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Whatever it Takes: The Real Story of Gordon Brown and New Labour
Steve Richards
At the beginning of the financial crisis, in September 2008, Gordon Brown called an emergency press conference in which he declared, 'we will do whatever it takes to restore stability in the financial markets'.He was to repeated the phrase ‘whatever it takes’ constantly in the following weeks.As Shadow Chancellor Brown would do whatever it took to restore Labour's economic credibility. As leader-in-waiting he would do whatever it took to acquire the crown. As Prime Minister he would do whatever it took to buttress his enfeebled regime, going as far instigating a rapprochement with Peter Mandelson, a figure he had come to despise. Determined, wilful, multi-layered in his complexity, Brown would always do whatever it took to survive.New Labour, as a political force, rootless and defensive in its origins, would similarly do whatever it took to retain support in what its founders regarded as a conservative country.Written by one of the most influential political commentators in the UK, the Independent's chief political commentator, Steve Richards, this political expose examines Gordon Brown's wildly oscillating career and the ruthless and sometimes shallow pragmatism displayed by New Labour as a whole.


WHATEVER IT TAKES
The Real Story
of Gordon Brown
and New Labour
STEVE RICHARDS



Copyright (#ulink_8f12526f-7b20-5816-8ef1-9edf42ae1e49)
First published in Great Britain in 2010 by
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF www.4thestate.co.uk (http://www.4thestate.co.uk)
Copyright © Steve Richards 2010
The right of Steve Richards to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007320325
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007352272
Version: 2018-06-18
To Barbara, Amy and Jake

CONTENTS
Title Page (#u1f0c6fb0-b843-5640-aca6-0843242f160a)
Copyright (#ud92b6e67-1c29-5de5-861f-54f2659cb6ff)
PREFACE (#ubb80309b-5d14-5e7f-8950-2d8a25f5ed7e)
INTRODUCTION (#ubaf08bc9-e663-52d3-ba0f-e1c6f5809604)
ONE: Trust (#ude476642-4a3f-5758-9727-2c3973f0b9c8)
TWO: Dangerous Assumptions (#u3d9a4bc7-b4de-577d-8b18-30a81c30e531)
THREE: Cautiously Bold (#u641c5012-2aea-55e4-85fb-4fd6826b02b7)
FOUR: Personalities and Policies (#u8f6b46ac-a68e-5a35-b9ab-873cda9c6e6a)
FIVE: Second Term (#u1b478fa9-1b2c-5d84-9981-665a4d490854)
SIX: Ambition (#ua6213084-f674-556c-9772-ce98c7dda0ff)
SEVEN: Coup (#u0fcaa24e-7c2c-5ade-936d-7968298381cd)
EIGHT: Prime Minister (#u83e158a5-bfa0-5050-be76-fb98b15d5cf3)
NINE: Election Fever (#uc669f85c-05e5-5319-8f06-23363664740e)
TEN: A Vacuum (#u6804dc80-43dd-5f46-8fc2-66f6b2bf92f5)
ELEVEN: Summer Holidays (#u132fa3f5-bdad-59f5-a612-1202183787a6)
TWELVE: Revolts and Recovery (#u84ed4ff3-88ca-5dc3-b79e-cf89df475848)
THIRTEEN: Whatever It Takes (#u8233ab93-2af2-5b07-a6ef-4080f714f30e)
FOURTEEN: New Labour to New Politics (#u1a32a473-567e-5667-ad02-241a070d09ee)
INDEX (#uf13d92fe-2d3e-5370-bf20-1145c70da26b)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#u8656167b-c180-5016-9894-3600890a2769)
About the Author (#ub30e55b5-1d3f-50a2-b29b-a0a493774d59)
About the Publisher (#ua693673f-914a-5524-8a7c-3368c678ca0e)

PREFACE (#ulink_9ac3dfb0-14a4-5e10-8092-a4786ca48876)
From the beginning the New Labour project was deliberately evasive. The term ‘new’, first used by Tony Blair on the day he became leader, was both an early clue to what was to follow and a red herring. Who could oppose a force that was new compared with one that was old? Most of us would prefer a new set of clothes to the older ones, at least until we find out more about what the clothes are like. But beyond a superficial attraction, where did the evasive adjective lead? The term was apolitical, like so many of the adjectives that were applied with such misleadingly feverish energy in the years that followed the emergence of New Labour.
The clue was the act of depoliticization. Newness was neither a quality on the left nor the right. The red herring was the notion that the adjective paraded with such a flourish conveyed clear direction, a party moving away from its past towards a ‘new’ future, forward not back, as the party put it in a slogan for the 2005 election. Blair relished the meaningless metaphor more than any other. ‘I do not have a reverse gear,’ he told his party conference in 2004. Actually he used that particular gear quite a lot, as all leaders do. But the image tells us nothing about the values of an individual or the party they lead.
The apolitical adjectives were not alone. Most of the rows that attracted so much intense attention for more than a decade were over issues relating to ‘integrity’, eruptions of ‘temper’ and personal rivalries. These were appropriately apolitical rows for the depoliticized decade. Debates about integrity can be staged about any public figure. They do not take us very far in discovering where these figures come from and are trying to get to, beyond an uneasy sense that their adoption of an apolitical adjective in the first place was partly because they were not entirely sure where they were going as a political force either.
The subsequent internal divide within New Labour blurred further the original evasion. Suddenly in the mid-1990s there were Blairites and Brownites springing up from nowhere in large numbers. The noun became an adjective, the adjective a noun. I would not have been surprised if I had heard a cue on an interview programme along the lines of: ‘Joining me now is the Blairite, Tony Blair.’ Both adjectives were applied a thousand a times a day in attempts to shed light. Most of the time they obscured while purporting to clarify. Was a Blairite someone who was merely loyal to Tony Blair? Was a Brownite someone who was personally loyal to Gordon Brown? Did a Blairite espouse a set of values and policies distinct from a Brownite’s? If so, what were they?
The lack of clarification enabled the creators of New Labour to build up a big tent of support in the early years, as David Cameron and Nick Clegg sought to do when they formed their coalition after the election in 2010. Cameron and Clegg proclaimed a ‘new politics’, the ubiquitous fresh-faced adjective in place once more. New Labour. New Politics. The coalition was not a break with the past, but its echo.
Anyone could read more or less what he or she wished to into a project that claimed vaguely to be in the ‘radical centre’. When New Labour was popular, support came from the right and left. But when it became unpopular there were unavoidably a thousand contradictory interpretations as to what had gone wrong. These post mortems were as foggy as the intentions of the original political project. As a result, the New Labour era remains one of the most misunderstood in modern times. Millions of words have been written on the subject already and yet the myths persist.
The role of Gordon Brown in the New Labour years is especially hazy and elusive. Like a central character in a whodunnit, his role and character seem obvious until we step back to question the assumptions that shape our perceptions. In spite of the mountain of words written about him there are many unresolved questions. Here are some of them, although others surface in the coming pages:
Why was Brown so seemingly poorly prepared for his period as Prime Minister when he had planned for his tenure at the Treasury like a military campaign?
Why did someone singled out by the highly demanding Peter Mandelson as ‘media friendly’ in the 1980s come to be regarded as a hopeless communicator by the time he became Prime Minister?
Why would some of Brown’s staff have died for him, while other colleagues loathed him?
Why was Brown, so gripped by the need to address poverty and poor public services, the best friend of bankers and an ardent supporter of a light regulatory regime for the City?
Why did a Chancellor who made a fetish of being prudent and reducing borrowing take huge risks with the level of public debt towards the end of his tenure at the Treasury?
