by Chris Mullin
He went on, ‘I do feel these countries [France and the ‘no’ voters] have let us down. Four months on and what have we got to show – a few missiles dismantled, a few interviews in bugged hotel rooms. If they weren’t prepared to do anything, they shouldn’t have voted for 1441.’
I asked him to take us through the likely sequence of events over the next few days. ‘We’ll carry on negotiating. Kofi Annan is anxious not to have a vetoed resolution but, subject to that, there will be a vote.’
‘What happens if there is no vote?’
‘We decide what we are going to do.’
‘How quickly will war start?’
‘I don’t know. We need to give Saddam time to get out. That’s what the Arabs want.’
‘What is the basis for your confidence that the Turks and Iranians won’t pile in?’
‘Our military and the Americans have had discussions with the Turks.’
‘And the Iranians?’
‘We have sent strong messages to the Iranians. I think we’ll be able to protect ourselves on that.’
‘Will there be war by this time next week?’
‘Don’t press me on that.’
Thursday, 13 March
The Man no longer looks such a dazzling figure (‘fatally damaged’ is how Angela Eagle put it, although I take Angela with a pinch of salt since she is one of The Disappointed). Relations with the French are at an all-time low. The UN is seriously damaged. What once looked like a brilliant strategy of persuading the Americans to follow the UN route no longer seems such a good idea. I don’t imagine his American friends are best pleased with him either for embroiling them in this mess. Of course, it could all look different in a week or two. Saddam might succumb to a well-placed bullet or slip away to the safety of Syria, our television screens may be full of happy Iraqis chanting the name of our own dear leader. Who knows, a year from now Clare Short may be an unknown backbencher and no one may be able to recall that they were ever against the enterprise. But it’s not very likely. So far everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. There is a widespread feeling that, whether he survives or not, the Blair ascendancy is at an end. The magic is fading. When the immediate crisis has passed we shall have to have a serious conversation with The Man about his style of government. Ideally, it should take place around the Cabinet table. Failing that, it will fall to those of us on the parliamentary committee.
Kevan Jones is wriggling. He has spent the day ringing the movers and shakers in his party and, blow me down, they are all saying they won’t be too upset if he votes with the regime, which, by a complete coincidence, is exactly what he wants to hear. I suspect we shall see more of this as the evil day approaches. It wouldn’t surprise me if a few of those who rebelled last time have, with a little cajoling from the whips, talked themselves back into the fold by next week. For me, alas, there is no such escape. For weeks I have been assuring all inquirers that a second resolution was my bottom line. I even said it at PM’s Questions so it’s there, on the record, in Hansard. At the time it seemed like a cop-out since (until the last few days) we have been repeatedly assured, on the highest authority, that a second resolution was assured. Now, suddenly, it is about to become an heroic posture.
Jean Corston spent three-quarters of an hour with The Man this afternoon and found him in good humour, all things considered. He even spent 15 minutes asking questions about her life until she reminded him that they had more important business to discuss. He thinks, depending on what the Tories do, that the government could fall. Jean, bless her, touched briefly on the question of who will succeed Clare telling him that, so far as she was concerned, I was the only candidate. And how did he react? ‘He just smiled.’ The trouble is, as I pointed out, I am about to disqualify myself. Might he be big enough to give it to me anyway? I think not. That is expecting too much. For him this is a matter of life or death. Is there a loophole through which I can crawl, principles and job prospects intact? Jean suggests that we might both abstain and we agreed to sleep on it.
Friday, 14 March
Sunderland
Awoke to hear Andrew Marr speculating that there are likely to be two resignations from the Cabinet – Clare and Robin Cook.
Sam Glatt and John Hargrave turned up at the surgery in the evening to find out how I was proposing to vote. I told them that, in the absence of a resolution, I would vote against. So that’s it then. No turning back.
