There is a passage in Herbert Morrison's autobiography, published in 1960, which is drenched in sadness. Under the simple heading "Labour Party Leadership", the former Deputy Prime Minister, Home Secretary and Leader of the House reflects mournfully upon his failure to secure the top job. "I have been asked more than once if I feel that it is true that Attlee deferred retirement until it was over-late for me to succeed him," writes Morrison. "My answer has always been, regretfully but inevitably in view of the evidence, that this in my view is a correct interpretation." In other words: that sod Clem stitched me up like a kipper. Ancient history? Not quite. This text is an improbable clue to what lies behind the silly-season surge of speculation about Lord Mandelson and his supposed plan to succeed Gordon Brown. And mostly silly it certainly is. But not absolutely, completely, "has-anyone-seen-my-camel?' silly. We all know that the tripartite structure of the electoral college (constituency parties, unions and MPs) which selects the leader of the Labour Party was not exactly designed to favour an off-the-map moderniser such as Mandelson – plus Blairite que Blair. True, they chose Tony in 1994. But they were hungry for power then: an appetite that has conspicuously deserted their ranks in recent years. We also know that Mandelson, twice forced to resign from the Cabinet, has a record as long as your arm, and can't see a scandal passing in the street without shouting: "Hey, wait for me!" He may have a safe pair of hands when it comes to minding the shop in Gordon's absence, but he is otherwise (or at least has been) politically radioactive, a man universally recognised in Whitehall as a fine minister but also as a suicide politician liable to blow himself up at any moment in an ill-advised "designer" T-shirt, shouting: "I am ready to die for Abba!" So when I read that an amendment to Jack Straw's constitutional reform bill will allow life peers to renounce their titles, paving the way for Baron Mandelson of Foy in the County of Herefordshire and Hartlepool in the County of Durham to make a return to the Commons; and that Hilary Armstrong's North West Durham seat is being kept warm for him – well, I just chuckle. But, after the chuckling, I have to admit there is a moment when I remember that all politicians think in the deepest recesses of their souls that they should, by rights, be Prime Minister. I recall, too, that Mandelson's abilities are very considerable, and that his share price is soaring. And that – to return to Morrison's sadness and sense of betrayal – his own career is inexplicable without understanding his reverence for his Grandfather Herbert. In 1997, Mandelson stood for Labour's National Executive Committee in the hope of avenging his grandfather's expulsion from the NEC by the Bevanites in 1952 (he was ignominiously defeated by none other than Ken Livingstone). In interviews, I have always been struck (and touched) by his almost Shinto ancestor worship of Morrison. What could be sweeter for the grandson than to achieve the ambition that eluded the grandfather, and of which – according to family folklore, at least – he was robbed by Attlee? Does Mandelson seriously believe he can be leader? Of course not. Has the idea crossed his mind in recent weeks, as he has basked in the Corfu sun and the media attention? Well, what do you think? The more psychologically interesting question is why we are all going along with it other than for its comic potential. Part of the answer is that all national villains seem, if they last long enough, to become national treasures. Within every Darth Vader there is a Vera Lynn itching to get out (I once compared Mandelson to the Dark Lord of the Sith in a Sunday Telegraph interview. "Who's Darth Vadder?" he asked his aide of the time, Derek Draper). Why was Anthony Hopkins skin-crawlingly scary in The Silence of the Lambs and amiably cuddly in Hannibal? At what point did we all start cheering J R Ewing? Imagine if George Osborne had returned to Corfu this year to stay with Nat Rothschild, revisiting the site of the Deripaska scandal and all the yacht-fondling. It would have been seen as an act of monstrous arrogance, evidence of a fatal lack of political judgment on the shadow chancellor's part. In Mandelson's case, by contrast, it was a positive crowd-pleaser, like the Rolling Stones playing their greatest hits at a concert. It showed that the old stager is still ready to please himself and the punters with a bit of old-fashioned New Labour ligging and poncing off rich folks. Takes you back, really. And context is all. When Tony, Cherie and Peter first embarked on their decade-long world tour of other people's villas and yachts, it looked terrible: the public disliked being governed by an elite that claimed to be "in touch" and to care about the soaring price of the kids' trainers and anti-social behaviour on the estates, and yet was not content with ordinary people's holidays. There was a dangerous dissonance between New Labour's slogan – "For the many, not the few" – and its holiday habits – "many free luxury holidays for the very few". Part of Gordon Brown's appeal in his long stretch as the angry dauphin was that he was instinctively frugal and had not fallen for all the bling and trappings of power, as Tony and his gang had done. What we did not know was what would come with Gordon's personal frugality: indecision, lack of direction, a mood of misery, a collapse in public faith in politics and the financial sector, savage recession. Eighty per cent (at least) of politics is symbolism and drama, and Mandelson's panache and utterly shameless love of luxury trigger memories of a time when New Labour hadconfidence: the confidence, if you like, to strut on the stage and to throw its weight about a bit. I am not saying that behaviour was edifying, because a lot of it wasn't. But it was the behaviour of a government that was in charge, Last week, in Corfu and back home, Mandelson looked like a man who understood the meaning of authority. For all the gags, and the Oscar Wilde soundbites and the faux-menace, he looked like he was in charge. Labour doesn't want him as its leader, and it won't happen. But the party is working hard to suppress a smile after the brief reign of King Peter, for a simple reason that may serve them all well in the future if they have the wit to remember. In this dark hour, Mandy has reminded them what it feels like not to be scared. Matthew d'Ancona is Editor of 'The Spectator'Peter Mandelson's short reign has put a smile on Labour's face
For all the gags and the faux-menace, at least Peter Mandelson looked like a man in charge, says Matthew d'Ancona.
composed of people who knew more or less what they were doing, even if you hated it.
Sunday, 16 August 2009
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