Why did Brown react quite so badly in 1994 to Blair securing the leadership, a reaction that determined so much that followed? After all, other highly ambitious politicians have failed to become leader and reacted more calmly.
Were the differences with Blair beyond fuming ambition and if so what were they?
What are the lessons for a party, any party, when two figures and their closest advisers seize total control?
How significant was the role of the media as Blair and Brown played out their dance?
How to explain a figure that claimed his Presbyterian father was his model and spoke of his moral compass yet presided over a paranoid court with close colleagues in fear of being briefed against and one of his oldest friends, Alistair Darling, claiming the ‘forces of hell’ were unleashed against him in the early autumn of 2008?
How was such a devoted bibliophile so contorted, dense and plodding when he wrote and spoke in public?
The questions accumulate and feed on themselves. One prompts another. The answers shed light not only on Brown’s long career at the top of British politics, but on the entire New Labour project and on the challenges for the coalition government formed in the summer of 2010. In order to make sense of Brown’s stormy premiership and the New Labour years that preceded it I begin where the seeds were sown, the summer of 1992.
For nearly two decades political journalism became largely defined by whether a writer was sympathetic to Tony Blair or Gordon Brown: ‘Ah, that story about Brown dyeing his hair purple was written by Matthew Nice. That means it must have come from the Blair camp. Nice is a Blairite.’ If a flattering story about Brown appeared, written by Kevin Nasty, there was a similar response: ‘Ah, Nasty is a Brownite. It will have come from the Brown camp.’
The duopoly ruled the government, and although the duo was never as good at manipulating the media as it thought or had hoped, it came to determine the dynamics of political writing too. The result was a stifling form of journalism. Journalists are trained to detect relevance. Virtually all other institutions and individuals in politics had become irrelevant.
After Peter Mandelson’s first resignation, or sacking, from the cabinet at the end of 1998 the journalist John Lloyd went for coffee at his house in Notting Hill. In effect Mandelson had been forced out of the government by Gordon Brown’s close allies. A mournful Mandelson asked Lloyd whether he was close to Blair or Brown. Lloyd replied innocently that he knew and respected them both. Mandelson paused, looked up and declared: ‘That’s impossible. You’re either on one side or the other.’
In spite of Mandelson’s largely accurate declaration I remained in close contact with key figures in both the Blairite and Brownite courts. I also saw Blair and Brown regularly. The degree and range of contact was unusual. In most cases if a writer had access to one court there was little or no contact with the other. Throughout the era I kept closely in touch with both sides. This book reflects a range of conversations with Blair, Brown and other key figures from the early 1990s until the election in May 2010. The section on Brown’s premiership also includes retrospective insights from those who worked with Brown, based on a series of interviews I conducted for a BBC Radio 4 series, broadcast in September 2010.
Over the New Labour years, and to my surprise, Brown came to interest me more than Blair. I am drawn to political performers, and from the early 1990s no one could perform like Blair, but gradually I came to realize that Brown was embarked on an enterprise of awkward, cautious, pragmatic nobility as well as a self-centred egotistical one in his hunger to become leader. I also discovered there was a marked ideological contrast between the two of them, one that has still not been properly explored and yet was at the heart of their inflammable reign.
In his rows over policy with Brown, Blair tended to take the kind of view that David Cameron and Nick Clegg would have done, which is one reason why their disputes are still highly relevant. They were big rows too, and the policy questions are still unresolved. Perhaps they are beyond resolution. What is the precise role of the state? How to deliver modern public services? What is the relationship between the state and markets? How much does a modern government need to tax and spend? What is Britain’s relationship with Europe and the Euro? How best to respond to an epoch-changing global financial crisis? Is it possible to address the level of poverty in Britain in a way that does not in the end alienate affluent voters? The attempts to answer these questions will define the fate of governments and the main opposition parties too for decades to come. The coalition government asked all these questions again soon after its formation in 2010.
As they sought to address these questions, perceptions of Blair and Brown changed radically but in very different ways. Blair was idolized and then loathed by large parts of the media and the voters. Both were irrational responses. Views of Brown changed wildly over his career.
In 1992 Brown was on a high, appointed a youthful shadow chancellor, topping shadow cabinet elections and winning rave reviews in the media. By the summer of 1994 he was so unpopular that Tony Blair became leader and Brown did not even dare to stand. When Labour won power in 1997 he was seen widely as a great reforming Chancellor, the chief executive of the government. After 11 September 2001, when Blair became a global superstar, Brown seemed doomed to play only a supporting role. Many influential columnists wrote off his chances of becoming leader. After his budget in 2003 he was hailed as a defining radical, almost single-handedly conducting a social democratic revolution. In 2004 his fortunes were at such a low ebb he was excluded even from the team planning the general election. At the beginning of 2005 he was so popular that Blair had to bring him back to the heart of the election campaign and promise that he would remain Chancellor after the election. Following the election victory his popularity slumped so low that polls suggested Labour would be even more unpopular when he became leader. In 2007 when he did become Prime Minister he was so highly rated that he was tempted to hold an early election. His decision not to do so touched off a sequence in which he became the least regarded prime minister since polls began. In the autumn of 2008 he bounced back as the country slid into recession. At the start of 2009 he became deeply unpopular again as the recession took hold. During the 2010 election, polls suggested that Labour would be slaughtered, coming third in terms of the votes cast. It came second easily, and for a few days afterwards there was a faint possibility that Brown would remain as Prime Minister. The oscillating perceptions are linked to the unanswered questions relating to Brown’s wider career. Compared with Margaret Thatcher, John Major and, to some extent, Tony Blair, he was a more complex and elusive figure. Although he served as a Prime Minister for a shorter period than all three he was as significant because of the unique power he wielded in the Labour party when it became a formidable election-winning machine, an era in which he had almost complete control over economic policy.
This is how I saw them, the New Labour years. I focus on the under-reported policy developments as well as the soap opera. Both were significant and became connected. I do not believe that Blair was ‘pro-reform’ and Brown was ‘anti-reform’. It was much more complicated and more interesting than that. By the end of his leadership, and arguably at the beginning, Blair was a social and economic liberal, in many ways closer to the Conservatives, leading a centre-left party that he knew was in a different place from him. Brown was a timidly cautious social democrat seeking to run a country that he feared was in thrall to economic liberalism and instinctively Conservative. These are the contortions that confused and distorted everything.
I look at the years through the prism of Brown’s career because there are more unanswered questions and mysteries than there are in the extensively chronicled life of Blair. In my view both were misunderstood, but Brown more so. Two early books on Brown by Paul Routledge and Robert Peston were part of the battle at the time with Blair, acts of war. They became episodes in the story rather than attempts at explanation. Elsewhere Brown’s epic flaws have generated a thousand headlines and several books, while his remarkably long period in which he was virtually alone responsible for economic policy is too easily dismissed or taken for granted. And yet if he, rather than Blair, had left British politics in 2007, the Labour government would have been left with a much bigger hole as it tried to come to terms with the economy.
In the end Brown left five days after the 2010 election. But his exit was not the predicted humiliation, and fleetingly he did what he had done so many times before: he sought to do whatever it took to retain power. For once he did not succeed, but the fact that he had the space to try was in itself an appropriately epic coda to an extraordinary career.

INTRODUCTION (#ulink_0b80a56f-ceb5-58e6-b4c4-a6a34c870959)
Smiling determinedly and with transparent effort, Gordon Brown arrived at the election count in Kirkcaldy’s Adam Smith College just after 12.15 a.m. on 7 May 2010. This was the day he was supposed to lose power for ever. Virtually every commentator in the land, as well as a host of cabinet ministers, had assumed for months and in some cases years that Brown would be gone on the Friday after the election, a leader burdened for the rest of his life by a terrible defeat.
