Huhne and Cry

It was all going so well. A leadership election which I, for one, feared could enter the Olympics in the long-distance tedium category was actually proving a credit to our party. We were seeing two true Liberals reminding us of the core beliefs which we share; they were ably showing the world how different we are from what Ming, in one of his last good acts as leader, dubbed the cosy consensus. And I was still honestly undecided about whom I would support. All that ended today.

I doubt any of us are so naïve as to imagine that either camp in this election is above a spot of off-the-record briefing and less-than-flattering commentary on their opponent. In fact, if either camp wasn’t capable of it, I wouldn’t want them on the ballot paper: sending a guileless leader into a room with the other parties would be like asking the lamb to sit down with lions who’ve forgotten the Bible’s punch line and are feeling a bit peckish around teatime. All along, it has seemed that Huhne’s campaign has been less adept at this skill than Clegg’s – since his launch, his coded comments have been the more noticeable. That, indeed, might be forgivable from the man the media sees as ‘the other candidate’, the one who has to play catch-up. But there is a line somewhere, faintly drawn but definitely present, and it’s been crossed.

So, the Huhne team produced a briefing document on Clegg’s apparent flaws and gave it a florid title. I don’t have a problem with that, if they are competent enough to keep it to themselves. But either they showed it to the press or they couldn’t stop it getting to them. Either way, if Hogwarts ran a course in the dark arts of politics, Huhne clearly would be enrolled – and would prove to be no Hermione. On The World this Weekend – where, incidentally, Steve Goddard, future MP for Oxford East, gave an excellent interview – Chris Huhne just made it worse: he apologised for the title of the document, but not for its substance. If you are going to play bare-knuckle, you don’t say ‘sorry’ as you do it. If, on the other hand, you want to be Mr Nice, you’d play contrite. Encore: nul points.

Of course, there’s another level of irony. The implication of Huhne’s own version of a dodgy dossier is that a politician can’t change his mind or develop in his views. One wonders where that would leave the contributors of The Orange Book who later wanted to distance themselves from its ‘economic liberal’ extremes. If you are going to accuse your opponent of ‘flip-flops’, you better make pretty sure you aren’t open to the same allegation.

I had suspected that this election would be more about presentation and personality than about fighting for the policy heart of the party. In debates like that on Question Time, that has been the case. On that programme, when the final question came about ‘what is your opponent’s best quality?’, I was hoping that one of them would have the humour and the chutzpah to begin their answer: ‘he’s a good loser – and, if you don’t believe me, test it.’ Sadly, that clearly can’t be said of one of the candidates. Mr Huhne is proving himself a bad loser even before the votes are cast.

The Dark Arts: second in an occasional series

I said before that I might blog again on tricks I haven't learn. I realised I should when I recalled just the other day a story I had heard about an act of legerdemain in the Labour party, long before Mandelson or Alistair Campbell were on the scene.

The way I heard it is this: the local party was having one of its constituency meetings at which a member called to see the constitution. It wasn't available. At the next meeting, also, it still wasn't available. At first, the comrades imagined their secretary was simply forgetful - he was not regarded highly, I hear, for his intellect; after a few occasions, they imagined he was being truculent. Which meant the demands for a copy of the constitution were all the more insistent.

Eventually, victory. The red-letter day came, or rather red-constitution day: the secretary came to the executive with copies of the notorious constitution, printed on paper of the party's (then) hue. He warned members sternly that the constitution should not be circulated more widely. Which meant that more than one rushed away to photocopy the sheets -- only to find that black type on red paper doesn't show up on a photocopy. The simple secretary had outwitted them.

Not one we in our party could emulate, of course. But what I can say is that I know that 'simple secretary' has proven a longer player in politics than the people who opposed him.

The Dark Arts: a tutorial

I'm a novice at the game of politics, I really am. Over the years, I've tried to appreciate the subtle techniques deployed by seasoned maestri (of all parties), but I still couldn't pass Grade One. I realise there are ruses and legerdemains which help your path of action, or hinder your opponent's. But I'll be damned if I can remember them...

This comes to mind because there is a local issue creating some heat at the moment. I won't give details, for the sake of the cosmopolitan audience of this blog. But let's just say that a course of action, envisaged in this year's budget and supported, at that stage, by all parties on the Council, has now become contentious. I might have been given verbal assurances of support, but they don't count when a local member eyes a chance at re-election.

And so, I and the local member (more wizened than wise) sit in a public meeting to discuss the issue. At one point, he says something like: 'I asked for this information a month ago and still haven't got it. I think it's shocking that I and local people haven't been given the information.' The officer next to me muttered that he had only asked last week; I pointed out that last week was actually last month. As it happens, checking the e-mail trail, the first I knew about his request for information was when I saw his message of 1st August (when the relevant officers were on leave), but let's assume he'd meant to send it the day before. So he uses 'a month ago' in the sense of 'last month' (which could, of course, be last week). What a neat line that is: to create a sense of ages waiting, when the request had only gone in as the wheels of the band-wagon began to roll.

I doubt I could ever be so skilled. Then again, I doubt I would ever want to be.