These retaliations in the Lebanon failed to have any effect. The position there continued to deteriorate. The real question was no longer whether there should be a withdrawal but how to effect one. In February 1984 the Lebanese Army lost control of West Beirut and the Lebanese Government collapsed. The time had clearly come to get out and a firm joint decision with the United States and other members of the MNF was accordingly made to do so and detailed plans for this tricky operation were drawn up. I left it to the British commander on the ground to make the final decision as to what time of the day to move. He decided that it should be done by night. But I suddenly learned that President Reagan would be making a broadcast that evening to tell the American people what would be happening and why. Obviously it became necessary to alert our men to be ready to move as soon as they could. Then, at the last minute, while I was at Buckingham Palace for an audience with the Queen, I received a message that the President was reconsidering the decision and would not after all broadcast. As it turned out — not greatly to my surprise — the postponement decision promptly leaked and the President had to make his broadcast in any case. Clearly, we could not carry on like this, putting the safety of British troops at risk: so I refused to countermand the planned withdrawal of our men to British naval vessels lying offshore, which was duly effected with the British Army’ usual professionalism. In fact, all the MNF forces were shortly withdrawn to ships away from the perils they would have faced on shore. Nothing could now be done to save the Lebanon; the reconstituted Lebanese Government increasingly fell under the control of a Syria whose hostility to the West was now reinforced; and in March the MNF force returned home.
The American intervention in the Lebanon — well intentioned as it was — was clearly a failure. It seemed to me that what happened there contained important lessons which we should heed. First, it is unwise to intervene in such situations unless you have a clear, agreed objective and are prepared and able to commit the means to secure it. Second, there is no point in indulging in retaliatory action which changes nothing on the ground. Third, one must avoid taking on a major regional power, like Syria, unless one is prepared to face up to the full consequences of doing so.
By contrast, American intervention in Grenada was, in fact, a success. Democracy was restored, to the advantage not only of the islanders themselves but also of their neighbours who could look forward to a more secure and prosperous future. No one would weep any tears over the fate of the Marxist thugs whom the Americans had dislodged. Yet even governments acting on the best of motives are wise to respect legal forms. Above all, democracies have to show their superiority to totalitarian governments which know no law. Admittedly, the law on these matters is by no means clear, as was confirmed for me during a seminar I held after the Grenada affair to consider the legal basis for military intervention in another country. Indeed, to my surprise, I found that the lawyers at the seminar were more inclined to argue on grounds of realpolitik and the politicians were more concerned with the issue of legitimacy. My own instinct was — and is — always to found military action on the right of self-defence, which ultimately no outside body has the authority to question.
THE EUROPEAN COUNCIL AT ATHENS
Grenada was still very much on my mind when I went to Bonn for one of my regular Anglo-German summits with Chancellor Kohl on Tuesday 8 November. Like me, Chancellor Kohl was worried about the impact of the American action on European public opinion in the run-up to the deployment of Cruise and Pershing missiles later that month. The West German Government had originally been very critical of the Grenada operation but had since toned this down. Helmut Kohl was showing a good deal of courage as well as political cunning in handling West German public opinion at this crucial time, and I admired him for it.
The main purpose of my visit, however, was to seek German support for the line I would take at the European Council in Athens, now just a few weeks away. So Athens was the principal topic of my discussion with him, in which we were later joined by Geoffrey Howe and the German Foreign minister, Hans-Dietrich Genscher. I began by making what I hoped would be the welcome suggestion that the next President of the European Commission should come from Germany, if the German Government wished to put forward a candidate. As I had rather expected, it appeared that they did not. Chancellor Kohl said that he agreed with me that the Commission was too big and tended to create unnecessary work. Then a little more diplomacy: I said that our aim was to build on the excellent foundation laid under the German presidency. After this we got down to business. I stressed the need for firm control of spending on the CAP if there was to be anything left of the Community’ ‘own resources’ for other purposes, such as the development of the electronics industry, which the Germans wanted. I also warned against allowing growing protectionism to create another area of disagreement with the United States. The Germans were most interested in the future level of MC As,[44] which affected German farmers’ incomes, and the steel industry where they considered that they were receiving a raw deal and that the Italians were using subsidies to undercut German producers. I hoped that at the end of this discussion each side had understood the areas on which we would stand firm and those where compromise was possible. In particular, I hoped that the Germans realized how serious I was about achieving my objectives on the budget question at Athens.
As usual before European Councils I held a number of preparatory meetings with ministers and officials. This was partly to ensure that I was thoroughly briefed, but also to sort out with colleagues our precise objective on each issue. It was not enough to decide what was ideal for us: I had also to establish and fully master the least bad alternatives. All too often the ideal was not attainable.
