A Journey (92 page)

We made our way down to the party headquarters to ‘celebrate’ the victory. Quite rightly, the party staff thought: Historic third term, majority of over sixty, what’s the problem? So there began a rather curious disjunction between my mood (deflated) and theirs (elated).

However, I had another reason to be down. In the course of the night, as the result became clear, so the relationship with Gordon deteriorated sharply. I couldn’t fathom why. Ostensibly, it was because he thought I was refusing to consult him over the new Cabinet, whereas actually I was – only I was refusing some of his choices in the positions he wanted them. He made a huge thing of Geoff Hoon becoming chief whip, a post I thought Geoff was completely unsuitable for; he wanted Ed Balls, freshly elected, to go straight into government, which I thought inappropriate; and we had the usual rigmarole over Michael Wills, Dawn Primarolo and others whom I really didn’t think right for government for various reasons, but whom I did try to accommodate because they were strong supporters of his.

The consequence of all of this was that as I reshuffled over the coming days – by and large it was going fine – I found that the PLP was becoming distinctly ungenerous in its thoughts. On the one hand I was taking congratulatory calls from the outside world, who naturally thought a third term a cause for general rejoicing, and on the other hand there was an increasingly fractious reaction from the PLP who had ended up persuading themselves it was all a bit grim.

Gordon’s people – and at this time they included those like Clare Short – were out in the media more or less perpetually dissing me and saying we could have done better with another leader, and my people were on the defensive. Looking back it was ludicrous of course, but it was in part, as Peter had always warned, a result of the fact that we had run a dual TB/GB campaign. It allowed his folk to interpret the result as: we won because of our guy, but our guy had the albatross of the other person to deal with. In fact, while I had repelled some voters, I had also recruited others. It didn’t necessarily follow that someone else could have done the recruiting, even if it was true they might not have done the repelling – i.e. I was divisive. And though the media treated me as if I had lost, the fact is I hadn’t. However, I allowed myself to be caught up in this mood, which was all a little crazy.

Then Michael Howard did me a good turn by announcing that he was quitting as leader of the Conservatives. It changed the mood; not entirely, but just enough. Suddenly people remembered the Tories had lost and we had won. The madness ebbed, and by the time I addressed the PLP on the Wednesday, things had quietened down somewhat, although a lot of static remained and again Gordon’s people were hard at it. I realised that from then on, every day I remained was going to be a struggle.

Although the campaign was horrible, I had hardened during the course of it and it was also clear to me that I had grown up as a leader. The weakness, the fear, the desire to run away all remained, but crucially I had acknowledged these feelings. They were now my avowed companions, and because they were avowed, they were contained, no longer demons; there to be suffered, and there to be argued with and faced down too; the ordinary, natural feelings that any human being would feel in the same situation. Nothing to be ashamed or frightened of. Nothing beyond my capacity to control.

Now I was prepared to manage what I knew would be a continual fight with Gordon. I had to get the reform programme embedded (and whatever his manoeuvres, I judged Gordon wouldn’t dare be in outright opposition); do all I could to settle Iraq, and if possible get our troops on their way out before I left; conduct successful presidencies of the G8 and the EU; if at all possible – though I doubted it – deliver the Olympic bid. And set out a programme that would serve as an agenda for a fourth term if Gordon was sensible enough to take it; and if he wasn’t, my alibi for the defeat that I’m afraid I thought would be inevitable if he took over and moved a millimetre from New Labour.

There was also one other major event looming. The EU Constitution – fatally named from our point of view, and leading inexorably to our commitment to hold a referendum on it – was going to be a dominant part of the first months of the third term. France and the Netherlands were due to hold their own referenda in May. The polls were unclear but I assumed France would still say yes; and if they did, the Netherlands might well follow suit. Our polls were resolutely against success and not many people believed we could shift them. As ever, I was more sanguine. I thought we might just turn it into a referendum that was effectively: in or out. If France voted yes, Britain might just follow. My advisers disagreed, but I rather fancied mounting a really big public argument on an issue I felt strongly about and on which I was right. I could also see how, in the course of such a campaign, the progressive alliance – fractured over Iraq – might heal. So although plainly a tough challenge, I somewhat relished the fight.

As things settled down a little, I took a break in Tuscany in late May, staying with our friends the Strozzis at Cusona. I had a great time with Leo, able to spend proper moments with him. At five years old, he was getting to that fascinating age where you can almost see the brain sprouting forth. Except to the doting parents, babies are frankly pretty boring – sweet and cuddly, but still a bit inanimate, if you see what I mean. From about age three onwards, they get interesting and remain like that up to around twelve, when the dark mists of hell envelop them. Unbelievably, they emerge again as semi-civilised human beings around the age of twenty, you stop thinking you are a bad parent or there is genetic delinquency in the family, and realise they are still your children and you love them. There are exceptions, of course, but that’s my experience.

Anyway, I digress. Cusona was lovely. There was sunshine and privacy, and since all the news focused on France and its vote, the eye of the beast was temporarily diverted, and I relaxed. Nicolas Sarkozy came over, at that time still a minister in the French government. It was clear that there was a battle royal going on over the future of the centre-right UMP party which he led, but it was also clear that he was certain he would win it.

Nicolas and I had certain things in common: energy and determination; impatience with the traditional categories of right and left; a deep dislike of doctrine and rigidity; we both liked to analyse problems by instinct rather than ideology; and we had both learned that the twenty-first century could not conform to the politics of the previous hundred years. However, we differed in one respect: he had superabundant self-confidence. There was not a glimmer of self-doubt. As we walked through an avenue of trees that led down from the villa where the Strozzis lived, he talked frankly and with complete conviction about his own victory: ‘I will win. I will become president.’

