British Foreign Secretaries Since 1974

BRITISH FOREIGN SECRETARIES SINCE 1974 BRITISH FOREIGN AND COLONIAL POLICY Series Editor: Peter Catterall ISSN: 1467-...

Author: Kevin Theakston

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BRITISH FOREIGN SECRETARIES SINCE 1974

BRITISH FOREIGN AND COLONIAL POLICY Series Editor: Peter Catterall ISSN: 1467-5013

This series provides insights into both the background influences on and the course of policy-making towards Britain’s extensive overseas interests during the past 200 years. Whitehall and the Suez Crisis, Saul Kelly and Anthony Gorst (eds) Liberals, International Relations and Appeasement: The Liberal Party, 1919–1939, Richard S. Grayson British Government Policy and Decolonisation, 1945–1963: Scrutinising the Official Mind, Frank Heinlein Harold Wilson and European Integration: Britain’s Second Application to Join the EEC, edited by Oliver Daddow Britain, Israel and the United States, 1955–1958: Beyond Suez, Orna Almog The British Political Elite and the Soviet Union, 1937–1939, Louise Grace Shaw Britain, Nasser and the Balance of Power in the Middle East, 1952–1967: From the Egyptian Revolution to the Six Day War, Robert McNamara British Foreign Secretaries since 1974, edited by Kevin Theakston

British Foreign Secretaries since 1974

Edited by

Kevin Theakston University of Leeds

First published in 2004 by Routledge, an imprint of Taylor & Francis 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. © 2004 In the collection, Routledge; individual chapters, the contributors All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. The publisher makes no representation, express or implied, with regard to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and cannot accept any legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions that may be made. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data British foreign secretaries since 1974. – (Cass series. British foreign and colonial policy) 1. Great Britain. Foreign and Commonwealth Office 2. Foreign ministers – Great Britain – Biography 3. Great Britain – Foreign relations – 1964–1979 4. Great Britain – Foreign relations – 1979–1997 5. Great Britain – Foreign relations – 1997– I. Theakston, Kevin, 1958– 327.4’1’00922

ISBN 0-203-31016-0 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-7146-65656-9 (Print Edition)

Contents

Notes on Contributors Series Editor’s Preface Preface List of Abbreviations 1 The Changing Role of the British Foreign Secretary Kevin Theakston 2 James Callaghan, 1974–76 David Allen 3 Anthony Crosland, 1976–77 Oliver J. Daddow 4 David Owen, 1977–79 Fergus Carr 5 Lord Carrington, 1979–82 Harry Bennett 6 Francis Pym, 1982–83 Mark Stuart 7 Geoffrey Howe, 1983–89 David Seawright 8 John Major, 1989 Damian Thwaites 9 Douglas Hurd, 1989–95 Mark Stuart 10 Malcolm Rifkind, 1995–97 Damian Thwaites 11 Robin Cook, 1997–2001 Rhiannon Vickers 12 British Foreign Secretaries from Callaghan to Cook David Hannay Index

vii viii xi xiii 1 47 67 93 117 141 157 183 195 231 247 268 277

Notes on Contributors

David Allen is Senior Lecturer in European Studies, University of Loughborough. Harry Bennett is Lecturer in History, University of Plymouth. Fergus Carr is Principal Lecturer in International Politics and head of the School of Social and Historical Studies, University of Portsmouth. Oliver J. Daddow is Lecturer in the Defence Studies Department, King’s College London, at the Joint Services Command and Staff College. David Hannay is a former UK Permanent Representative to the United Nations and Permanent Representative to the European Community, and now a member of the House of Lords (Lord Hannay of Chiswick). David Seawright is Lecturer in British Politics, University of Leeds. Mark Stuart is Associate Researcher, Centre for Legislative Studies, University of Hull. Kevin Theakston is Professor of British Government, University of Leeds. Damian Thwaites is at St Antony’s College, Oxford. Rhiannon Vickers is Lecturer in Politics, University of Sheffield.

Series Editor’s Preface

The leitmotif of Harold Macmillan’s tenure of the Foreign Office and the premiership in the 1950s and early 1960s, at least in his own mind, was the idea of interdependence. States, even including the USA, the principal target of Macmillan’s charm offensive, would benefit from cooperation (in weapons procurement, for instance) and attempting to work together to solve mutual problems. Most of all, perhaps, states had to collaborate to avert the disaster that nuclear weapons threatened a Cold War world with. Interdependence, however, does not make for a heroic foreignpolicy environment. And the constraints imposed by the Cold War – to operate through agreement with allies, especially the Americans, and within the parameters acceptable to them – continued to shape that environment well into the period covered by this volume. It was only in the 1980s, Paul Sharp has argued, that the room for manoeuvre for British diplomacy widened. Even if this is true, it is arguable that the main beneficiaries have been Prime Ministers, rather than their Foreign Secretaries. If anyone has played the Palmerston role it was Thatcher during the Falklands, or Blair over Kosovo, while their Foreign Secretaries seem to have had a more managerial part to play in the making and articulation of foreign policy. The Falklands and Kosovo, however, while important events, particularly for those directly concerned, hardly radically altered the overall direction of British foreign policy or the parameters within which it operated. Cold War or no, these have evinced considerable continuities. Foreign Secretaries have not generally been called on to articulate new visions of British interests and policy, even if they wanted to. Few, moreover, seem to have wished to. Conservative Foreign Secretaries emerge from this collection

