By Philip Stephens Published: February 12 2009 19:51 | Last updated: February 12 2009 19:51 Sometimes small things tell most eloquently the story of political decline. History recalls the big events – economic storms, foreign policy mishaps, ideological struggles – that drive governments from office. The contemporary mood, however, is as often framed by what, in retrospect, seem trivial emblems of decay. Anyone who watched the painful death of Britain’s Conservative government during the mid-1990s will know what I mean. John Major’s administration faced all manner of problems. His party had not recovered from its decision to defenestrate Margaret Thatcher. It was riven by arguments about Britain’s place in Europe. The voters had not forgiven the government for the deep recession that preceded sterling’s humiliating ejection from the European exchange rate mechanism. At the time, however, what seemed to better describe the government’s travails were a procession of incidents that coalesced in the public mind under the rubric of “sleaze”. One or two were serious – allegations of MPs taking cash for questions and the imprisonment of a former minister for perjury. Others were misdemeanours, elevated to crimes by the opposition and media. Forgotten now, they spoke then to a group of politicians who had lost their moral compass. These people, the voters decided, had to go. I was reminded of those times the other day when I heard about the manner in which Jacqui Smith, whose position as home secretary makes her one of the most senior ministers in Gordon Brown’s government, has organised her financial affairs. Ms Smith lodges during much of the week at her sister’s house in London. For the purpose of her parliamentary allowances, she designates this as her primary residence. The house in her constituency that she shares with her husband and children is described as a “second home” and, as such, attracts sizeable public subsidy. The home secretary insists all this is fully compliant with the rules and practice of the House of Commons. After all, other senior members of the government have arranged their affairs to take full advantage of generous housing allowances. The Commons is not pursuing the matter. But that is the point. So removed have these ministers become from the ordinary citizens they purport to represent that they no longer realise that others might see such financial juggling as tawdry at best. People expect higher standards of their political masters than to be told their lucrative financial wheezes are “within the rules”. The subversion of commonsense ethics to narrow legalism has also been crystallised in the response of several Labour members of the House of Lords to allegations that they agreed to influence legislation in return for payment. The charges, laid by The Sunday Times newspaper, are being examined by Labour’s leader in the Lords. The answer of the peers in question has been that, however things might look, they had kept to the letter of the rule book. Ten years or so ago, in the first flush of enthusiasm for a Labour government, people might have shrugged off such incidents. During an early squall about political donations, Tony Blair, then prime minister, famously pleaded for the nation’s trust. The government has long since lost the benefit of the doubt. Stories such as the one about Ms Smith’s expenses now feed, and rightly so, the perception of a bunch of politicians who have grown remote and arrogant in office. The condition of Mr Brown’s administration calls up other echoes from the 1990s. The Conservatives, consumed by infighting, had run out of ideas. Ministers were exhausted. After four terms in office, they were oblivious to the struggles of life beyond their official limousines. Mr Brown’s party has been in power for something short of 12 years rather than the 18 of the Conservatives. But I detect the same curious, and fatal, mix of hubris and inertia. Office is treated as a birthright but, with a few honourable exceptions, ministers have forgotten what it is for. Ask most of them what Labour would actually do with a fourth term and the best you will get is a diatribe on why the Tories would be worse. Some would say that such intangible flaws are pretty much irrelevant when measured against the deadly impact on the government’s fortunes of the recession. Only this week, after all, the Bank of England said that Britain faces another year of economic misery. If Mr Brown’s government is turned out of office next year, the argument runs, it will be because of lengthening jobless queues and its chumminess with now disgraced bankers. The prime minister will have been been mugged by the economic bust he promised would never happen. Others, within the government as well as beyond it, point the finger of blame still more directly at Mr Brown. Whatever the economic turbulence, the big failure has been one of leadership. No one would accuse the dour Mr Brown of over-enjoying the trappings of power. But, after a political lifetime seeking the job, Mr Brown arrived without a strategy or a project for his premiership. Even now, the constant flurry of initiatives to counter the impact of the recession seems to owe as much to panic as purpose. Some ministers are beginning to mutter that they should have deposed Mr Brown last summer. It goes without saying that all these things will loom large at the next election. But what really makes or breaks governments are judgments about character. What are their motives? Are they honest? Are they in touch with those they represent? The voters’ answers to such questions count for every bit as much as policies and performance. It is too early to say that David Cameron’s Conservative party is destined to form the next government. Mr Brown looks set to delay an election until the last possible date in mid-2010. That leaves plenty of time for opposition missteps. Nor are the parallels with the 1990s exact. If Mr Brown is trapped in the mud that eventually swallowed the Major administration, there is no great swell of enthusiasm for Mr Cameron. Mr Blair set the nation’s pulse racing. Mr Cameron’s strongest claim to office has been that he has left behind the angry Toryism of his immediate predecessors. That said, the sense of decay is palpable. As insouciance mingles with indifference, too many ministers act as if government belongs to them. Ms Smith’s tenure at the home office will scarcely merit a footnote in the history books. But the story of her second home testifies to the atrophy that comes with longevity in office. No one should be surprised if voters conclude it is time for change. More columns at www.ft.com/philipstephens Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2009
A tawdry episode that tells the story of political decay
Saturday, 14 February 2009
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