Speaking for Myself (40 page)

“I’ve managed to accommodate Mr. Bush’s doctor,” she said. “I’ve put him in my room.”

“What doctor?” I asked.

“Dr. Rice.”

“Dr. Rice?” And then the penny dropped. Condi, as she is always known, had conned Linda into thinking the President needed to have his medical doctor close at hand.

Like us, the Bushes are very family oriented. Laura was an only child brought up by her mother, and she married into this big family, with everyone having loads of children. But she and George have only two children, twin daughters, one named for her mother and the other for his: Jenna and Barbara. That evening at Chequers was very much a family affair, and in addition to our children, James Dove, Euan’s friend from the Oratory, was there. He had always been interested in politics, and perhaps because he was present, the conversation was more wide-ranging than it might have been if it had just been us. Certainly I can’t see Tony or me raising the question of capital punishment, but that’s exactly what one of the kids did. So there we were, discussing the death penalty: in one corner, an American President who believed in it; in the other, a human rights lawyer who very definitely did not. I stated my view, saying that the death penalty is inherently wrong and that if you make a mistake, you can’t put it right.

“Well, that’s not the way it is in America,” George said. “We take the eye-for-an-eye view.”

But it was completely and utterly good-hearted. The way George handled those kids and their questions, I thought,
All credit to him.
And I know that both James and Euan were pleasantly surprised that he could string an argument together and didn’t turn into some sort of raging bigot. I often say that I must be the only person on the left that George Bush gets to socialize with. But no one can say — at least not me — that he doesn’t have a sense of humor.

One of the last things Bill Clinton did when he stepped down from office was to sign the Rome Treaty, which set up the International Criminal Court (ICC). After the Balkans War and the Rwanda genocide, the UN had decided to set up the International Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia and the International Tribunal for Rwanda. The success of these tribunals had led to the establishment of the ICC as a permanent court based in The Hague. The ICC would try people charged with crimes against humanity and genocide either when their own country had no infrastructure or when the country asked the international community to conduct the trial.

In recent years America has signed very few international charters, a pattern described as “American Exceptionalism.” This is essentially an attitude of moral superiority, a belief that America is qualitatively different from other nations and so does not need to buy into international treaties. An example is the International Covenant on the Rights of the Child (CRC). This charter has been signed by every country in the world but two: Somalia, which has barely got a government, and the United States. One of the reasons America didn’t sign the CRC was that, at the time, it was still executing juveniles. The Supreme Court has subsequently abolished this horror, but whoever the President is, it will be difficult for him or her to get Congress to change its attitude. Once a country has signed a treaty, it then has to ratify it. In the United States, this needs to be done with the approval of the Senate, and the Senate, it should be noted, is full of people who don’t have passports. So when Clinton signed the Rome Treaty, he knew it wouldn’t be ratified. It was simply his way of singeing Congress’s beard.

Once an international treaty is signed, a minimum number of countries must ratify it before it comes into force. By 2002 it was becoming clear that the Rome Treaty would soon reach the magic number of countries. In addition to its other provisions, it was the first international treaty to require a minimum number of women judges. I had become involved in the campaign to make sure enough women were nominated to exceed the minimum figure. As very few international courts have women at all, this became a pet project of mine.

Everyone in the international legal community was resigned to the fact that the United States would not ratify the treaty and would thus be unable to nominate any judges. But then came rumors of something worse. George Bush, it was said, was going to formally unsign the treaty — that is, take America’s signature off. One of Tony’s advisers suggested that he approach George directly, on a personal level, saying, “This is just silly. Nothing is going to change. It just gives the wrong message to the international community; it makes them think you simply don’t care.”

I agreed. “You must raise it, Tony,” I said, over and over, until the opportunity came for me to take matters into my own hands.

