‘Sometimes the Only Way You Conquer the Pull of Power is to Set It Down’
By James Kirkup
IN TRIMDON Labour Club, they tell a story about the day a quarter- century ago when they chose a bright young man up from London as their candidate for the coming general election.
The choice made, two retired pitmen sipped their pints. “He’ll go far, that lad,” said one. The other replied: “Aye. But he’ll need watching, mind.”
Over the years, Tony Blair’s local Labour members in Sedgefield have tried to keep that watch, part protective, part cautionary. And yesterday, they watched one last time as he finally announced the time and manner of his departure.
The spin, the doubt, the back-biting and the rivalry are over, replaced by one certainty. On Wednesday, 27 June, Tony Blair will cease to be Prime Minister. All that remains to be decided is how we remember him.
“I did what I thought was right,” he said yesterday. “I did what I thought was right for our country.”
Of course, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and Mr Blair knows the way better than most. His previous declarations of self-belief have been defiant, almost angry, challenging those who questioned him.
This was different. Much of the speech was soft, conciliatory. At times, it verged on a plea for understanding from a man who has so often claimed he needs no such validation from others. Far from the “messianic zeal” others often see in him, he admitted to fear and doubt. “Decision-making is hard. It means doing what you genuinely believe to be right. Sometimes, you are left alone with your own instincts.”
On the TV screen, his face caked with foundation, it may have looked like the usual theatrics. Mr Blair, after all, is the consummate professional performer, easily the best of his political generation.
But in the flesh, it was clear this was not easy, even for our greatest pretender. If he was affecting the catch in his voice and the tear in his eye, his showmanship is more than human.
It was too much for Cherie Blair, watching a few feet away: there was no disguising her tears and she was far from alone. Half a dozen women wept as their MP’s 20-minute speech ended.
However, even at the end of his era, Mr Blair’s Labour machine remains utterly focused on presentation. Yesterday, no effort was spared to evoke the joyous optimism of that first election victory in May 1997.
Warming up the audience with the usual soft-pop, they even played Things Can Only Get Better. In a sink in the ladies’ toilet, ten red roses waited, the traditional surprise for Mrs Blair. And diligent volunteers handed out adoring placards, all the same size, all with remarkably similar hand-written letters: ‘We love Tony’; ‘Thank you’; and ‘Things have only got better’.
Inevitably, Mr Blair has been on a bumpy road ever since that first election victory, and yesterday he accepted he could never repay the faith put in him and his government.
“Great expectations – not fulfilled at every point,” he said. “The expectations were too high. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. They say politics is the art of the possible, but in life you should give the impossible a go.”
However, when it came to hard examples of their Prime Minister trusting his gut and shooting for the Moon, even the faithful were far from comfortable. Iraq remains the rawest of nerves.
Removing Saddam and his sons was over quickly, “but the blowback has been fierce and unrelenting and costly”. Some believe that cost is too high. “We must see it through,” Mr Blair said. “It is a test of will and belief and we cannot fail it.”
No apology for the war, then, and nor will there ever be. Yet there were concessions. Tacitly, he accepted the office had become its own end, that maybe he had stayed too long: “Sometimes the only way you conquer the pull of power is to set it down.”
And then the peroration, a note of humility hidden among overblown emotion. “I’ve been very lucky and very blessed. This is the greatest nation on Earth,” he said.
“I give my thanks to the British people, for the times when I’ve succeeded, and my apologies for the times I’ve fallen short.”
“He’s something special,” gasped Maureen, a 50-something woman in tears. But outside, as the Blairs meandered along a line-up of handshakes, kisses and autographs, the adoration could not obscure the blaring of an air horn. It was sounded by protesters – four from Sedgefield Against War, two from Brighton – wearing orange boiler suits like those worn by a relative held in the US detention camp at Guantanamo Bay.
“How nice to see you go,” yelled Abubaker Deghayes through a megaphone, before the police closed in to “monitor” the demonstration. “Monitoring” that apparently required a dozen officers and a police dog.
Not that Iraq is the only cause for discontent, or that Sedgefield needs to import Blair critics. In the Black Bull pub, Mike Rochford is “delighted” to see the back of Mr Blair. Of course, the 75-year-old is unhappy “our young men are dying in Iraq” but his real concerns are local, crime and yobbery especially. “The only time you see a policeman is when he’s up,” he said.
“He should have gone a long time ago,” said Ian Chandler, a taxi driver who “used to vote for him, but not any more”. Did Iraq change his mind? “Not really. Just everything, I suppose. Over time, it just builds up.”
And no-one, not even Mr Blair’s old friends in Trimdon, can now deny that burden of events and experience.
“We’ll never have anybody like him again. In two or three years time, the country is going to realise what a good Prime Minister he’s been,” said Michael Elliot, a Labour member for 20 year who took time off work to attend the speech.
Shouldn’t he stay on then? “No. It’s been long enough now, even for him. It’s time to go.”
(c) 2007 Scotsman, The. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning. All rights Reserved.