Monday, 17 March
To London idly dreaming of the trouble I could cause, were I so minded (Question: ‘My Right Honourable Friend is a practising Christian; what makes him think he is better qualified than the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury to distinguish right from wrong in relation to Iraq?’ Pause for laughter to die down before adding, ‘And might I suggest to my Right Honourable Friend that he considers applying for the Throne of St Peter when a vacancy arises as I am sure it will in the not too distant future.’) But, of course, I don’t want to cause trouble. On the contrary, I want The Man to be right. In the long run that is what is best for all of us.
3 p.m.
The Tea Room is buzzing with rumours that Robin Cook is about to resign. The Cabinet are to meet at four and an announcement is expected shortly afterwards. Clare Short’s future is also in doubt although there appears to have been some rowing back since her outburst last week. I came across Steve Byers, looking flushed and biting his nails. He could be back in the Cabinet by nightfall. Steve fears that Robin’s departure could be the beginning of the end for The Man. On the backbenches Robin could be a formidable enemy. ‘If he’s sensible,’ says Steve, ‘he’ll blame George Bush and the Americans.’ According to Steve, relations between Gordon and The Man are bad (‘as bad as I have ever known them’), which only confirms what Nick Brown and Alan Milburn have been saying. What are the issues? I asked. ‘Public sector reform, Foundation hospitals, top-up fees, you name it. Tony is worried about the Budget, too. Also, I don’t imagine that Gordon is keen on the war.’
Another call from the woman at the US embassy, prompted no doubt by the fact that I have tabled a question to Mike O’Brien asking what had been done about the poor bombed-out Afghan woman and her family. ‘Good news,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Oh?’
‘I have had an e-mail from our embassy in Kabul saying that USAID has helped 800 people in her area.’
‘Yes, but what about the woman who lost her husband and six children?’
‘I thought I might not even get a reply,’ she said, evidently disappointed that I did not share her joy.
‘If we’re going to drop bombs on people,’ I said coldly, ‘the least we can do is clear up afterwards. Especially, if we are about to do it again.’
5 p.m.
To an upper committee room for a meeting which Ann Clwyd has organised with Dr Barham Saleh, ‘prime minister’ of northern Iraq. A soft-spoken, civilised man, with a large, round, cheerful face and circular spectacles, who exuded warmth and charm. He knew he was speaking to an audience of sceptics, but did not attempt to hector or bombard us. He just said quietly, ‘If it is inconvenient for you to find yourselves on the same side as the United States, it is an intellectual inconvenience. For us it is a matter of life or death.’
We emerged to find that Robin Cook had resigned and would be making a personal statement later. Clare, incredibly, is staying.
The chamber was packed for Robin. But first there was a statement from Jack Straw who reported that the government had reluctantly concluded that a second resolution would not after all be possible. Mostly he was heard in glum silence, but there was sporadic heckling, first from our side and then from the Lib Dem and nationalist benches. When, referring to France, Jack said, ‘One country has ensured …’ he was interrupted with cries of, ‘More than one country.’ When in response to an intervention, Jack said, ‘We are not intending to rely on the Liberals,’ he was greeted with shouts of ‘No, you are relying on the Tories.’ There was some angry skirmishing on the bench
es behind. David Winnick got into a spat with Alice Mahon (‘If you heckle us, we’ll heckle you …’). The Man was conspicuously (and wisely) absent, provoking shouts of ‘Where is he?’ from the Opposition benches.
Robin was seated in the fourth row between those two other refugees from the Cabinet, Frank Dobson and Chris Smith. Uncomfortably close to the seat from which Geoffrey Howe delivered his deathblow to the Iron Lady. Is history about to repeat itself? Robin was at pains to assure us of his admiration for The Man. Then, in the space of 15 riveting minutes, he proceeded scientifically to demolish the version of events which Jack had just spent the previous hour painstakingly constructing. Robin sat down to applause which gradually turned into a standing ovation. It began on the rebel benches behind him and spread across to the Liberal Democrats and the nationalists while the Tories, the payroll and the loyalists sat in stunned, grim silence. The ovation continued for several minutes while the Speaker called impotently for order. An astonishing scene. Unprecedented except for when Eric Heffer, who was dying, came to make his last speech. I was seated directly in front of Robin and, tempting though it was, I did not join in. On impulse, however, I turned and shook his hand; he grasped mine warmly, looking as though he were about to burst into tears. ‘An Exocet,’ I remarked to Diane Abbott as we left the chamber. Unfortunately I was overheard by Hilary Armstrong. ‘No, it’s not,’ she said angrily. ‘It’s not good enough to sit in Cabinet for six years, accept the Queen’s shilling and then call on people to vote against the government. He repeated myths that he knows are myths and that he has agreed with me are myths.’
