But when we resumed, it quickly became clear that President Giscard was intent on following his previous agenda, whatever he had given me to understand. At least I was well briefed and took an active part in the discussion about energy and the world economy. I pointed out that Britain had not flinched from the hard decisions required to ride out these difficulties and that we were making large cuts in public spending. By twenty minutes to seven that evening, we had decided, if we could, to hold Community imports of oil between 1980 and 1985 at a level no higher than that of 1978. We had agreed to stress the importance of nuclear energy. We had committed ourselves to keep up the struggle against inflation. Inevitably, I suppose, we had agreed to say something about ‘convergence’ between the economic performance of member states (a classic piece of Euro-jargon). In fact, we had done almost everything except what I most wanted us to do — tackle the budget issue.
Fortunately, I had been warned what might happen next. President Giscard proposed that as time was getting on and we needed to get ready for dinner, the matter of the budget should be discussed the following day. Did the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom not agree? And so at my very first European Council I had to say ‘no’. As it turned out the lateness of the hour probably worked in my favour: conclusions are often easier to reach when time presses and minds are turning to the prospect of French haute cuisine and grands crus. I spelt out the facts: and the facts were undoubtedly telling. It was agreed to include in the communiqué an instruction to the Commission to prepare proposals for the next Council to deal with the matter. So, a little late, we rose for dinner. Argument always gives one an appetite.
At these gatherings, the custom was that heads of government and the President of the Commission dine together; foreign ministers formed a separate group. It was also customary to discuss foreign affairs. The plight of the Vietnamese ‘boat people’ was one topic which, of course, directly concerned Britain. Another was Rhodesia. It is interesting also to note that even then we were discussing the perennial problem of the Japanese trade balance.
Strasbourg had one solid result: it had put the question of Britain’s unfair budget contribution squarely on the agenda. I felt that I had made an impression as someone who meant business, and afterwards I learned that this feeling was correct. It was at Strasbourg, too, that I overheard a foreign government official make a stray remark that pleased me as much as any I can remember: ‘Britain is back,’ he said.
THE TOKYO G7 SUMMIT
Many of the wider issues discussed at Strasbourg were raised again shortly afterwards in the still grander surroundings of the economic summit of the seven principal western industrial powers in Tokyo (the Group of Seven, or G7 for short). As soon as I had finished my report to the House of Commons on the Strasbourg Council, we drove out to Heathrow for the long flight to Japan. I knew that oil prices and their effect on the economy would again be top of the agenda. I was well briefed. Denis’s knowledge of the oil industry was at my disposal and I had also had a thorough briefing by oil experts over lunch at Chequers. They knew the oil business inside out; by contrast, I was to find at Tokyo that politicians who thought they could limit oil consumption by setting out plans and targets had little practical understanding of the market.
I took the opportunity to discuss some other, equally important, matters en route to Tokyo. We had sought and were given permission from the Soviet Union to shorten the route to Japan by overflying Russia. In Moscow the plane landed to refuel and I was met by the Soviet Prime Minister, Alexei Kosygin, who broke off a meeting of communist prime ministers to come to the airport. To my surprise, an unscheduled dinner was laid out in the airport lounge. Hospitality in the Soviet Union was always generous for important visitors: there were two worlds, one for foreign dignitaries and the party élite, with luxuries of all kinds, and another for the ordinary people, with only the plainest of goods, and not many of them.
The motive for the Soviets’ special attention was soon clear. They wanted to know more about the ‘Iron Lady’ — as their official news agency, Tass, had christened me following a speech I made in 1976 while Leader of the Opposition.
In East-West relations this was the lull before a huge political storm. Under the guise of détente the Soviets and their communist surrogates had pursued for some years a policy of covert aggression, while the West had let slip its defences. At Tokyo I was to find further evidence of the Carter Administration’s overconfidence in the goodwill of the Soviet Union. The second Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty (SALT II) had been signed only days before. There was even talk of a SALT III. But the mood was about to change, for the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan was less than six months away.