As with virtually every episode in Brown’s long career at the top of politics, assumptions formed with unswerving confidence proved to be wrong. Brown was not going anywhere other than Downing Street on Friday 7 May, and Labour was still more or less alive as a national force, suffering some terrible losses but also making a few unforeseen advances. The denouement of Brown’s career was appropriately complex and ambiguous. Unquestionably Labour had been defeated at the election, yet no other party had won. Far from becoming immediately irrelevant in the early hours of Friday morning, Brown and his party were still clinging to power.
The days that followed were a compressed version of his highly charged, nerve-racking career, one marked by dashed hopes and moments of soaring optimism, fuelled by self-interest and altruistic ambition. As the votes were being counted Brown was a player again in the midst of historic turmoil. Typically his control over the levers of power was far from straightforward. For many years Tony Blair had stood in Brown’s way. When Brown finally became Prime Minister he was for much of the time too unpopular and unsure of himself to take full control. Now David Cameron and Nick Clegg were preparing to pull levers too. Brown was used to this, always operating in a tiny amount of space and seizing moments when they arose. Politicians quite often act in the way they do because they have no choice. Great ones make the most of the tiny spaces.
To rapturous applause from supporters, Brown and his wife Sarah shook hands and embraced old friends as they awaited the declaration in his constituency. Here at least was mutually uncomplicated affection, local friendships arising from a shared passion for politics but not ruptured by rivalry and ambition at the very top.
Defeated leaders, or leaders on the verge of defeat, are brought to life by visits to their constituencies. Harold Wilson became less paranoid when he felt the affection of voters in Huyton, his seat in the North West of England. John Major was at once more relaxed when he headed for the comforting safety of his Cambridgeshire seat with one of the biggest majorities in the country. From the more troubling terrain of opposition Michael Foot and Neil Kinnock felt the same about their seats in Wales, where intense loyalty to them was at such odds with the raging disdain expressed elsewhere.
Brown always seemed to function on frighteningly narrow political terrain and he was already feverishly thinking through the likely outcome of the election result and considering his options. Behind his sincere and yet forced smile as he greeted old friends, he was calculating. Even now, as the votes were being counted in an election he had lost, he had options, or appeared to have them.
The Prime Minister had delayed his arrival long enough to contemplate the TV channels’ exit poll and the inconclusive early declarations. He was exhausted after the campaign and the long, contentious years at the top, but was also energized, having slept in the late afternoon and eaten lamb stew for his dinner in an almost relaxed frame of mind.
The lull had not lasted for very long. Lulls never did in his career. Both the exit poll and the actual results pointed to a hung parliament. Although in the confused early hours there was unjustified scepticism about the exit poll, there was no doubt even then that, in terms of the share of the vote, the Conservatives had come first and Labour second. The Liberal Democrats were well behind in third place.
Brown had come second, but was still breathing as a leader and the Conservative leader, David Cameron, was in no position to claim victory. Brown had lost and won. A hung parliament presented possibilities. He had spent much of the campaign fearing that Labour would come third, a historic defeat and bleak personal humiliation. After the first televised debate when ‘Cleggmania’ erupted, Brown had told his closest ally, Ed Balls, that he would resign at once if the Liberal Democrats overtook Labour.
His speech at the count reflected the uncertainty. Normally he prepared speeches too thoroughly. This one was compiled speedily after brief telephone conversations with Peter Mandelson and Ed Balls once the exit poll had been broadcast at ten o’clock. The speech had a valedictory air and yet was not quite a farewell. Even now, seemingly doomed, Brown delivered words that had more than one purpose, as he had done for nearly two decades.
To a packed hall, Brown reflected the grey fuzziness of the results:
The outcome of this country’s vote is not yet known. But my duty to the country, coming out of this election, is to play my part in Britain having a strong, stable and principled government, able to lead Britain into sustained economic recovery and able to implement our commitments to far-reaching reform to our political system – upon which there is a growing consensus in our country.
Sarah Brown, tall and berry red in a bright coat, stuck like glue to her husband’s side during the count, as she had done for much of the campaign. Standing on stage, nervously adjusting his jacket, Brown looked like a man desperate to fight on, even though the results were suggesting his career as a leader may be over.
Indeed the early part of his speech sounded as if he was taking his bow from the national stage:
Let me say to the people of this great constituency, there is no greater privilege than to serve in Parliament the people you have grown up with. Men and women you have gone to school with, whose children have also grown up here.
A few yards from here is the home in which I grew up as I was young. Immediately across the road from here is the church where my father preached and where I first began to learn about social justice.
And decades ago I learned here in Kirkcaldy something that has never left me – I learned what true friendship is.
And so many of us who meet first at school have been friends for life, and many of them are here tonight and I thank you for your unwavering support for me. For me personally, and also for your support for our cause.
This was Brown the human being making authentic references to his father and childhood friends. Both had sustained him through the years. Brown then turned to defend his record:
I’m proud of much that the Labour Government has achieved, the minimum wage, the child tax credit, the NHS renewed, more police officers, half a million children out of poverty, two million more jobs than in 1997.
Brown went on to offer more extensive thanks and a defence of his long period in power. No leader with a future ahead of him would focus so much on friendship and the past, but Brown left the door ajar.
In listing the government’s achievements, and some of his own, he added at the end of each sentence:
That is what I have done … am doing … and continue to do.
His retrospective was accompanied by a defiant hint of future intent.
He and the Liberal Democrats were in agreement about the broad outlines of economic policy, and recently he had become an expedient, cautious supporter of electoral reform. He had become a convert in order to make the most of precisely these circumstances, a hung parliament.
Brown was waving goodbye and hinting that he might be willing to say hello one more time.
Soon after making his speech of conflicting messages Brown and his small entourage flew down to London. Election nights had always been highly charged for Brown even when Labour was winning landslides. In 1997 he had taken a similar flight in the early hours of an election morning wondering whether Tony Blair would give him the powers he sought. In 2001 he flew to London determined to force Blair to indicate his readiness to stand aside. In 2005 he made the short flight with a similar sense of angry resolution. Since 1997 the four post-election flights from Edinburgh to London for Brown had been troubled ones. Oddly, the short flight that took off at half past two in the morning on 7 May 2010 was the most positive. Although Labour was losing, Brown sensed he might be back in the game.
On his return to London Brown paid a brief visit to Labour’s headquaters at Westminster. After thanking staff he spoke to Peter Mandelson, who had been in charge of the campaign, and who advised him to get some sleep. But already Brown was focused on the task ahead, as if the immediate past had not happened. He took notes ferociously, attacking his notebook, as he explored the new political situation. Mandelson had been watching the television coverage like a hawk, as well as appearing on various news programmes to declare with emphatic, mischievous charm that the election was a defeat for the Conservatives. Since Brown’s leadership had turned into a form of hell he had turned to Mandelson as often as Blair had done after 1994. Both had a childlike dependence on a personality who displayed childish tendencies as well, although Mandelson had matured in recent years, keeping calm in the face of various media storms where once he would have erupted.
Famously, Brown had felt an irrational level of betrayal when Mandelson backed Blair in 1994, anger from which he never recovered and that led him dangerously astray. With Blair out of the way, Brown was able to purge his angry jealousy by having a similarly dependent relationship. At the end of long days as leader Blair used to proclaim: ‘Get me Peter.’ Tony was ‘addicted’ to Peter according to those who knew them both. Gordon had become an addict too, even though their relation in this final phase was still complicated, a potent mix of mutual doubt and intense relief that their old friendship had survived fourteen years of destructive enmity. Brown had invited Mandleson to become a cabinet minister in the autumn of 2008, an act that saved his leadership and highlighted how weak he had become. Together in yet another drama of uncertain outcome, on the Friday after an election they had jointly fought Mandelson told Brown that there was nothing he could do for a few hours, but the day ahead would be long. Sleep was best for now.
