Hamlet meets the Grand Old Duke of York
Saturday September 9, 2006
The Guardian
Hamlet is meant to close with a stage covered in blood, all the main players dead. In the Westminster production staged this week, there was a change. None of the lead characters was killed outright. But they were badly wounded.
Like Hamlet, the week's drama featured intrigue, jealousy, ambition and betrayal in a tale of kings, heirs and a fateful vacillation. Except there was no single account of the story. Instead each of the two lead protagonists, or at least their friends, had radically competing versions of the week's events.
In the Blairite view, Tony Blair's wounds were less significant than his survival. The wobblers who thought this first full week of September 2006 was set to be a rerun of November 1990 were wrong. Margaret Thatcher was driven from office, but Mr Blair clung on.
He did it, say his admirers, through a combination of his own strengths and his enemy's weaknesses. As evidence of the prime minister's strength, note how each blow against him was returned with interest. Junior defence minister Tom Watson resigns; Mr Blair hits back with a scathing statement that the impudent upstart would have been sacked anyway. Gordon Brown demands a timetable; Mr Blair accuses him of blackmail. Paler men would have crumbled under such pressure, but the prime minister stood firm.
Better still, say the Blairites, look at the enemy's weaknesses. Once more, they say, the chancellor proved himself to be part Grand Old Duke of York - marching his men to the top of the hill only to march them down again - and part Prince of Denmark, hesitating at the critical hour. If he wanted to seize the crown, this was the week to do it. He came close, his dagger hovering, but he could not plunge in the blade.
In this version, the Blairites have no doubt that Brown was behind all the week's manoeuvres. Ah yes, Chris Bryant and Sion Simon, authors of the first letter demanding the PM's departure, may look like impeccable loyalists, but don't be taken in, says Downing Street. They were Brownites in Blairite clothing. Thwarted careerists who had crossed over to the other camp in the hope off winning ministerial office under the new boss.
So Mr Brown pulled the strings, say the Blair camp, but he fumbled and tangled them in his hands. He sent scouts into the enemy zone - an unknown minister and a clutch of PPSs - when he should have dispatched the big battalions, with a cabinet minister or two. Gordon just didn't have the bottle, they say.
The Brownite narrative disputes every particular of all that. No, Gordon was not behind every move. The idea that junior MPs such as David Wright and Chris Mole, two of the resigning seven, are Brownite factionalists - who jump when the chancellor clicks his fingers - is laughable. Instead, say his camp, the rebels were reflecting what has become the collective view of every wing and corner of the Labour movement: that the prime minister has to go.
The trigger was Mr Blair's interview in the Times a week ago, in which he said he would give no timetable for his departure. Sure, Mr Brown thought it "unbelievable" that Mr Blair would say such a thing, since the PM had led colleagues to believe he would announce his plans at the party conference. But Brown is the least of it. "There was a reaction across the Labour party of horror," at the PM's Times interview, says one Brownite. Hence the slew of letters and demarches. This, say the Brownites, went way beyond Gordon.
And as for bottle, that misunderstands the chancellor completely. It's not lack of courage that holds Brown back: it's Heseltine's Law, the belief that the assassin never inherits the crown. Even if Brown did manage to seize power in a coup, his allies believe "he couldn't be the unifier afterwards".
Mr Brown doesn't want to inherit a wreck of a party, and yet if Mr Blair was forced out it would leave, as one cabinet minister puts, "a cavernous hole of bitterness" at the centre of Labour.
So the chancellor was left in an impossible situation. If he backed the resigning MPs he would be accused of plotting a coup. But if he pulled them off, as Charles Clarke said he should have yesterday, and had, in effect, endorsed Mr Blair's Times interview, Mr Brown would have been backing a view that neither he nor the bulk of the Labour party believes is sustainable. Hence his silence.
Those then are the two versions of what's happened these last few days. What neither side disputes is that it has been a horror show in which the once brutally disciplined New Labour began to eat itself. After years of painstaking self-control, the party reshaped by the prime minister and chancellor spent a week apparently bent on showing itself to the public as unfit for government.
Both men have been damaged personally of course. Mr Blair's authority is weakened, now that he's been forced to retreat from his no-deadline plan. And Mr Brown is hurt just by the appearance of plotting and scheming for power.
But it is Labour that is wounded most of all. British voters are particularly intolerant of divided parties: they held it against Labour in the 1980s and the Conservatives in the 1990s. Denis Healey said this week that the current civil war was especially unsightly because it centred on no great issue of principle, unlike the Labour struggles of old.
He's right about that which is why the current crisis so closely resembles the Tory meltdown of November 1990. Then as now the issue was political survival. Members of the governing party feared for their jobs and their seats, and so moved against the leader they felt sure was dragging them down to defeat. Lady Thatcher then, Mr Blair now. (Though polls show Blair is far more unpopular than Thatcher was at the time of her fall.) Labour hopes that a new leader can change the mood, persuading the electorate they've got a new government and therefore don't need to vote for another one at the next election.
John Major pulled off that trick in 1992, but that was against an opposition leader many regarded as unelectable. David Cameron is no Neil Kinnock.
What can Labour do now? Few believe the current pact, giving Blair another loosely defined year, can hold for long. Mr Clarke left it all of a few hours before talking down Mr Brown and talking up Alan Milburn. It looks like an undeclared, 10-month leadership election. As one Brownite sighed yesterday, "If this is the way it's going to be, then it can't be this way."
One senior colleague advises Mr Brown that the judgment on his premiership will effectively start now: that he needs to prove right away that he can be an inclusive leader, not the creature of cabals his enemies allege him to be. His view is that, from now on, Mr Brown and Mr Blair need to be generous and courteous to each other in public - even if it looks as fake as Mr Brown's hymn of praise for the PM in yesterday's Sun - remembering the real fight is against the resurgent Conservatives.
That's how it should be. But on the evidence of the last few days, you wouldn't bet on it. Instead you would conclude that there is something badly rotten in the state of Labour.