George and Laura had invited us to visit them after Easter 2002 at their ranch in Crawford, Texas. As Euan and Nicholas were both busy with schoolwork, I decided to take Kathryn and Leo on a trip to Disney World while Tony stayed with the boys in England and met me later in Texas. After four days of full-on fun, we spent Easter with an old friend of mine from the LSE who had a holiday home in Florida. While Jackie stayed in the Sunshine State with the children, I set off for a breast cancer charity event in Dallas, which I was doing jointly with Laura.

Laura is a very warm, genuine person whom I liked the moment I met, and I immediately felt completely comfortable talking with her. It was clear that we had common ground; like me, she is interested in other women and women’s issues generally. When we met, we would talk about our families and about literature, because we share a love of books. We had more of a “female friends” sort of relationship than I had with Hillary. My conversations with Hillary focused more on ideas, and of course we had our politics in common. To a degree, when I first met her, I was a little in awe. As Bill’s wife, she had already been the First Lady for a number of years and was experienced in the job. But when Laura and I met, we were on a much more equal footing and have remained so. Our children, too, are more of an age.

Laura trained as a teacher, and in an exchange between colleges, she did part of her training in Oxfordshire, so she is surprisingly well-informed about life in England. I knew that Laura was involved in a breast cancer charity, but it was the American ambassador to Hungary who had suggested this joint event when she’d heard I was going to Texas. It was my first experience of the sheer professionalism of American fund-raising, and it was extraordinary: people paid at different levels to get different levels of access. At the reception Laura and I stood beside each other as people made their way along the line.
Just like one of my Downing Street receptions,
I decided, and I began chatting to those at the head of the queue. Immediately I heard a voice in my ear: “Mrs. Blair, you’re to stop talking to these people. Just stand here, shake their hands, and let the photographer take the picture. That’s all they’ve paid for. We’ve two hundred and twenty people to get through, so please understand. All they want is their picture with you and the First Lady. Please don’t talk to them. That’s not the point.” So that’s exactly what we did. It was a conveyor belt.

Then came dinner. Just about everyone was a Republican, and these were
Texas
Republicans. I found myself in a nearly intolerable situation. These women would start by saying how lovely Laura was, and I would concur, and then they’d start comparing her to “that terrible Clinton woman,” going on and on about Hillary in the most disparaging way. I couldn’t believe anyone could be so rude. I didn’t say anything. There was absolutely no point, and I didn’t want to make a scene, but I had to keep reminding myself that half the proceeds of that night were going to Breast Cancer Care. As I watched Laura being her usual charming self, I saw her in an entirely new light: she lived in a different world.

It was a big honor to be invited to Crawford. This was the Bushes’ private home. I traveled from Dallas by car, but it soon became clear that most of those in the Bush circle — rich oil people — hopped around by helicopter. The road was like one you might see in an American movie about the West, just miles and miles of emptiness. Eventually we came to Crawford, the “town,” where there’s a café, a gas pump, and little else. The members of the press who had come out with Tony were furious because there was nowhere decent to stay. I remember thinking on the long drive out,
If I were the American President and could live anywhere, I don’t think this is the place I would choose.
The house, however, was delightful: clean lines and modern, with paintings everywhere and no clutter; a really warm place.

Just before meeting for lunch on our last day, I had one final go at Tony: “Have you mentioned the thing about the International Criminal Court?”

“Don’t fuss, woman. I’ve got important things to do.”

Well, so had I.

As usual I was sitting next to George at lunch. “Look, George,” I began, “I just wanted to talk to you about the International Criminal Court. People are saying that you’re going to unsign. While everybody understands that the Senate is not going to ratify the treaty, do you really want to stick two fingers up to the international community? I know Clinton put you in this position, but it’s not going to affect anyone in America, so why not leave it as it is? Then at least you’ll seem to be part of it. But particularly now, when you’ve got all this goodwill from the international community, why rock the boat?”

George looked over at Condi, who was never far away, and beckoned her over.

“Condi,” he said, “remind me to get you to tell me something about this.”

Tony was sitting at another table with Laura and heard nothing.