Uncharacteristically, Brown recognized that sleep was indeed a sensible option. He went to bed not knowing whether he was spending his final hours in Number Ten.
For others election night was sleepless. In particular the leader of the Liberal Democrats, Nick Clegg, was more or less staying awake through the night and into the next day. He had decisions to make, but was anyway in a state of mind not conducive to sleep as he was driven from his constituency in Sheffield to his home in Putney.
In the space of three weeks Clegg had twice been taken aback for wholly opposite reasons. During the campaign he and his wife Miriam had been shocked by the outbreak of ‘Cleggmania’, simultaneously exhilarated and slightly disturbed by the sudden switch from frustrated anonymity to indiscriminate adulation from voters and ferocious attacks from some newspapers. On the whole Clegg had been excited by the sudden transformation in his public status, but Miriam had her doubts about Clegg’s political venture from the beginning, intelligently sceptical about the theatrical dimension in British politics. During the campaign they had become the theatre. Even a rock star has more time to prepare for fame than the Cleggs.
Still, at least the hysteria had hinted at historic opportunities, and then the results on election night dashed his soaring hopes. Having adapted to Cleggmania during the campaign, Clegg now had to come to terms with anticlimax. Against all expectations the Liberal Democrats were performing worse in terms of seats than at the last election. The final outcome was close to the one predicted by the prematurely derided exit poll. The Conservatives had won 307 seats, Labour was second with 258 and the Liberal Democrats had 57.
According to one of his close aides, Clegg made his crucial moves on the Friday morning while feeling ‘shell-shocked’ from recent events. Often leaders respond to setbacks by becoming more assertive. On a more epic scale this was how Blair reacted to the catastrophe in Iraq, more determined than ever to seize control of the domestic agenda in spite of failing when allowed to roam free in the explosive field of foreign affairs. Similarly Clegg was sobered by the disappointing results, but he was more single-minded rather than less.
Several times during the campaign Clegg had insisted that the party that came ahead of the others in a hung parliament had the first right to attempt to form a government. His formulaic answer was more flexible than it seemed in some respects. Clegg never specified whether the number of seats or votes would be more decisive. In the event this did not matter. The Conservatives had won more votes and seats.
He had also been careful to avoid any suggestion that the first attempt at forming a government was bound to be successful. At the same time he knew that momentum plays a big part in uncertain political situations. On the Friday morning he was determined to stick to his word and give the early cards to the Conservatives. At this point he had the full support of his influential mentor, Paddy Ashdown. Both agreed that the parliamentary arithmetic compelled them to let the Conservatives move first. Ashdown also agreed with Clegg on the Friday morning that whatever else had happened, Labour had lost the election, and that the Liberal Democrats’ bargaining position was not as strong as they had hoped it would be. At this stage it had not crossed Ashdown’s mind that a coalition with Labour was feasible. Instead he was privately briefing journalists that the only options were a minority Conservative government or a Con/Lib arrangement.
With Brown still asleep in Number Ten, Clegg headed for his party’s headquarters in Westminster. He made a short statement confirming his view that the Conservatives should be given the first chance to form a government. Clegg delivered the words without having any idea how David Cameron would respond. He was sticking with what he believed to be his only legitimate response to an election that the Conservatives had almost won. His more ideologically inclined predecessors would almost certainly have been less accommodating to the Conservatives, but Clegg was the party’s first leader to be genuinely equidistant between the two other parties and in some respects closer to the Conservatives.
Soon after Brown emerged after a few hours’ sleep, Mandelson briefed him on what Clegg had said. Both agreed that they still had cards to play. Labour had fought the election pledged to hold a referendum on electoral reform and to campaign in favour of a Yes vote. The Conservatives were opposed to electoral reform and were not at this point offering a referendum. Brown was especially resolute, more so than Mandelson. ‘Clegg’s party won’t accept a deal with the Tories,’ he repeated several times. They agreed Brown must make a statement, but one that was restrained. Mandelson told him: ‘You must make clear that Cameron has every right to speak with Clegg first … appear gracious and prime-ministerial …’
Brown’s subsequent intervention was perfectly pitched, making it clear that he was not deserting the stage but nor was he seeking to block others from taking over. In truth he had no power to block anyone, but Brown was almost enjoying a final challenge in which for him the stakes were not as high as they were for Cameron and Clegg. Either he would soon be released from the burden of power, or he would be the author of a breakthrough, a partnership between Labour and the Liberal Democrats. He would be making history once more.
The sweeping statement made outside Number Ten on Friday morning incorporated both scenarios:
With the outcome of the general election, we find ourselves in a position unknown to this generation of political leaders with no single party able to have a Commons majority and therefore have a majority government … I therefore felt that I should give you, and through you the country, my assessment of where we are. I do so as Prime Minister with a constitutional duty to seek to resolve the situation for the good of the country, not as the leader of the Labour party less than a day after the election.
This was both true and disingenuous. Brown was still the Prime Minister until an alternative could assemble adequate parliamentary support. Parts of the media attacked Brown for staying in Number Ten with a brutality that suggested the election campaign was still taking place, unable to stop kicking their victim even when there was no point in doing so. Brown had no choice but to stay put until the chaos of the election result had been resolved. But at the same time he was acting with the interests of the Labour party in mind, at least what he regarded as the party’s interests.
First, it is well understood that we face immediate economic challenges that must be met. A meeting of the Euro Group is being held tonight to discuss Greece and other issues. On the critical question on the formation of a government that can command a parliamentary majority, I have of course seen the statements of other party leaders. I understand and completely respect the position of Mr Clegg in stating that he wishes first to make contact with the leader of the Conservative party … For my part I should make clear that I would be willing to see any of the party leaders, clearly should the discussions between Mr Cameron and Mr Clegg come to nothing, then I will of course be prepared to discuss with Mr Clegg the areas where there may be some measure of agreement between our two parties.
The statement cleverly conveyed a sense of business as usual, challenging the media and the voters to accept that Brown could still rule. More specifically he reminded Clegg and his party where they shared common ground.
Brown was almost exhilarated. On the Friday after the election no leader exerted full control. But he was more in control than he had been during what for him had been a wretchedly bleak campaign.
Brown had in common with Blair a capacity to focus on changing events with a forensic ruthlessness and sense of purpose. His first phone call on the Friday morning was to summon his Transport Secretary, Andrew Adonis, to Number Ten. Lord Adonis had been a close ally of Tony Blair’s, and before that crucially he had been an active supporter of the SDP/Liberal alliance. He knew the Liberal Democrats better than anyone else in the cabinet. In yet another ironic twist Brown turned to Adonis, a figure he once viewed with suspicious hostility, in order to form a coalition with the Liberal Democrats, a concept he had viewed with horror while Blair was leader.
But on the Friday morning he was deadly serious, pulling prime-ministerial strings. The invitation to Adonis was testimony to his seriousness. He was working with Mandelson and Adonis, two figures who enthused about realignment on the centre left during the period that Brown was against any such transformation of the landscape, partly because he was not in charge to do the transforming.