In the meetings for Athens on the budget question both Nigel Lawson and I felt that we had to be really tough in pressing for the required package if there were to be any question of our agreeing to an increase in the Community’ ‘own resources’. We had to be satisfied with the way the burden on Britain was measured. The result must reflect our ability to pay. And whatever system was finally agreed must be able to be relied upon to work over time and without significant damage to the UK position. Above all, to take into account relative prosperity, we decided to press the view that if a member state’ GDP per head was 90 per cent or less of the Community average it should make no net contribution at all, with states above that threshold making progressively higher contributions the richer they were. (This scheme was known as ‘the safety net’ or ‘threshold’ system.)
I wanted to ensure that at Athens I was given a proper opportunity to have the budget discussed early on, because the talks would be long and hard. So I wrote to the Council President, the Greek Prime Minister Andreas Papandreou, asking that we start the Council by dealing with the budget imbalances and linked issues. My letter, however, crossed with one from him in which he said that he wanted to deal with agriculture first. It was not a good start.
Yet when I left for Athens there did seem grounds for reasonable optimism. The Germans appeared to understand our position and there had even been encouraging signs from the French. It was to be a somewhat longer summit than usual and I hoped the time would be used productively.
The Community heads of government met in the magnificent Zappeion Hall, a classical Greek building adapted to the needs of a modern conference centre. At the first session of the Council that afternoon I was sitting opposite President Mitterrand and Chancellor Kohl. I noticed that whereas my own table was covered with piles of heavily annotated briefing on different complex agricultural and financial issues, no such encumbrance appeared in front of my French and German counterparts. This doubtless made for an impression of appropriately Olympian detachment, but it also suggested that they had not mastered the detail. And this turned out to be the case. Throughout the meeting Chancellor Kohl seemed unwilling or unable to make much effective contribution. Worse, President Mitterrand appeared not only badly briefed on the issues but strangely — I think genuinely �
�� misinformed about his own Government’ position, as it had previously been set out by French ministers and officials.
The Greek Presidency did not assist much either. Mr Papandreou always proved remarkably effective in gaining Community subsidies for Greece but he was less skilful in his present role as President of the European Council. As his earlier letter to me had proposed, he insisted on trying to reach agreement on agriculture before moving on to the question of finance and the British budget contribution. Obviously, it would have been made better sense to face the Community countries with the financial realities first and then deal with the agricultural issues, from which so much of the financial problem derived and on which different countries had sharply opposing national interests. And we never seemed to get by without a tear-jerking homily on the predicament of Ireland from the Irish Prime Minister, Dr Garret FitzGerald, who was determined if he could to exempt his country from the disciplines on agricultural spending. I made it clear that any preferential treatment for the Republic would have to be matched by similar treatment for Northern Ireland. The first day was more or less a write-off.
I was, therefore, already pessimistic by the time I returned that night to the British Ambassador’ Residence to discuss with my officials how we should conduct ourselves the following day (Monday). But it was only on the Monday that it became obvious that the summit would indeed fail. When the Council met, to my astonishment President Mitterrand made it clear that France’ position on the budget had completely changed. France was no longer prepared to support us in pressing for a long-term settlement of the British budget problem. In repeated interjections, I said that I would not agree to an increase in the Community’ ‘own resources’ unless spending on the CAP was contained and decreased as a share of the total budget and unless member states’ contributions were fair and in line with the ability to pay. The argument continued, but I was clearly getting nowhere.
On Tuesday I had a working breakfast with President Mitterrand. We were so far apart that there was no point in spending much time discussing Community issues at all and we largely concentrated instead on the Lebanon. The French President seemed blissfully unaware of the damage his own turnabout had done. He said jokingly that unless we demonstrated that discussions between Britain and France were continuing, the press would soon be talking about a return to the Hundred Years’ War. So in what I hoped was a suitably nonbelligerent way I told him how his attitude at the Council had taken me by surprise, given the fact that I was going along with the proposals on the budget which the French Finance minister, one M. Jacques Delors, had been advancing. The President asked me precisely what I meant and I explained. But I received no very satisfactory or clear response.
Where we did see eye to eye — at least in private — was about Germany. I said that even though the Germans were willing to be generous because they received other political benefits from the Community, a new generation of Germans might arise who would refuse to make such a large contribution. This would risk a revival of German neutralism — a temptation which, as President Mitterrand rightly said, was already present.
The meeting had been an amicable one and I tried to keep the atmosphere relatively friendly after the Council broke up, as in press interviews I avoided being too harsh about France’ performance. After all, M. Mitterrand was to be the next President of the Council and so it would fall to him to chair the crucial meetings as we at last approached the time when the Community’ money ran out. It did cross my mind that he might have wished to delay a settlement until he could take credit for it in his own presidency.
No communiqué was issued at the end of the Athens Council: we had had no time in plenary sessions to discuss any of the wider international issues and agree a line on them. The Council was widely and accurately described as a fiasco. But my frustration was diminished by the fact that I knew that time was on my side.