As we said our good-byes, George put his hand on Tony’s arm and said, “Tell you what, Tony. That wife of yours, she’s very persistent on this international court thing.”

Tony’s smile faded as he hurried me toward the car. “Cherie, what can you have been thinking of?”

Just as the car was about to pull away, George came running out after us, and the driver wound down the window.

“And now,” he said, “I understand why Clinton signed that bloody thing in the first place! It’s all your fault, Cherie!” It wasn’t true, of course. I had never raised it with Bill, but we all laughed, and he took it in good spirit.

Sadly, my little intervention made no difference. In the end the President did unsign it. But I think it’s also the nature of the man that he didn’t take my comments as a personal insult. It was my point of view; it just happened not to be the view of his adviser.

As for the campaign to get more women judges, we were very successful. In fact, we exceeded the quota.

Chapter 27

Collision Course

T
he Queen Mother died while Kathryn, Leo, and I were in Florida. We were back in Downing Street on April 8, and Kathryn and I walked to Westminster Abbey to the lying in state to pay our respects. The Queen Mum was always at Balmoral when we went there, and even in her late nineties, she was a formidable woman; there was a lot of steel in her. After Leo was born, I would take him with me, and that first year, when I asked the Queen if I could introduce him to her mother, she was more than happy. To my astonishment she said, “Mummy would allow Leo to have a picture taken with her.” So we have a photograph of a queen born in 1900 holding a baby born in 2000.

The year 2002 must have been a difficult one for Queen Elizabeth. Those great celebrations — fifty years on the throne — and yet only weeks before the razzmatazz began, she lost both her mother and her sister, who had died in February.

The Queen Mother’s funeral had been planned for years and was very different from Diana’s. But inevitably, sitting there in the same seat, in the same coat, brought back memories. By chance the following day also focused on the past, when we gave a reception for former Prime Minister Jim Callaghan’s ninetieth birthday. All the key figures of my political youth were assembled, though one important person was missing: Jim’s wife, Audrey, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s. The way Jim talked about her in his speech was so touching. Sadly, she died shortly afterward, and Jim died just ten days later. They had been partners for so long that he simply didn’t want to carry on without her.

At the end of the month, Number 10 saw another similarly nostalgic celebration when Tony hosted a Golden Jubilee dinner for all the Queen’s former Prime Ministers. Inviting those who were still with us was easy enough, but we also needed to involve representatives of those who had passed on: their widows or other family members. I hadn’t realized how delicate this would be. To represent Alec Douglas-Home, a Conservative Prime Minister in the early 1960s, we invited his eldest son. Then a message came through from other members of the family who thought they should have been invited. The seating plan was also problematic, the key question being which Prime Minister should sit next to the Queen, and then who would flank Prince Philip. No way was Edward Heath about to sit next to Margaret Thatcher, who had ousted him as leader of the Conservative Party, and I imagined John Major had little desire to be near her either.

In the end Heath sat next to the Queen. (Although Jim Callaghan was fractionally older, Heath had been Prime Minister before him.) Tony was on her other side, as host. Margaret Thatcher was placed next to Prince Philip, and I was his other bookend.

By this time the redecoration of the state rooms at Number 10 was finished. This redecoration is done on a ten-year cycle, and a social anthropologist would no doubt have fun looking back through the various colors. What in Mrs. Thatcher’s time was the Blue Room, the Majors had turned into the Green Room. It was now a rich terra-cotta, which the committee had been advised was “period appropriate.” The design adviser wanted to remove the gilding that Mrs. Thatcher had put in, but this had been so expensive and so elaborately done, it would have cost a fortune to remove. Norma Major took one look at the new color and said she really liked it. Mrs. Thatcher was not so impressed.

“This is disgusting,” she said.

Another room that displeased her was her former study on the first floor, which hadn’t been involved in the recent refurbishment. “What have you done to my lovely room?” she barked. “It is just appalling.” In this case she was right. It had been horribly brutalized in the intervening years, and I was determined to do something about it.