For the first half of the election Brown had toured the country, captured on camera once or twice a day at a supermarket or at a school. In these bland locations he repeated the same message that ‘he was looking forward to debating substance and not style’. That was more or less it. Mandelson had controlled the campaign in London, holding press conferences with vivacious, combative wit. Brown had been reduced to the role of King Lear, travelling from place to place with his entourage, stripped of real power within his party and beyond while those wild allies he had trusted and admired for their strategic insights were banished from the centre. Brown’s wily old press secretary, Charlie Whelan, was explicitly told by Mandelson he would not be welcome at Labour’s headquarters in Westminster. One of Whelan’s successors, Damian McBride, was working for a school in north London, in political exile. Even Ed Balls had been reduced to a marginal role during the campaign. Each of them was bursting with ideas about how Labour could win and how Brown could be projected more effectively, but they were rarely heard since Mandelson and Alastair Campbell, also back at the heart of the operation, were not inclined to listen to any of them.
The Prime Minister’s futile tour and the absence of those who had served him with unswerving loyalty highlighted one of the great tragic ironies of Brown’s career. Brown had ached to replace Blair, but he proved far more powerful when he was Chancellor than as Prime Minister, and nowhere was his loss of authority more vividly exposed than during the campaign. In the 2001 and 2005 elections he and his entourage held absolute sway at the party’s headquarters, determining strategy and calling the tunes. During the unseasonably cold late spring of 2010 Mandelson pulled the levers in London as Brown toured pointlessly.
Now the election was over he was quite unexpectedly playing a familiar role, doing whatever it takes to stay in the game. By the early afternoon his space to manoeuvre became even more constrained. David Cameron issued his response to Clegg and Brown. His speech was a work of art, a collaborative act of political genius that had been carefully prepared in advance. From early spring Cameron had recognized that he might not win an overall majority, having been confident of doing so a few months earlier. During the Conservatives’ conference in the autumn Lord Ashcroft, the party’s controversial donor and strategist, had told him he would win an overall majority of seventy. Some of Cameron’s advisers thought the prediction was too pessimistic. But the Conservatives’ support had fallen after their policies came under fleeting scrutiny at the start of the year. More fundamentally Oliver Letwin, an influential ally who had regular access to Cameron, was convinced that politics had changed and no single party could expect to win substantial victories again. Even when polls were predicting a big Tory lead, Letwin expected a tiny majority or none at all.
Letwin and a few others around Cameron were surprisingly relaxed about a political situation in which the Liberal Democrats might be a permanent third force of some national significance. They were convinced that Clegg and several other senior Liberal Democrats were much closer to them than to Labour, particularly in their critical attitude towards the state. This was by no means a universally shared view in Cameron’s circle, and their pre-election objective had been to take as many seats as possible from Clegg’s party. Nonetheless a common theme in their political discussions was that the Liberal Democrats under Clegg were potential allies, and not at all a party of the centre left.
In the light of the inconclusive results, the conflicting motives of Cameron and his inner circle came together. Cameron and his shadow chancellor, George Osborne, were instinctively more tribal than Letwin, but they had watched in awe as Tony Blair had threatened to destroy their party for ever by forming a big tent that included an army of non-Labour supporters in informal alliance. They also recalled more vividly Brown’s fleetingly successful attempt to do the same when he became Prime Minister in 2007. A Tory MP defected to Labour and several non-Labour ministers joined the government. Brown had a soaring honeymoon as he strayed outside party boundaries. In spite of their massive majorities Blair and Brown cleared the path for the extraordinary events that followed the 2010 election, a politics of multi-layered calculation amidst proclamations of new and partially intended purity, the so-called new politics.
Whatever the definitions applied to their approach, Cameron and Osborne had chosen politics as their vocation in order to rule. They were fascinated by the choreography of politics, ways to win and the dark routes that led to defeat. On the whole they were perceptive readers of the rhythms. On this occasion they were titanic composers, recognizing an opportunity in their failure to win an overall majority. In his speech delivered early on Friday afternoon in Westminster, Cameron acknowledged that his party had fallen short of a majority and invited Clegg to form a coalition:
One option would be to give other parties reassurances about certain policy areas, and then seek their agreement to allow a minority Conservative government to continue in office without the country constantly facing the threat of its government falling. But there is a case for going further than an arrangement that simply keeps a minority Conservative government in office. So I want to make a big, open and comprehensive offer to the Liberal Democrats. I want us to work together in tackling our country’s big and urgent problems: the debt crisis; our deep social problems; and our broken political system.
At his first prime-ministerial press conference a few days later in the garden of Number Ten, held with Clegg standing beside him, Cameron gave the impression that it was only in their joint conversations that the two of them had agreed a coalition was the best option. It was clear, however, that this was what Cameron wanted the outcome to be before he had exchanged a single word with Clegg. The rest of his statement was a spectacular act of seduction in which he retained a strong grip on a potential coalition while appearing to let go, almost recklessly so:
Let me explain my thinking. First, it is right and reasonable to acknowledge of course that there are policy disagreements between us, many of which were highlighted in those television debates. To fellow Conservatives who have fought and campaigned and worked so hard to achieve the massive advance we have made in this campaign, I want to make it clear that I do not believe any government should give more powers to the European Union.
I do not believe that any government can be weak or soft on the issue of immigration which needs to be controlled properly. And the country’s defences must be kept strong. I also believe that on the basis of the election result we have achieved, it is reasonable to expect that the bulk of the policies in our manifesto should be implemented.
Cameron gave no ground on these three big themes and on one other, his belief that spending cuts should be implemented within weeks. But then he put into public form the thrust of private conversations that had reverberated around his office over recent years:
But across our two manifestos, there are many areas of common ground, and there are areas where I believe we in the Conservative Party can give ground, both in the national interest and in the interests of forging an open and trusting partnership.
We share a strong desire to make opportunity more equal in this country, and I recognize the high priority that the Liberal Democrats have given to the proposals for a pupil premium in our schools.
We agree with this idea, it is in our manifesto too, and I am sure we can develop a common approach that recognizes the urgency that the Liberal Democrats have attached to this proposal.
The Liberal Democrats in their manifesto have made the achievement of a low-carbon economy an absolute priority and we support this aim. I’m sure we can agree a common plan to achieve it.
The Liberal Democrats have also made proposals to reform our tax system. We both agree that Labour’s jobs tax, as the Liberal Democrats manifesto puts it, ‘is a damaging tax on jobs’, and we would seek to reverse it.
It has always been an aspiration for the Conservative Party to reduce taxes, especially on those who earn the least, and we are happy to give this aim a much higher priority, and to work together to determine how it can be afforded.
We share a common commitment to civil liberties and to getting rid, immediately, of Labour’s ID cards scheme. On our political system we agree with the Liberal Democrats that reform is urgently needed to help restore trust – and that reform must include the electoral system.
The statement out-Blaired Blair in evasive clarity. Cameron was being direct in arguing the patriotic case for stable government at a time of economic crisis. Genuinely he could see common ground with Clegg. And yet he did not concede much in spite of the magnificently generous tone. On Europe and cutting the deficit there were no concessions. In some other policy areas the two parties were already in agreement. At this stage Cameron hardly moved on electoral reform. One of his early objectives as leader had been to undermine the Liberal Democrats. Now he sought to embrace them, but in a way that might prove over time more lethal than his early attempts to stride on to their terrain.
The reaction to Cameron’s statement of the two other players in this dance could not have been more different. Brown watched in Number Ten feeling more combative than at any point during the campaign. When Cameron proposed a review on electoral reform Brown recognized at once the echoes from 1974, when Ted Heath offered Jeremy Thorpe a speaker’s conference on the issues after no party secured an overall majority. Thorpe rejected the meaningless concession. Brown exclaimed: ‘They can’t accept this … Cameron’s given nothing on electoral reform … He’s given them nothing at all.’