CHAPTER XIII
Mr Scargill’s Insurrection
The background to and course of the year-long miners’ strike of 1984 — 1985
PRELUDE
The 1983 general election result was the single most devastating defeat ever inflicted upon democratic socialism in Britain. After being defeated on a manifesto that was the most candid statement of socialist aims ever made in this country, the Left could never again credibly claim popular appeal for their programme of massive nationalization, hugely increased public spending, greater trade union power and unilateral nuclear disarmament. But there was also undemocratic socialism, and it too would need to be beaten. I had never had any doubt about the true aim of the hard Left: they were revolutionaries who sought to impose a Marxist system on Britain whatever the means and whatever the cost. Many of them made no effort to conceal their purpose. For them the institutions of democracy were no more than tiresome obstacles on the long march to a Marxist Utopia. While the electoral battle was still being fought their hands had been tied by the need to woo more moderate opinion, but in the aftermath of defeat they were free from constraint and thirsting for battle on their own terms.
The hard Left’s power was entrenched in three institutions: the Labour Party, local government and the trade unions. From all three bases they now proceeded to challenge our renewed mandate. Predictably, it was the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM), led by its Marxist president, Arthur Scargill, who were destined to provide the shock troops for the Left’s attack. The intention was plain. Within a month of the 1983 election Mr Scargill was saying openly that he did not ‘accept that we are landed for the next four years with this Government’. And this would be an attack directed not only against the Government, but against anyone and anything standing in the way of the Left, including fellow miners and their families, the police, the courts, the rule of law and Parliament itself.
After the experience of the Conservative Government of 1970 — 74 I hardly doubted that one day we would have to face another miners’ strike. From the time of Mr Scargill’s election to the leadership of the NUM in 1981 I knew it. I had no desire for such a strike. There was no economic rationale for it. The National Coal Board (NCB), the Government and the great majority of miners wanted a thriving, successful, competitive coal industry. But history intertwined with myth seemed to have made coal mining in Britain a special case: it had become an industry where reason simply did not apply. Britain’s industrial revolution was to a large extent based on the easy availability of coal. At the industry’s height on the eve of the First World War it employed more than a million men to work over 3,000 mines. Production was 292 million tons. Thereafter decline was continuous, and relations between miners and owners frequently bitter. Conflict in the coal industry precipitated Britain’s only general strike in 1926. (Prefiguring later developments, the miners’ union split during the year-long coal strike that followed the general strike, and a separate union was set up in Nottinghamshire.) Successive governments between the wars found themselves dragged ever deeper into the task of rationalizing and regulating the industry, and in 1946 the post-war Labour Government finally nationalized it outright. By that time production was down to 187 million tons at 980 pits, with a workforce of just over 700,000.
Government now began setting targets for coal production and investment in a series of documents inaugurated by the ‘Plan for Coal’ in 1950. These consistently overestimated both the demand for coal and the prospects for improvements in productivity within the industry. The only targets that were met were those for investment. Public money was poured in, but two problems proved insoluble: overcapacity and union resistance to the closure of uneconomic pits. As the industry declined miners relied more and more on industrial muscle to keep themselves in work.
By the 1970s the coal mining industry had come to symbolize every thing that was wrong with Britain. In February 1972 mass pickets led by Arthur Scargill forced the closure of the Saltley Coke Depot in Birmingham by sheer weight of numbers. It was a frightening demonstration of the impotence of the police in the face of such disorde
r. The fall of Ted Heath’s Government after a general election precipitated by the 1973 — 4 miners’ strike lent substance to the myth that the NUM had the power to make or break British Governments, or at the very least the power to veto any policy threatening their interests by preventing coal getting to the power stations.
I have already described the threat of a miners’ strike which we faced in February 1981 and the way in which this was averted.[45] From then on it was really only a question of time. Would we be sufficiently prepared to win the fight when the inevitable challenge came? A milestone was reached when Mr Scargill won the union presidency at the end of 1981 and the power of the NUM and the fear it inspired came into the hands of those whose objectives were openly political.
It fell mainly to Nigel Lawson who became Secretary of State for Energy in September 1981 to build up — steadily and unprovocatively — the stocks of coal which would allow the country to endure a coal strike. We were to hear a lot of the word ‘endurance’ over the next few months. To maximize endurance it was vital that coal stocks be in place at the power stations and not at the pit heads, from which miners’ pickets could make movement impossible. But coal stocks were not the only element determining power station endurance. Some Central Electricity Generating Board (CEGB) power stations were oil fired. Ordinarily they were used only part of the time, to meet peak demand, but if needed they could be run continuously to help meet the ‘base load’ — that element of electricity demand that is more or less constant. ‘Oilburn’ was expensive, but would add significantly to the system’s ability to withstand a strike. An additional advantage was that oil supplies to the power stations were relatively secure. Nuclear-powered stations, providing about 14 per cent of supply, were mostly some distance away from the coal fields and of course their primary fuel supply was also secure. Over the next few years more Advanced Gas-cooled Reactors (AGRs) would be coming on stream and would steadily reduce our dependence on coal-fired power. We were still building a cross-Channel link which would allow us to buy power from France, though we already had a link in operation between the English and Scottish systems (‘the Scottish interconnector’). We also did our best to encourage industry to hold more stocks.
The Downing Street Years, 1979-1990 Page 44
