taking a leap in the dark.
That phrase ‘leap in the dark’, elevating risk, is to be central to the Remain campaign.
Michael Gove ladles on the praise, talking about the ‘commitment, passion and patriotism’ of the PM. But he’s quick to say the renegotiation does not fundamentally change the direction of the EU, which is towards political union. He says there are taxes set and laws passed that we cannot amend or improve, and he cannot say to voters that he is accountable for every decision.
He ends, ‘The cumulative impact is this country does not have the freedom of manoeuvre I believe it should. I can’t do anything other than to go with my deepest instincts. I do so with a heavy heart. I will vote to Leave.’
Many others speak, but for me, Patrick McLoughlin is typically wise. He is an ex-miner, with a big physical presence and a gentle voice, and I have always felt there is something right about a world where he is a significant Cabinet minister. He says, ‘I’d love to live in Utopia – the only trouble is, we’ll find Europe’s already there. The party basically destroyed itself between ’92 and ’97 on this – let’s not do it again.’ His point is profound. Our geography dictates that we will be impacted by Europe whether we are in or out. We can’t slip anchor and float off towards the United States or Singapore. Surely it is better to be at the table, influencing things, rather than standing on the sidelines complaining?
Sajid is habitually practical, warning there will be a significant downturn and the cost of leaving to the British people is too great. He says, ‘With a heavy heart and very little enthusiasm – I will vote Remain.’
When it is done, we send the PM straight out into Downing Street to deliver a statement, which I have tweaked to make it work better for the evening news bulletins, adding the drama of the fact it has just happened and, ‘My recommendation is clear – Britain will be stronger and safer in a reformed EU.’
The wider team watches it on Sky News in his office. He nails it. When he comes back in, he says he was genuinely fascinated by the argument he just witnessed. ‘It’s interesting – it boils down to a debate about sovereignty versus influence. Do we have more genuine control over things that matter through greater sovereignty at home or through having influence over an organisation that’ll continue to exist and affect us even if we leave?’
The rest of the day is spent getting the PM to talk to editors, as well as fielding calls.
I’m up early again on Sunday to prep the PM for The Andrew Marr Show. I try to synthesise my reading of the papers into a note for DC:
Inevitably the papers see the EU debate in extreme terms – though our piece representing our case in the Sun worked, with a double-page sp
read and a cut-out of our five reasons to stay.
The Sunday Times says you are ‘declaring war on the rebels’ – saying they are misleading the public by claiming they can seal our borders and challenging them to define what Out looks like. You won’t get much chance to do it, but you need to say in clear terms on Marr: Leave simply won’t define what Britain would look like outside the EU, because they know there are so many serious problems with each option.
Boris is reported to have said, ‘I’m veering all over the place like a shopping trolley,’ over getting a deal. Most hacks say they now expect him to Leave. You are reported to be furious at his inability as Mayor to see its impact on the City.
Boris has been pictured at Gove’s house on Thursday night. What do you make of that? Marr may also try to trap you into saying something insulting about Boris (or Michael). I’d leave it to – I’m sure Boris will make his intentions clear shortly and you don’t know what they are.
You need to be clear if asked in attacking the idea of a second referendum [Many in the Leave campaign seemed to be arguing we could vote Out and then have another renegotiation to get even more favourable terms, before putting it to the people again]. Are they campaigning to leave or not?
You are likely to be challenged on Grayling’s claim the population will rise to 80 million if we stay in and public services can’t cope. This may get mixed in with the argument that the welfare brake is negated by the minimum wage.
Gove focuses on sovereignty and the fact British politicians have laws imposed on them, without being able to amend them.
Another line of attack comes from Dominic Raab, who says a £33 billion burden will be removed from small business – and he is fighting for ‘the little guy’. Food bills will be cut, he claims.
Finally, you may need to clear up claims the deal is not legally binding.
There is an expectation sovereignty legislation will be addressed in the coming days – and Marr has said you will be asked about it. I’ve said not to expect much.