Brown was largely right, but with one massive qualification. Cameron was inviting the Lib Dems into government with an emphasis on their shared wariness of the state.
In striking contrast to Brown’s scepticism, Clegg was excited by Cameron’s offer. By then he had already in his own mind ruled out more or less the possibility of doing a deal with Labour, so the only options he perceived were a minority Conservative government or a more formal arrangement. Since becoming leader Clegg had deliberately kept his distance from Cameron and had no idea how to weigh up the motives behind the statement. Following Blair’s journey in opposition Cameron had sought to make overtures towards Clegg as Blair had done with Ashdown. Clegg had shown no interest. He was irritated by the media’s soft treatment of Cameron and jealous of the attention that he had attracted as leader of the opposition. The leader of the third party was also deeply suspicious of claims that Cameron had genuinely modernized his party. Nonetheless he had always found Cameron personable, whereas he could not bear dealing with Brown.
One exchange with Brown in particular had remained in Clegg’s mind. The two of them had been discussing a book and getting on reasonably well. Clegg then merged the friendly discussion into one about party politics. Brown changed within a nanosecond from the engaged, enthusiastic bibliophile to the rigidly controlled tribalist. Clegg felt it was like talking to a different person, and in some ways it was. Brown could become unnecessarily defensive when engaging with political opponents and switch personality accordingly. Clegg was so shocked that he was convinced, wrongly, that Brown would be incapable of making the leap to multi-party politics.
Shortly after making his statement Cameron spoke to Clegg on the phone and reiterated the degree to which the offer was sincerely made. They agreed that negotiations between the two sides should begin.
Clegg’s negotiating team signalled clearly which way he was heading. David Laws had been wooed several times by the Conservatives in the hope he would defect. Danny Alexander was in effect Clegg’s representative. Chris Huhne was part of the generation of Liberal Democrats that yearned for power, and had told friends before the campaign that it would be impossible for the Liberal Democrats to make a deal with Labour if the government had lost its overall majority. Although instinctively more of a social democrat than Laws and Clegg, he had made the leap towards working with the Conservatives before a single vote had been cast. He wanted power.
In Number Ten power was an issue too. Two forces came together on the Friday afternoon, a Blairite-Brownite assumption that Labour should do whatever it took to retain power and the ultra-Blairite hunger for realignment on the centre left. Brown, Balls, Ed Miliband, Alastair Campbell and Peter Mandelson had been conditioned to fight for power, having been removed from it for so long in the 1980s and 1990s. At the same time Adonis in particular had yearned for realignment on the centre left. All of them were dreaming with different reasons and varying degrees of enthusiasm of a Lib/Lab coalition. At one point over the weekend Mandelson joked that ‘Andrew has been waiting since 1906 for this moment to arrive.’ They were not giving up now. In spite of Brown’s public words earlier that he understood the right of Cameron and Clegg to seek agreement, Mandelson and Campbell urged Brown to speak to Clegg that evening in order to make clear that he was deadly serious about a Lib/Lab coalition.
Late on Friday afternoon Brown and Clegg spoke, each of them exhausted and instinctively wary of the other. Clegg did not welcome the call, regarding it as a diversion when the talks with the Conservatives had not properly begun. Brown’s people-management skills were dreadful even when he had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. Rarely in his career had he prevailed by intoxicating charm. His preferred approach was to put a relentless, unswerving case complete with warnings about the consequences of moving in a different direction to the one he had espoused. With Clegg, he tried his best in his formulaic opening: ‘Nick, how’s it going … have you had much sleep?’ But the polite formalities were brief.
Quickly Brown made clear that Labour would offer a referendum on electoral reform as its top priority. A Lib/Lab coalition would be united in its support. To Brown’s annoyed dismay, Clegg showed limited enthusiasm. He told Brown that he thought there were insuperable obstacles in terms of the parliamentary arithmetic and political legitimacy if the parties that came second and third formed a government, but he acknowledged the Lib Dems had more in common with Labour than the Conservatives. The two were speaking blindly, having spent the preceding hours acquiring wholly different mindsets. Clegg had been enthused by Cameron. Brown had become increasingly excited by his conversations with Adonis in particular about a Lib/Lab coalition. Characteristically, Brown did not give up, pointing out to Clegg that his party would find it far easier working with Labour. To Clegg’s sleepless fury Brown suggested that the Lib Dems would not tolerate an arrangement with the Conservatives, especially when Labour was holding out the historic chance to change the voting system. Brown could not hide his frustration. He never could, whether in cabinet meetings, in one-to-one sessions with Blair, or during long-winded international gatherings. For a calculating politician, Brown was also surprisingly transparent.
As far as Clegg was concerned Brown had been too transparent. One of Clegg’s team briefed the BBC that the call had been bad-tempered. Evidently they wanted to signal to their party that a route towards Labour was fraught with difficulties. If Clegg had felt instinctively more solicitous towards Brown he would have controlled his annoyance. He did not bother to do so.
At which point the media, a pivotal element in the entire New Labour saga, played its part in one final decision. Since the early hours of Friday morning some newspapers had screamed that Brown appeared determined to ‘squat’ in Number Ten. In fact until a new government could be formed he had a constitutional duty to remain in place. But in order not to look like a trespassing obsessive, Brown left Number Ten on the Saturday morning to spend the weekend in his constituency. Briefly he left the heart of the government’s operation when there was still much to do, not least in speaking to Labour MPs about the plans for a coalition. He did spend much of his time on the Saturday when he was in Scotland speaking to union leaders in order to get their support for what he was doing. He still had a hold of a sort over them. No union leader spoke out against a Lib/Lab coalition in the days that followed.
While Brown spoke to union leaders, Adonis contacted his friends in the Liberal Democrats, those with whom they had discussed for years the possibility of realignment. His conversations with Ashdown were especially fruitful. Adonis argued with his engaging modest conviction – an approach to politics and journalism that had captivated Roy Jenkins more than a decade earlier – that the parliamentary arithmetic did not rule out a Lib/Lab coalition. With patient persistence he pointed out that a Lib/Lab government would have 315 seats compared with 306 for the Conservatives. Although this was not an overall majority it was safe to assume that the assorted nationalists would not bring down the coalition in alliance with the Tories. Adonis made it clear that Brown was not necessarily proposing a ‘rainbow coalition’ with several other minority parties, as the media continued to report, but a Lib/Lab government that would rule at least long enough to introduce electoral reform.
Ashdown started to sway towards such an arrangement. Three other former leaders, Ming Campbell, Charles Kennedy and David Steel, also indicated privately or in Steel’s case publicly that they would prefer an arrangement with Labour. Adonis also had considerable influence on Tony Blair. Brown had spoken to Blair on the Friday and noted his scepticism about the feasibility of a Lib/Lab coalition because of the parliamentary arithmetic. Over the weekend Blair became more supportive of the idea.
In every frenzied conversation involving Adonis, Mandelson and senior Liberal Democrats, the position of Brown was raised as an overwhelming obstacle. Clegg had stated during the campaign that he could not do a deal with a defeated Brown. Over the weekend Ashdown told Adonis the same. A close ally of Clegg’s, Neil Sherlock, who had spent as many hours as Adonis contemplating a realignment on the centre left, also made it clear that no deal could be done with Brown continuing for any length of time as Labour’s leader. Vince Cable spoke directly to Brown several times over the weekend. The two were old friends. Cable retained a certain limited respect for Brown and the two of them shared a fair amount of common political ground, at least in relation to economic policy. He gave a much stronger indication than Clegg that he would prefer to work with Labour, an appetite heightened perhaps by the fact that he was not part of the Liberal Democrats’ negotiating team and had in Brown’s view been deliberately marginalized by Clegg. At one point Cable told Brown: ‘Emotionally I’m closer to Labour.’