Although we discussed defence, the most sensitive matter I raised with Mr Kosygin was the plight of the ‘boat people’, who were leaving Vietnam in their hundreds of thousands. They were the victims of appalling persecution, terrible enough to make them sell all their belongings, leave their homes and risk their lives sailing in overcrowded and dangerous ships, with no certainty of escape. A large merchant fleet sailed under the British flag and naturally our ships were picking up these tragic refugees from communism to save them from the risk of shipwreck and piracy. The rule of the sea is that survivors from shipwreck can be landed at the next port of call. But it often happened that the next port of call — in Singapore, Malaysia or Taiwan — refused to take them unless we agreed that they should be allowed to come on to Britain. At home we were still experiencing all the social and economic pressures of past mass immigration and consequently this was something we were most reluctant to agree. At Taiwan, although they would be given medical attention and food on the ship, they were not being allowed to land. The boat people themselves refused to land in Canton: they had had enough of communism. So this meant that Hong Kong became their favoured immediate destination, from where they hoped to go on to the United States or elsewhere in the West. The communists, of course, knew perfectly well that this flood of emigration was a costly embarrassment to the West and doubtless they hoped it might destabilize other countries in the region.
I put it to Mr Kosygin that Vietnam was a communist country and a close ally of the Soviet Union, and that he had considerable influence there. What was happening was a disgrace not only to the regime in Vietnam, but to communism as a whole. Could he do nothing to stop it? His words were translated to me: ‘W-e-ll’, he said (or the Russian equivalent), ‘they are all drug-takers or criminals …’ He got no further. ‘What?’, I asked. ‘One million of them? Is communism so bad that a million have to take drugs or steal to live?’ He immediately dropped the subject. But the point had been made and fully understood, as the nervous looks on the faces of his staff — and indeed some of mine — indicated. I could not stop the stream of persecuted refugees but I could and would always challenge the lies with which the communists sought to justify their persecution. After an hour and forty minutes we returned to the plane and resumed the flight to Tokyo. Later I referred the matter to the United Nations — it was too big for any one country to tackle.
The round of international summits makes a prime minister’s life nowadays very different from what it was in the time of Anthony Eden, Harold Macmillan or Alec Douglas-Home. While in Opposition I had been sceptical of the value of much of this activity. In government I still worried that summits took up too much time and energy, particularly when there was so much to do at home: within a few months of taking office I had been to Strasbourg to represent Britain in Community matters, I was at Tokyo to represent her in the wider economic forum, and I would soon be going to Lusaka for the meeting of the Commonwealth heads of government.
The G7 had its roots in international action to counter the economic crisis of the mid-1970s. The first meeting was held in 1975 at Rambouillet in France. Since then the numbers attending and the formality of proceedings have increased year by year, and the result has not been an improvement. The principal advantages and disadvantages were well summed up by Chanc
ellor Schmidt. The G7 summits had, he believed, helped the West to avoid what he called ‘beggar my neighbour’ policies — the competitive devaluations and protectionism which had inflicted such economic and political harm during the 1930s. On the other hand, he thought that too often the summits had been tempted to enter into undertakings which could not be kept; I agreed. There was always pressure, to which some governments were all too ready to bend, to come up with forms of words and ambitious commitments which everyone could accept and no one took seriously.
However, the soaring price of oil gave the 1979 Tokyo economic summit more than usual significance. Indeed, the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC, the cartel of major oil producers) was meeting at the same time as the G7, its principal customers.* While we were in Tokyo the price of a barrel of Saudi oil rose from $14.54 to $18, with many OPEC crudes going higher still. Consequently, all the talk was of how to limit western dependency on oil and of deceptively specific targets to be met by particular dates. But I knew that the main way of reducing consumption was to allow the price mechanism to do its job. The danger, if we did not, was that countries would seek to accommodate higher oil prices by printing money, leading to inflation, in the hope of staving off recession and unemployment. We had seen in Britain that inflation was a cause of unemployment rather than an alternative to it, but not everyone had learned that lesson.