Is this a Heseltine moment or a Geoffrey Howe moment? A temporary blip, albeit a large one, or the beginning of the end of New Labour? That is the question on everyone’s lips. For all his undoubted brilliance, Robin doesn’t have a big following. He is perceived by many as arrogant and has relied on intellect rather than charisma for his mastery of the House. No one knows how big tomorrow’s rebellion will be. If the Tories were to devise a last-minute excuse for abstention (as we unscrupulously did over the Maastricht Treaty) it could be fatal. Much to my surprise Jean Corston remarked, ‘I’ve never expected Tony Blair to lead us into the next election.’
Tuesday, 18 March
To a hastily convened, jam-packed meeting of the parliamentary party at which The Man sought to persuade us of the righteousness of his cause. Actually, he didn’t have to do a lot of persuading since, to judge by the thunderous applause which greeted him, the whips have been busy and most of those present were onside. A number of people conspicuously failed to applaud, but the dissidents were all but invisible. If one didn’t know better, one might conclude that all this talk of crisis is put about by an excitable media. But it is a crisis. A big one.
Whatever happens tonight, nothing will be the same again.
And yet on the surface all seemed calm. Gerald Kaufman read out a suspiciously word-perfect e-mail, urging loyalty, which he claimed had come to him this very morning from an unknown constituent. (I quizzed him afterwards, but he was adamant that it was genuine.) There were a handful of sceptical questions, but no one really got stuck in. At times it was like a revivalist meeting. Several people (Hugh Bayley was one) who until now had been demanding a second resolution rose to announce their conversion.
‘I don’t seek to persuade you out of loyalty,’ said The Man, ‘I want you to be convinced by the arguments.’ But there’s the rub. I am not in the least convinced by the arguments, but I might, out of loyalty, be persuaded to support The Man if I thought his survival was at stake.
We have lost a couple more ministers – Philip Hunt in the Lords (who John Prescott shamelessly abused on the radio this morning) and John Denham, whose departure was a bolt out of the blue. Clare has decided to stay and is now a deeply discredited figure, which is a pity because she has been such a good minister.
I lunched alone in the cafeteria. JP passed by, pausing at my table to reach for a piece of paper from inside his jacket. He ran an eye down it and returned it to his pocket. ‘You’re not on my list,’ he said cheerfully and walked on. Upstairs there was a message from Number 10. Would I care to call on the Prime Minister in his room at 4.30? ‘How many are there in my group?’ I asked the Downing Street woman. ‘Just you,’ she said.
Mike O’Brien spent ten minutes in the Tea Room trying to convince me to vote with the government. His arguments were the standard ones – the wickedness of Saddam, the perfidy of the French and, more persuasively, that if we failed to act against Iraq all the little tyrannies would want their own dirty weapons. My difficulty is that for weeks I have been telling anyone who asked, on the basis of repeated assurances from the highest levels, that a second resolution was my bottom line. I cannot suddenly switch just because it is inconvenient. A cannier politician would have kept his head down and his mouth closed, but I am not made that way. Which is no doubt why my political career peaked at Under-Secretary of Folding Deck Chairs. I asked Mike if there was any message I should give The Man when I see him. He dropped his voice. ‘Tell him not to make any more promises to George Bush. Somewhere along the line he’s promised Bush that we would be there with him and now he can’t back down because his integrity is at stake.’ Well, my integrity is at stake, too, and I’m staying put.
3 p.m.