Cable’s final call to Brown was at six in the morning on the Monday. He told him that his departure was an essential condition to a deal. This was not expressed as an ultimatum. Cable knew that Brown was willing to resign in order to facilitate a deal. His call was merely confirmation that in order to open the door for serious negotiation a public declaration was necessary. Clegg had made the same point in his discussions with Brown, although he had not promised that negotiations would open as a result.
Brown took no persuading. Adonis, who had never worked closely with him, least of all in an atmosphere of nerve-racking intensity, was impressed and surprised by his resolute determination. Brown was ready to announce his resignation and had informed Clegg of his willingness to do so in a one-to-one meeting on the Saturday morning. The only issue was over precisely when. Cable had suggested the key moment would be after the meeting of Liberal Democrat MPs that would take place early on Monday afternoon.
Brown met Clegg again at the Commons on the Monday morning and was even more direct: ‘Policies are not the issue between us – we are agreed on most issues. I am sure we could form a Progressive Alliance between us. I genuinely believe it could work … If it increases the possibility of forming a Progressive Alliance, I am prepared to stand aside as Labour leader.’
While Brown, Campbell and Mandelson composed a statement late on Monday morning, the group they regarded as their ace card, Clegg’s MPs, expressed concern at a formal deal with the Conservatives at their private meeting. The nature of the discussion at the meeting of the Liberal Democrats’ parliamentary party focused less on what the negotiating team had brought back from their discussions with the Tories and more on the need to find out what Labour had to offer as an alternative route. Several MPs, including their former leader, Sir Ming Campbell, argued that realignment on the centre left had been the party’s great mission and this was not the way to bring it about. Clegg replied openly wondering whether the reservations were generational, and to some extent geographical, with a lot of the concerns coming from older Scottish Liberal Democrats.
The meeting broke up with an announcement that the negotiating team would seek ‘clarification’ on some issues with their Conservative counterparts. The term was a euphemism that allowed the two wings of the Liberal Democrats to play for time. As far as David Laws was concerned, clarification related to a few minor details in relation to the pupil premium, a policy that united both parties. The social democratic wing had growing hopes that in the space still left a deal could be reached with Labour.
At which point Brown played his card. Those who were with him as he prepared to announce his resignation were struck by his calm. Brown could erupt angrily over trivial matters and remain focused when the political temperature reached boiling point. Speaking outside Number Ten, he seemed fleetingly to have changed the dynamics of British politics once more:
Mr Clegg has just informed me that while he intends to continue his dialogue that he has begun with the Conservatives, he now wishes also to take forward formal discussions with the Labour Party. I believe it is sensible and it’s in the national interest to respond positively. There is also a progressive majority in Britain, and I believe it could be in the interests of the whole country to form a progressive coalition government. I would however like to say something also about my own position. If it becomes clear that the national interest, which is stable and principled government, can be best served by forming a coalition between the Labour Party and the Liberal Democrats then I believe I should discharge that duty, to form that government, which would in my view command a majority in the House of Commons in the Queen’s speech and any other confidence votes. But I have no desire to stay in my position longer than is needed to ensure the path to economic growth is assured and the process of political reform we have agreed moves forward quickly. The reason that we have a hung parliament is that no single party and no single leader was able to win the full support of the country. As leader of my party I must accept that that is a judgement on me. I therefore intend to ask the Labour Party to set in train the processes needed for its own leadership election.
This was becoming the equivalent of an epic centre court final at Wimbledon, with Brown the veteran competing against two younger, rising stars. Brown had responded to Cameron’s statement on Friday with one that was crafted with the same level of political artistry, a stunning return to Cameron’s beautifully played stroke. Yes, Brown would be going. No, he would not be going quite yet – an echo of Blair’s resignation statement in September 2006. Brown had highlighted two priorities, the economy and political reform. He was looking for a graceful exit, one that would bristle with historic possibilities as he left in place a progressive coalition, but he was realistic enough to realize that he could play no part in the medium-term future. He had recognized this, or almost had, for a long time.
After Brown’s statement some of the key figures in Number Ten rushed out to proclaim the new progressive opportunity. Adonis, Douglas Alexander (who never really believed that this was a progressive opportunity) and Alastair Campbell toured the studios to put the case for a Lib/Lab coalition. Brown sat back and watched, his career almost over whatever happened next.
What did happen next revealed quite a lot about Clegg, his favoured Liberal Democrats and parts of the Labour party. The first meeting between Labour’s negotiating team and the Lib Dems’ equivalent had been fairly informal on the Saturday afternoon. Labour’s team consisted of Adonis, Mandelson, Balls, Ed Miliband and Harriet Harman. During that meeting they sensed that the Lib Dems were moving towards Labour. Mandelson was certain throughout that they were playing Labour along to get more from the Conservatives, but the others dared to wonder, and with mixed feelings, whether they were about to begin a fourth term in partnership with the Lib Dems. Before the cabinet meeting on the Monday afternoon, Balls was with Brown when he got another call from Clegg. By that point Clegg appeared to be moving fast towards Labour. He said to Brown that Labour and the Liberal Democrats were the two progressive forces and were therefore natural partners. By late Monday afternoon Brown and Balls were briefly convinced that a deal was on. Early on Monday evening Brown chaired his final cabinet meeting. No one knew for sure that this would be the end. Quite a few assumed now that Brown would be Prime Minister until the autumn. Brown also thought for a few hours this was likely.
No cabinet minister spoke out overtly against a Lib/Lab coalition, although several had intense private doubts, in particular Jack Straw. Brown talked through the situation with considerable enthusiasm showing none of the bad-tempered lack of patience he could display when chairing cabinet meetings in less tempestuous times.
The Labour and Lib Dems’ negotiating teams met immediately after the cabinet, so quickly that ministers had no time to discuss in advance what they would be willing to concede. In the event they offered to move at least as far as the Conservatives, especially in the area of civil liberties, a policy area where the government had acquired a ragbag of policies, adopted for reasons of neurotic insecurity rather than principled machismo. The policies had never been fully supported by anyone on Labour’s negotiating team. Perversely, a sticking point in the discussions was Labour’s commitment not to start cuts in public spending until the following year. Even though the Lib Dems had argued for the same policy in the election campaign, David Laws was now insisting that immediate cuts should be part of the package. Chris Huhne also called for immediate legislation on the Alternative Vote followed by a wider referendum on other options for electoral reform. Even Adonis was taken aback at such a prospect. Huhne suggested ‘this would be an experiment in an experimental coalition’. Although Labour’s team was much more wary after this meeting, they assumed that Clegg was sincere in his willingness to do a deal and agreed to meet again on the Tuesday morning. Labour’s team also proposed a separate meeting between Cable and Alistair Darling.
Hungry for power almost as an end in itself, Cameron and Osborne rushed out a new offer in response to Labour’s moves, a referendum on the Alternative Vote. This was the same as Labour was offering in relation to electoral reform, although Labour was committed to campaigning for the change whereas the Conservatives were opposed. The duo had spent the last four years seeking a route to power, changing economic policy on the basis of the latest focus-group findings and proclaiming their party’s modernization without changing many of the assumptions and polices that they had inherited. Cameron and Osborne opposed voting reform, but their desire for power meant they did not hesitate to make the offer.
Their move was decisive. When Clegg got the news, a few minutes before it was released to the media, his mind was more or less made up. He wanted to do a deal with the Conservatives and take part in a formal coalition. He had never had much doubt. Later Clegg was hailed for his ruthless negotiating techniques, but he did not have to try very hard. Both sides were desperate for a deal and at times he had been genuinely torn, not least because Ashdown had moved some distance over the weekend towards Labour, and his other former leaders – Charles Kennedy and David Steel – had always been keener on a deal with Labour.