The previous summit had been held in Bonn in 1978 when the doctrine of ‘fine tuning demand’ had still been fashionable. Germany had then been expected to act, as the jargon had it, as the ‘locomotive’ for growth, pulling the world out of recession. As Chancellor Schmidt was to tell the summit leaders at Tokyo, the main result had been to put up German inflation: he would not go down that path again. At Bonn there had been no new heads of government present and the old nostrums prevailed. At Tokyo, by contrast, there were three newcomers — the Japanese Prime Minister and Conference Chairman, Mr Ohira, the new Prime Minister of Canada, Joe Clark, and myself. Apart from me, the strongest advocates of free market economics were Helmut Schmidt and, to an even greater extent, Count Otto von Lambsdorff, his Finance minister.
On leaving the plane at Tokyo airport, I stepped into a huge crowd of reporters (some two thousand reporters attended these summits then, and more now). They had turned out to see that extraordinary, almost unprecedented, phenomenon — a woman prime minister. The weather was extremely hot and humid. There was very tight security. I was glad when we arrived at the hotel where the great majority of foreign delegates, with the exception of the President of the United States, were staying. Soon after my arrival, I went to see President Carter at the United States Embassy where we talked over our approach to the issues which would arise, especially energy consumption, which posed a particular problem — and one with important political implications — for the US. Mrs Carter and Amy joined us at the end of the meeting. In spite of press criticism, the Carters obviously enjoyed having their daughter travelling with them — and why not, I thought.
It was impossible not to like Jimmy Carter. He was a deeply committed Christian and a man of obvious sincerity. He was also a man of marked intellectual ability with a grasp, rare among politicians, of science and the scientific method. But he had come into office as the beneficiary of Watergate rather than because he had persuaded Americans of the Tightness of his analysis of the world around them.
And, indeed, that analysis was badly flawed. He had an unsure handle on economics and was therefore inclined to drift into a futile ad hoc interventionism when problems arose. His windfall profits tax and controls on energy prices, for instance, only transformed the OPEC-induced price rises, which they were intended to cure, into unpopular queues at filling stations. In foreign affairs, he was over-influenced by the doctrines then gaining ground in the Democratic Party that the threat from communism had been exaggerated and that US intervention in support of right-wing dictators was almost as culpable. Hence he found himself surprised and embarrassed by such events as the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and Iran’s seizure of American diplomats as hostages. And in general he had no large vision of America’s future so that, in the face of adversity, he was reduced to preaching the austere doctrine of limits to growth that was unpalatable, even alien, to the American imagination.
In addition to these political flaws, he was in some ways personally ill-suited to the presidency, agonizing over big decisions and too concerned with detail. Finally, he violated Napoleon’s rule that generals should be lucky. His presidency was dogged with bad luck from OPEC to Afghanistan. What it served to demonstrate, however, was that in leading a great nation decency and assiduousness are not enough. Having said which, I repeat that I liked Jimmy Carter; he was a good friend to me and to Britain; and if he had come to power in the different circumstances of the post-Cold War world, his talents might have been more apposite.
That evening the European members of the summit met together for dinner, hosted by President Giscard. The Community had, of course, already agreed its own approach to energy at Strasbourg. The main issue now was how this would fit in with that which the three non-EC governments at the G7 wished to pursue.
The following morning, after the inevitable photographs, the first session began in the Conference Room on the second floor of the Akasaka Palace. Delegations sat around an oblong table and were arranged in alphabetical order: it was always useful that this placed us next to the United States. The precise arrangements for the arrival of the leaders reflected formal considerations of precedence, heads of state arriving after heads of government, and the order in each category determined by length of time in office. Precedence meant most to the French and least to the Americans: in fact, neither Jimmy Carter nor Ronald Reagan took much notice of it at all. As the rest of us sat there we would speculate as to who would manage to arrive last.