From anyone else it would have sounded vain or even slightly mad, but he said it with a combination of charm and clarity that made it seem entirely factual. The British would have wanted to cut someone who talked like that down to size, but I could see that the French would go for it. It was an attitude which had passion, elan and also that touch of arrogance which in some small way defines France, and which in some small way I admire. I could see them looking at Nicolas and thinking: Now that’s a president.

Towards the end of our stay, the news came through during dinner: France had voted no to the Constitution. I knew at once I was off the hook. It was true I fancied the fight, but it was also true that had I lost, it would have been
au revoir
. You could almost feel the waves of relief coming over the English Channel and making their way down to Italy. I spoke to Jack Straw, who was absolutely undivided in his feelings. ‘Great news,’ he said.

‘I was rather looking forward to a referendum,’ I said.

‘Then you’re dafter than I thought,’ he replied.

The referendum result was significant to us for another reason. On 1 July, we took over the six-month presidency of the European Union, which we had last held in 1998.

During my previous spell as president of the EU all of seven years before, I had been in the first flush of enthusiasm as a novice prime minister, new on the European scene, something of an unknown quantity to them and to myself. It was not one of the highlights of the first term. I was more interested in proving Britain had changed than in changing Europe. We were full of stunts but not strategy, and I rightly wince at some of the ‘initiatives’. One bright soul had the idea that our presidency tie (each successive country had its own tie and logo to mark the presidency) should be a compilation done by schoolchildren of their images of the individual nations. I had no knowledge of this idea until I got a call from Romano Prodi, then in one of his periodic bouts as Italian prime minister. Romano could often be a little hard to follow, but on this occasion he was as clear as a bell. ‘Hey, Tony, you insult my country. We are more than a pizza, you know. We have Rome, Florence, Venice, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo, Verdi, Garibaldi, and now my nation think the world see us as a
quattro
stagioni
pizza. It is not right. It must be changed or relations between Britain and Italy suffer very bad,’ etc. If I tell you that’s about all I can recall from that spell as president, you will understand that it was not one of my more distinguished periods.

Now, just after a third election victory with eight years of being prime minister under my belt, I was a different type of leader, and the challenges Europe faced had also transformed, qualitatively and quantitively. For a start – and partly due to strong British insistence – the EU had enlarged to twenty-five member states, soon to be twenty-seven. It had been through an immensely divisive period over Iraq, where it had split more or less evenly in favour and against, but since France and Germany had been in the ‘no’ camp, that had been particularly painful. After years of internal wrangling, a consultation exercise had resulted in a Constitution for Europe which now had been rejected. So: quo vadis? And to cap it all, there was a battle over the EU budget, then up for renewal.

In this last area, Britain had been in the thick of the debate and the disagreement. Essentially, the old British rebate was up for grabs, along with consideration of the common agricultural policy. The rebate was as highly politically sensitive for the UK as the CAP was for France.

All in all, this presidency, especially under this country, was going to be interesting, not to say explosive. As if to stir it all up even further, just before I took over we rejected the attempt by Luxembourg and its prime minister Jean-Claude Juncker to get a budget compromise. Jean-Claude was someone steeped in EU Councils, having been a finance minister since the 1980s. Although a small country, Luxembourg was a founding member state, and Jean-Claude was very well respected as an experienced and wise Council member. He had worked hard to put an agreement together, and had been sensitive to the British issue on the rebate. But I felt I couldn’t pull the thing off. It was just the wrong side of the line. He was bitterly and justifiably disappointed. I was the party-pooper and he would have been quite within his rights to consider me a real pain in the neck.

I had two problems over the rebate, both significant for how our relationship with Europe under my leadership could develop. The first was the near-hysterical – sorry, correct that – truly hysterical behaviour of the Eurosceptic media. Papers with a combined daily circulation of around eight million – a situation unique in Europe in terms of pervasion – were totally, wildly and irredeemably hostile to Europe, misrepresented what Europe was doing and generally regarded it as a zero-sum game: anything that pleased Brussels was bad for Britain. The Murdoch papers were especially virulent. Much of the media had become like that under Mrs Thatcher, and in time I came to see the sentiment she engendered as the single worst legacy that she bequeathed Britain (though on the whole she was undoubtedly a great prime minister).

The myth developed and abounds today that she was always like this. She wasn’t. In 1979 and 1983 particularly, she had been the pro-Europe candidate for prime minister. At the time the
Mail
was in favour, as was the
Telegraph
. But when Mrs Thatcher turned sceptic, she infected her media supporters and by 2005 it had become a leitmotif of a large part of British journalism.

In general terms, for me, Europe was a simple issue. It was to do with the modern world. I supported the Europe ideal, but even if I hadn’t, it was utterly straightforward: in a world of new emerging powers, Britain needed Europe in order to exert influence and advance its interests. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t a psychiatric issue. It was a practical question of realpolitik.

I regarded anti-European feeling as hopelessly, absurdly out of date and unrealistic. It was also the product of a dangerous insularity, a myopia about the world that I thought affected adversely the whole psychology of the country. It was a kind of post-empire delusion.

It was bolstered over a time when the American right – who rather despised European feebleness on foreign policy (and the Brussels bureaucracy was of course a byword) – got together with the British right and constructed an argument that was a plaything for the US but a dangerous cul-de-sac for the British. This was the idea that somehow we should remain close allies of the US in contradistinction to being key partners in the EU.

Of course, this was a delusion as well. The US was so much more powerful in terms of economics and politics than the UK that such a dependence suited them but not us. It was also absolutely apparent to me that if we had reach in Europe, we were treated more seriously in Washington.