But Clegg was reaching a firm decision on Monday evening and acquired ammunition from former cabinet ministers David Blunkett and John Reid who led the charge against a Lib/Lab coalition. Reid spoke out passionately against an arrangement. In fact Labour was not proposing a formal arrangement with the SNP, only with the Lib Dems, but Reid was not one to allow details to intervene. Blunkett was far more perceptive and his opposition carried more weight. The left of the Labour party started to speak out as well. On the other side Cameron faced similar problems with the right of his party, but Clegg had found his soulmate, two pragmatic leaders bound by their hostility towards the state and their capacity for polite, almost apolitical negotiations.
The dynamics revealed much about Labour’s diminished hunger for power. Reid and Blunkett had been cabinet ministers. Straw had served in the cabinet from 1997 to the very end. If they had been eager for their first ministerial posts their reaction to the result might have been very different. Sated personal ambition played a part in the cries within Labour against a Lib/Lab coalition.
On the Tuesday morning Brown and Clegg had one further meeting, but Labour’s negotiating team sensed they were being played along. The Lib Dems had briefed misleadingly that Labour’s team had been aggressive in the negotiations, especially Ed Balls. Adonis, no natural ally of Balls, was adamant that Balls behaved politely throughout. Labour’s team sensed trouble, assuming the briefing was aimed at showing Ashdown and others that they had tried but faced immovable objects. Brown, who had been in some ways the most enthusiastic for a coalition, moved from high hope on Monday night to pessimism by Tuesday morning. Still he clung to a shred of optimism. At midday, hours before his resignation, he had a phone call with Sir Ming Campbell, spelling out in detail how the mechanisms were in place for a Lib/Lab coalition and how he had prepared for the appointment of Lib Dems in senior departments.
During a phone call with Brown early in the afternoon Clegg was evasive. ‘Look, I’m not in a position to give you a definitive answer,’ he told Brown. ‘I want to continue to speak to both sides. Coalition talks take a long time in other countries. There’s nothing unusual about this. Why the hurry?’
Brown responded: ‘The country will not understand if this ambiguity continues. The public needs certainty and we must provide an answer.’ He issued one last plea to Clegg: ‘I am convinced this is the right time to create a Progressive Alliance. I know the electoral arithmetic is difficult but I think there is a way round that.’
Clegg fudged again: ‘I still want to go on talking to both sides.’
Brown struggled to hide his frustration as he replied: ‘I have to go the Palace soon. If you are not prepared to commit yourself you have to tell me. Now.’
Clegg: ‘I will call you back in five minutes after I’ve talked to my advisers.’
After Brown put the phone down, he discussed his next move with Mandelson, Campbell, and old cabinet allies Ed Balls, Ed Miliband and Douglas Alexander. They knew it was over. One observer noted: ‘We all agreed it could not go on any longer. It was obvious Clegg wasn’t serious about doing a deal. He was using it so he could go back to Cameron and get more out of him. We didn’t have the numbers and the Labour Party just wouldn’t wear it.’
Brown had made one big mistake in the four days. He had failed to summon Labour MPs for an early meeting in order to keep them fully informed. As a result they felt excluded and ignorant and began to express public wariness to a deal. Seen widely as a Labour tribalist, Brown had given little thought to the tribe as he planned a realignment on the centre left more dramatic than any plan contemplated by Tony Blair. By Tuesday mid-afternoon Brown knew that there would be no deal: he would be out of power within hours.
After three years of erratic, frail authority he decided to seize full control of his departure, with the help of Mandelson and Campbell, the great choreographers and manipulators of the New Labour era. As was often the case with the misunderstood duo, they were motivated by humane considerations as they planned a final move. Politicians are human beings, as fearful of public humiliation as anyone else. They had helped ease the way for a small army of ministers. Now the game was over for Brown, for them and for Labour. They wanted to help Brown to leave with dignity. Brown spent much of the day writing letters to friends and colleagues, thanking them for their support, a generous gesture made with no ulterior motive.
Brown also wrote the final version of his farewell speech, including a reference to his own personal failings, although others had encouraged him to part with a hint of humble self-awareness. With Sarah, Mandelson arranged the perfect visual departure in which finally their two sons John and Fraser would join them in the public eye as they left Number Ten for the last time, a humanizing image that had eluded Brown when he sought to cling to power.
In one final phone call Clegg had begged Brown to stay on for a little longer while he resolved what to do. Brown refused at first and then appeared to waver a little. Mandelson grabbed a card and wrote in big bold letters: ‘No More Time!’ He ostentatiously placed the card in front of Brown. There was no more wavering. Brown had also spoken to Blair again on the phone, explaining that he had given up hope of a deal. One way or another they were all there at the end as they had been at the beginning, Blair, Brown, Campbell and Mandelson. For all the mighty rows and fallings-out, they almost needed to be there for those final moments. When Mandelson had resigned from the cabinet for the first time he turned to Brown to help him compose his resignation letter even though Brown and his allies had brought about his downfall. Although Blair had kept Brown out of Number Ten for as long as possible, Brown turned to him for advice in his final days and Blair was happy to offer it.
Brown completed his call to Clegg insisting he had already decided to see the Queen to resign. ‘I can’t go on any longer, Nick, I’m going to the Palace.’
A resigned Clegg replied: ‘If that’s your decision …’ Brown said: ‘It is.’ He called Sarah and his sons John and Fraser to his office, hugged his Downing Street team and walked out of Number Ten with his family for the last time.
Before leaving he uttered the only speech he had given for more than two decades that had no complicated calculations behind it, no move on a chessboard:
Only those that have held the office of prime minister can understand the full weight of its responsibilities and its great capacity for good.
I have been privileged to learn much about the very best in human nature and a fair amount too about its frailties, including my own.
Above all, it was a privilege to serve. And yes, I loved the job not for its prestige, its titles and its ceremony – which I do not love at all. No, I loved the job for its potential to make this country I love fairer, more tolerant, more green, more democratic, more prosperous and more just – truly a greater Britain.
In the face of many challenges in a few short years, challenges up to and including the global financial meltdown, I have always strived to serve, to do my best in the interest of Britain, its values and its people.
And let me add one thing also. I will always admire the courage I have seen in our armed forces.
And now that the political season is over, let me stress that having shaken their hands and looked into their eyes, our troops represent all that is best in our country and I will never forget all those who have died in honour and whose families today live in grief.
My resignation as leader of the Labour Party will take effect immediately. And in this hour I want to thank all my colleagues, ministers, Members of Parliament. And I want to thank above all my staff, who have been friends as well as brilliant servants of the country.
Above all, I want to thank Sarah for her unwavering support as well as her love, and for her own service to our country.
I thank my sons John and Fraser for the love and joy they bring to our lives.
And as I leave the second most important job I could ever hold, I cherish even more the first – as a husband and father.
Thank you and goodbye.
The last sentence was uncharacteristic in its stark clarity. Brown swept out of Downing Street for the last time, leaving behind a political situation of tantalizing possibilities and dangers for those that had acquired or sought to acquire power. It was an appropriate parting gift from a complex political figure who had breathed the politics of opportunities and dangers ever since he had climbed close to the top when he became shadow chancellor in 1992. There had been no break after that until the cold Tuesday evening in May when he said goodbye. From the summer of 1992 he had been doing whatever it took to secure power and act with expedient principle. He had been doing so even in his final few days. Suddenly the tiny space in which he strode had shrivelled to nothing. No options remained any more.

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