The meeting began, as usual, with a short general speech by each head of government. Chancellor Schmidt spoke before me in the first session, and after me in the second. We found ourselves stressing exactly the same points — the importance of the battle against inflation and the crucial role of the price mechanism in limiting energy consumption. My interventions appeared to be well received — not least by the Germans, as Count Lambsdorff subsequently told us. It was perhaps the nearest we ever came to an Anglo-German entente. I noted that many of our present difficulties stemmed from the pursuit of Keynesian policies with their emphasis on the deficit financing of public expenditure and I stressed the need to control the money supply in order to defeat inflation. There followed, after Mr Ohira and Chancellor Schmidt had taken a similar line, an extraordinary intervention by President Giscard in which he mounted a spirited defence of Lord Keynes and clearly rejected the basic free market approach as unnecessarily deflationary. Sig. Andreotti — Italy’s Prime Minister then and again in my last days as Prime Minister — endorsed the French view. It was a revealing expression of the fundamental philosophical differences which divide the Community.
It was also revealing about the personalities of President Giscard and Prime Minister Andreotti. President Giscard d’Estaing was never someone to whom I warmed. I had the strong impression that the feeling was mutual. This was more surprising than it seems, for I have a soft spot for French charm and, after all, President Giscard was seen as a man of the Right. But he was a difficult interlocutor, speaking in paragraphs of perfectly crafted prose which seemed to brook no interruption. Moreover, his politics were very different from mine: though he had the manners of an aristocrat, he had the mind-set of a technocrat. He saw politics as an élite sport to be carried on for the benefit of the people but not really with their participation. There might be something to be said for this if technocrats really were cool intellectual guardians above the passions and interests of the rest of us. But President Giscard was as likely as anyone to be swept away by intellectual and political fashion; he simply expressed his passions coldly.
Prime Minister Andreotti was no more on my wavel
ength than the French President. Even more than the latter, this apparently indispensable participant in Italian governments represented an approach to politics which I could not share. He seemed to have a positive aversion to principle, even a conviction that a man of principle was doomed to be a figure of fun. He saw politics as an eighteenth-century general saw war: a vast and elaborate set of parade ground manoeuvres by armies that would never actually engage in conflict but instead declare victory, surrender or compromise as their apparent strength dictated in order to collaborate on the real business of sharing the spoils. A talent for striking political deals rather than a conviction of political truths might be required by Italy’s system and it was certainly regarded as de rigueur in the Community, but I could not help but find something distasteful about those who practised it.
For all their hospitality, it would be difficult to claim too much for the quality of Japan’s chairmanship of the proceedings. At one stage I intervened to clarify for the sake of the officials — the ‘sherpas’ as they are known — precisely which of the two alternative draft communiqués we were discussing. While we were entertained that evening at a banquet given by the Emperor of Japan, the sherpas began their work. At about two o’clock in the morning, still in my evening dress, I went to see how the communiqué drafters were getting on with their work. I found them refining their earlier draft in the light of our discussions and setting out alternative forms of words where decisions would be required from the summit the following day. I hoped we would be as businesslike as they evidently were.
The following day we met once again at the Akasaka Palace to go through the communiqué, always a tedious and lengthy process. There was some disagreement between the Americans and the Europeans about the base year from which to set our different targets for the reduction of oil imports. But for me perhaps the most revealing discussion concerned the Japanese target. Until almost the last moment it was far from clear whether Mr Ohira’s advisers would allow him to give a figure at all. Since I was quite convinced that the market itself would achieve the necessary limitation of oil consumption, regardless of what we announced, it all seemed rather academic to me. When in the end the Japanese did announce their figures no one had any idea what sort of reduction they constituted, if any; but President Carter warmly congratulated them all the same.
The Downing Street Years Page 9
