Most Britons view Blair's triumph over the BBC, which the Hutton report presented to him on a golden platter, as an undeserved gift.
Some triumphs are so unlikely that the public simply refuses to acknowledge them. This is one of them. At one moment, Prime Minister Tony Blair and his New Labour project seem to have hit political rock bottom, to have sunken to the bottom of the Thames, while Conservatives and party rebels are busy handing out freshly printed copies of his obituary. A moment later he turns to face the spotlight, smiles and bows to a round of applause.
This is the current state of politics on the island. Not visionary, but certainly spectacular. However, it is also a scenario that is being played to a public that has had its fill of circus acts.
But what a magician's trick, at least for the time being!
In the middle of last week, Lord Hutton presented the public with the astonishing conclusions of his tough and expensive investigation into the suicide of weapons expert David Kelly. According to Hutton's report, the Blair administration's behavior has been consistently above-board, while that of the BBC, which has been critical of the government, has been quite the opposite. The Prime Minister could not have hoped for a better outcome, not even in a dreamy, nighttime conversation with his form spin doctor, Alastair Campbell: the BBC, a highly critical opponent, on its knees, and his political opponents in the lower house of Parliament forced into a heavily defensive position.
But even as the Prime Minister, with a tone of relieved outrage and a great deal of enthusiasm, demanded an apology from the opposition in the House of Commons — while Alastair Campbell demanded scalps and more scalps — the public reacted with complete astonishment. What had just happened?
Hadn't Lord Hutton's investigation been raising questions for months about government reports with which, in the words of Labour dissident Clare Short, "Britain was tricked into the war under false pretenses?" If there was anyone who should have apologized, shouldn't it have been Blair and Campbell, the man who did Blair's dirty work, and shouldn't they have apologized to the Parliament and to the British public?
In the end, the ominous Iraq dossiers about Saddam Hussein's alleged weapons of mass destruction contained nothing but a string of inane statements, false claims about uranium shipments, language culled from an academic thesis written by an Iraqi exile and containing twelve-year-old information and, most of all, dramatic untruths such as the claim that Iraq could launch weapons of mass destruction within 45 minutes.
It was nothing but an essay composed of assumptions and ridiculous claims, exaggerated at the request of Alastair Campbell, a former tabloid journalist who is familiar with the business of exaggeration and, therefore, wanted the intelligence reports purged of such indecisive words as "perhaps" or "could."
And what was Lord Hutton's conclusion? It was, simply, that the government had not inappropriately "sexed up" its meager information about the threat posed by Saddam.
According to the Hutton report's analysis, however, this is precisely what had been claimed in BBC reporter Andrew Gilligan's live radio report, which was based on information supplied by Kelly, who had until then been an anonymous source.
At 6:07 a.m. during the broadcast in question, Gilligan, speaking without a manuscript, casually remarked that the government probably even knew that the claim made by intelligence experts that Saddam could deploy weapons of mass destruction within 45 minutes was false, but that it used this statement nonetheless.
Gilligan was unable to prove the latter statement. And Lord Hutton? This time, he opted for the worst. The very worst. He found that, because of a lapse in judgment during this single radio broadcast, the BBC, the globally acknowledged flagship of critical reporting and producer of brilliant documentaries, a broadcaster in existence since 1927 and with a current staff numbering 27,140, is corrupt from head to foot and can only be saved through fundamental reform. First, however, Hutton demanded that it fall to its knees and offer its apologies.
Smiling derisively, detective novel author John Le Carré, who watched Hutton present his report on television, says: "This is the most important decision since the acquittal of O.J. Simpson." A scandal, in other words.
Le Carré, once a fervent admirer of the young modernizer Blair but now one of his sharpest critics, is not alone. About 56 percent of Britons surveyed believed that Lord Hutton had been too strict with the BBC, and too lax with the administration.
This is what is so astonishing about this victory for Blair: It dissolved into thin air within a few hours. What's more, it soon came to be viewed as an undeserved gift, nothing but spin, a political Houdini act. According to a survey conducted by The Guardian, three times as many Britons trust the BBC as the government. Who should resign? Blair, and not the director general of the BBC, Greg Dyke.
No one who has come to this point can hope to gain any further political currency, and certainly cannot expect the support of the press. This time, the press was of one opinion, regardless of political persuasion or class of reader. Hutton's report was "far too supportive of the government" (Financial Times), "perversely one-sided" (The Independent), "pompous" (Daily Mail), and "rinses Blair whiter than white" (Times).
The journalists found the behavior of their former colleague, Alastair Campbell, to be particularly insolent. Campbell, wearing a muted suit, hurried to the microphones, presented a statesmanlike face seemingly filled with concern, demanded apologies and resignations, and had to restrain himself from victoriously waving his fist in the air.
Campbell himself had become a liability for Blair after his indelicate diary entries about the guerilla tactics he employed in dealing with political opponents became public, especially those that showed a willingness to sacrifice Kelly's anonymity. "If it becomes known that he is his source, Gilligan will be screwed." And: "The biggest thing now was that we reveal the source."
It was this Campbell, of all people, who was exculpated by a Lord Hutton so impressively reading his report over the tips of his reading glasses. And now this Campbell was standing there and sanctimoniously prating about the decline in journalistic standards and the honorableness of politics in general and of his own politics in particular, but not without saying a few pious words about the suffering of the Kelly family.
It was certainly understandable that these same Kellys showed nothing but revulsion for Campbell's words, and it soon became apparent that they had urged Lord Hutton to take a closer look at this Campbell in his report.
It was also understandable that Campbell's colleagues were more than ready to serve up this media war-horse's journalistic record of previous offences, the offences of a man who manipulated the flow of information between Downing Street and editorial offices, who encouraged compliant journalists while locking out those who were more critical.
At first, Campbell got exactly what he wanted: scalps from the broadcaster that had been so insubordinate. Gavyn Davies, the chairman of the BBC, resigned. The next day the popular Greg Dyke followed suit.
For Blair, the Hutton Report initially produced results that even Maggie Thatcher could only have imagined in her wildest dreams. He had eliminated the senior management of a broadcaster that has been highly critical of his government, had forced it to its knees and to issue an "unconditional apology."
However, even Blair, the master of the comeback and a man accustomed to success, could not have failed to notice the strange dynamic of these days, a dynamic in which his triumph reversed itself and ultimately became a liability.
As a result, Blair hurried to bring the matter to a close, to guarantee the "independence of the BBC" and think about why, in spite of his victories, his approval rating had dropped to a miserable 38 percent.
In the interim, the country's leading journalists had barely taken time away from their favorite pastime — thinking about the post-Blair era — especially in the wake of this week of dubious victories.
In their collection estimation, Blair would have lost his job over the issue of tuition fee increases if it had not been for the last-minute intervention of Chancellor of the Exchequer Gordon Brown — in a casual demonstration of his power.
Gordon Brown seemed unusually distracted on the green bench when Blair issued his triumphant statement on the Hutton report in the House of Commons. When Blair rose to his first rhetorical high point — "may those who accused me of lying now offer their apologies" — Brown began to morosely dig into the pockets of his suit jacket. What was he looking for? His car keys?
Or perhaps he was looking for that piece of paper the New Labour mythologists claim exists, the pact they say the two strategists concluded in 1994 at Granita, a bar in London, long before their first victory at the polls, and in which Blair managed to gain Brown's support by promising to transfer power to him when the time came.
John Le Carré, whose latest thriller is called True Friends and, of course, is about betrayal, is convinced that this time is near: "Blair will not last more than six months."
Translated from the original by Christopher Sultan.
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