22 October 2015
Sic Transit George
by J.R.Thomas
According to ancient legend, victorious Roman generals, whilst enjoying the triumphal procession through Rome to which they were entitled on their return from the battlefield, were accompanied by a slave who whispered constantly in the ear of the acclaimed one “Sic transit gloria, sic transit gloria” (all things will decay). Another version is that it was “momento mori” (remember you will die) but let us not be too gloomy. Only thus could the conquering hero remember the humility appropriate to one whom the Gods had favoured.
After the surprise Conservative victory in the general election of 7th May, there was no indication that Mr Cameron needed any deflationary remarks whispered in his ear. He knew that he had had a damn near-run victory, one that he had not expected, and that the shock (and awe) at the result expressed by many politicians and commentators rather obscured the narrowness of the Tory margin. With the economy still in recovery and a dangerous referendum coming up, Dave knew that life was not going to be easy, and that he would need to maintain his popularity in the party and with the voters.
Then, completely unexpectedly, the Tory army scored a second victory, without even taking to the field of battle. The Labour Party elected Mr Corbyn as its leader – and not just Mr Corbyn, but a whole slate of left wingers to key party positions. This, nobody in politics had anticipated. From a narrow victory in 2015, it began to look as though the Conservatives were almost guaranteed a major win in 2020.
Mr Cameron, who is a naturally cautious man not given to sticking his neck out where such action can be avoided, remains aware that politics is not a predictable craft and that the wise politician always expects the unexpected. Apart from a slight exultation after Mr Corbyn’s selection, he has been judicious in his approach to the re-ordered political battlefield.
But one does begin to wonder if he might be well advised to introduce one of those gloomy Roman slaves into Mr Osborne’s chariot. George maybe cannot quite help himself, but there is no doubt that the Chancellor is feeling rather triumphalist. After those terrible days of 2012 and the Cornish pasty tax, everything has slowly recovered. It is the recovery of the economy that matters most of course, with Britain doing much better than the rest of Europe in this regard, though that is not quite so impressive as the Chancellor might like us to think. But George’s personal and political stock has also risen remarkably. Three years ago he looked stressed and tubby and seemed isolated from the mainstream of the party; close to the Prime Minister it is true, but seen as a man operating almost beyond his natural abilities. But Mr Osborne, probably much more than the Premier, is an ambitious man, and he has gripped himself and reinvented the Osborne brand. He is now fit and trim, the haircut is that of a Roman senator, his bearing is confident, his speeches more crafted and delivered with passion and polish.
On the erosion of tax credits George has done his sums very carefully. This is a key battle to win if he is to continue to pummel the economy into shape. He knows that all the bad stuff which will eventually deliver the good, needs to be done in the first year of office. But what he has forgotten is that this is removing income from people who live at the edge. Among the new intake of Conservative MP’s, and especially those in the marginal constituencies, there is an uncomfortable awareness that this is the very sort of Tory rich man’s politics which plays so badly with working people.
The Chancellor is running a major charm offensive in the parliamentary party, with No 11’s door opening for invitations to lunches and dinner and even one-on-one chats; the smiling Chancellor is suddenly every Tory backbencher’s friend. But what he seems to have overlooked is the need to listen, to probe into what MP’s think is troubling the voters. A man of greater humility might have trimmed his sails before hurricane Heidi Allen blew so violently on Tuesday afternoon.
There is a big prize in the Chancellor’s ambitious gaze, and it is the keys to next door. The Prime Minister will go by the time of the next election, extraordinary events not withstanding, and he would like to hand over to the man who has been a loyal and hardworking chief of staff. The other candidates so far are not making much headway; Mrs May is a bit too stern even for the right, and Boris, in spite of a very successful speech to the party conference, has not yet found much support amongst Tory backbenchers. Indeed, George’s enthusiasm for entertaining his fellow members is certainly aimed at combatting Johnsonian eccentricity with Osbornian slightly menacing charm.
It is not impossible that Mr Cameron might go earlier than expected, especially if the European referendum results in an “Out” vote. Like those families in the English Civil War who hedged their bets by fathers declaring for Roundheads and eldest son for Cavaliers, it is possible Mr Osborne will opt weakly for “Out”; a minor embarrassment for his friend and neighbour, but one that allows the Chancellor to move next door if Mr Cameron’s referendum gamble fails. To depart quietly would be a generous leaving gift; one that would keep the Conservative Party in power and probably united; no danger of sudden elections and an Outist Mr Corbyn riding a popular tidal wave to the ultimate beach.
But George needs to beware. The keys are not yet his, and even when they are, there will be an election to win. There can be an air of self-satisfaction about him; a superior grin that slips onto his lips when he forgets to manage them tightly enough. Life is going well now, but for a long time George was rather sneered at as a bag carrier, a second rater, the guy on the outer edge of the inner circle, the one that didn’t go to Eton. Now he has finally risen to top of school, friend of the headmaster, and an air of “told you so” does from time to time creep over him.
And that is very dangerous. He is not a naturally popular man. He lacks, one might say, the common touch, which comes reasonably easily to Dave, and did, in their vastly different ways, to Harold MacMillan and Margaret Thatcher. Blair had it, for a while anyway: Brown didn’t. The great British public are not hugely keen on swots, especially ones prone to showing off. Whatever Mr Corbyn’s politics, the sight of a bike-riding leader of a political party, spending weekends on his allotment, dressed for comfort and not by Savile Row, goes down well. Voters can relate to a man who at least seems to look and behave like them. Running Prime Minister’s Questions as a sort of “phone-in to Jeremy” may cause hoots of superior laughter on the Tory benches, but it has gone down rather well with the voter in the street.
A little more time in front of the mirror composing sympathetic faces might be time well spent for George; more listening to voters and addressing their worries; a donkey jacket and jeans perhaps for those increasingly frequent visits to the Northern Powerhouse; and, if all else fails, a civil servant in the back of the ministerial limo whispering “Don’t blow it now George, it’s all to play for”.