Jean Corston came to my room. She has been quietly agonising for days and has more or less decided to vote against the government. The whips, not to mention The Man, don’t yet know that Jean is not with them and they are going to be mightily upset when they find out, which they will shortly (she has an appointment with Hilary Armstrong at 4.45 p.m.). It is a big thing for the chair of the parliamentary party to vote against the government. Jean, like me, has been telling everyone that her bottom line is a second resolution and she feels she can’t talk her way out of it. ‘The words just don’t come out,’ she said. She added, ‘I’ve been very loyal up to now, but once in a while I want to be myself.’ She is intending to vote for the amendment and then abstain on the main resolution and I will do likewise. We agreed that if either of us changes our mind, we will report back. There is much to be said for sticking together at this hour of need.
4.30 p.m.
To the Prime Minister’s room for my audience with The Man. He has been seeing people at ten-minute intervals since he left the chamber two hours ago and still has some way to go. Keith Bradley went in ahead of me and emerged looking unhappy.
The Man didn’t beat about the bush. ‘Chris, I need your help.’ Oh dear, that is the one argument I find hardest to counter. I want him to survive. I really do. He looks worn down. Bleary-eyed with exhaustion. ‘It’s tight,’ he said. ‘Very tight.’ He glanced across to Dave Hanson, who confirmed that it was.
Should I believe him?
‘If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be doing all this.’ A fair point.
I explained that, like others, I had been banking on a second resolution.
‘So was I,’ he said.
‘My difficulty,’ I said, ‘is that I have been telling all inquirers for months that my support was conditional upon a second resolution. Only ten days ago I persuaded my constituency party to amend a resolution demanding total opposition to the war to one making it conditional on a second resolution. I don’t feel I can renege. It’s a matter of personal integrity. My problem, not yours.’
He explained for the umpteenth time that he had been totally derailed by the French.
I added, ‘I don’t share your faith in George Bush and his cronies. I don’t believe they share our values. I believe they are the political wing of the military-industrial complex. Guns, gas and oil. That’s what they stand for.’
He mounted a brief defence of George Bush, saying that the recent publication of a Palestine peace plan – the ‘road map’ – was a significant step forward.
‘What would you do differently,’ I asked, ‘if you were starting this again?’
I had hoped he would say that he wished he had never got
started, but perhaps that would be asking too much just at this moment. All he said was, ‘I’d tie the French down earlier.’ He added, ‘And the Russians.’
I departed saying I would reflect carefully, but making clear I could make no promises. To cheer him up I recounted Nguyen Co Thach’s* devastating reply when I asked why the Vietnamese hadn’t gone to the UN instead of invading Cambodia (‘Because during the last 40 years we have been invaded by four of the five permanent members of the Security Council’).
‘I suppose we were the only ones who didn’t,’ he said.
‘No, we occupied the south under General Gracey in 1946. The Russians were the only non-invaders, but they in their way were colonisers, too.’
Outside in the corridor I ran into Alan Milburn talking to Maria Eagle, both looking grave. Alan said, ‘People aren’t budging.’ As if to prove the point one of the newer members passed by and Alan asked if he would be voting with the government. ‘No,’ he replied coldly and went on his way without looking back. Alan said, ‘Tony will go if he has to rely on the Tories.’ Maria pointed out that The Man had dropped a hint to this effect at the end of his speech.
A little further on I came across Sally Morgan, who was more upbeat. They were ‘fairly confident’, she said, of a majority among Labour Members. I asked if she thought The Man would resign on impulse if the result was bad and Sally said she thought not. She said he had been gobsmacked when, after he had lined up a majority on the Security Council, the French had announced that they would veto under all circumstances. She added that The Man had been instrumental in persuading Bush to sign up to the Palestinian road map. She had listened in on the telephone call and seemed to think he was sincere. Apparently Bush had remarked, ‘I’ve only got 15 per cent of the Jewish vote and I’ve already lost most of them so I might as well do what is right.’ She said that we (and the Spaniards) had insisted that any post-war humanitarian operation be carried out by the UN and not by the American military.