Series Editor’s Preface

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as generally inclined to be ‘diplomats’, following their great nineteenth-century predecessor Lord Salisbury in fending off the periodic crises of international life while following broad and largely pre-set continuities. Labour Foreign Secretaries, at the rhetorical level at least, appear here to have hoped more to play the foreign-policy entrepreneur, culminating in the selective Wilsonianism of Cook and Blair. However, it is worth bearing in mind that it was the Labour government of James Callaghan that honoured the Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceaus¸escu while, as pointed out here, Geoffrey Howe went out of his way to demonstrate his sympathies with dissidents in eastern Europe. Though David Owen might have felt that he helped set Spain and Portugal on the road to membership of the European Community, it was Howe and Thatcher who set the seal on this process. They, in turn, were to call for a similar process vis-à-vis eastern Europe once circumstances permitted, though again it was not to be for many years before such hopes began to bear fruit, and under Labour. Whatever doubts Conservative ministers may have had about European federalism, the utility of Europeanisation in integrating former dictatorships, whether of the right or the left, politically and economically with the West was much less problematic. Deepening was unattractive for domestic reasons, widening correspondingly attractive for external ones. Party, in other words, may not be the key variable in determining foreign-policy choices. That, indeed, is the justification for studying the making of those choices instead primarily through the prism of personality. Foreign Secretaries after 1974 may rarely have been left by Prime Ministers to enjoy their own limelight. Carrington over Zimbabwe was arguably a rare example, but Mrs Thatcher certainly made up for her early foreign-policy reticence later on. They may not have enjoyed the degree of autonomy granted some of their predecessors. But this is not to argue that they did not have choices to make: over what to emphasise; what to leave; and how to handle the periodic problems that crossed their desks. Here personality does come into the equation. To take a very particular example, a good case is here made for the role of personality in Crosland’s handling of the Cod War. Similarly, personal chemistry will determine how successful or otherwise a Foreign Secretary is with his – Britain still awaits its first female Foreign Secretary – key international interlocutors, principal officials, Cabinet colleagues or, most crucially in Francis Pym’s case, the Prime Minister. While party dogma may shape the overall policy approach of a Labour or Conservative government, it rarely

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provides much guidance on how to handle the detail of foreignpolicy matters once a crisis breaks out in Sierra Leone or a treaty has to be negotiated over Hong Kong. Personality, in such circumstances, becomes a more important variable. It is on that basis that this book is to be valued: for the light it casts on the hitherto shadowy and understudied role of personality in international relations and, through these detailed chapters, on how ten very different personalities helped to shape the detail and the articulation of British foreign policy in the years 1974–2001. Peter Catterall Series Editor

Preface

This book originated in a symposium on British Foreign Secretaries since 1974, organised by the Centre for British Government at the University of Leeds, and held in April 2001. The aim of the symposium, and of this book, was to analyse the work of individual British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 in the context of the foreign-policy-making machinery, the changing environment of British foreign policy, and the internal and external political forces with which they had to contend. There are several high-quality studies of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and of foreign policy-making, but the unique claim of this book is to deal in detail with the changing role of the Foreign Secretary over the last 30 or so years, and to give detailed and systematic attention to the periods in office and the achievements of the individual Foreign Secretaries from both main parties who have served in that period. As is the case in an earlier book on British Foreign Secretaries from Ernest Bevin (1945–51) to Lord Home (1970–74) (Avi Shlaim, Peter Jones and Keith Sainsbury, British Foreign Secretaries since 1945, Newton Abbott, London: David & Charles, 1977), we believe that the biographical case-study approach used here – examining the careers, personalities, policies and influence of successive Foreign Secretaries – can greatly increase our knowledge and understanding of the work of government. Our seminars at the symposium on Foreign Secretaries benefited greatly from the contributions of Dr Owen Hartley and Professor Geoffrey Fry (University of Leeds) and Dr Keith Hamilton (FCO Historians Department). Dr Peter Catterall’s comments and advice on the book have also been extremely useful. We are grateful to David Hannay (Lord Hannay of Chiswick), a distinguished former UK Permanent Representative to the United

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Nations and Permanent Representative to the European Community, for agreeing to contribute a chapter of personal reflections and views on Foreign Secretaries and foreign policy-making to wrap up this book, though it should be pointed out that he would not subscribe to a number of the judgements and views delivered in these pages, which are the responsibility of the authors. The same disclaimer would apply to the members of the diplomatic service (serving and retired) and to the Foreign Secretaries interviewed during the research for this book.

Abbreviations

ABM Treaty CAP CBI CHOGM CND CPRS CSCE DEA DOPC DSS EEC EEZ EMS EMU EPC ERM EU FCO GAC GATT GCHQ GLC IEA IGC IMF ISC MBFR MEPP

Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty Common Agricultural Policy Confederation of British Industry Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament Central Policy Review Staff Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe Department of Economic Affairs Defence and Overseas Policy Committee Department for Social Security European Economic Community exclusive economic zone European Monetary System European monetary union European political cooperation European Exchange Rate Mechanism European Union Foreign and Commonwealth Office General Affairs Council General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade Government Communications Headquarters Greater London Council Institute of Economic Affairs Inter-Governmental Conference International Monetary Fund Intelligence and Security Committee mutual and balanced force reduction Middle East peace process

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MLF MPLA NATO NEC OECD


multilateral force Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola North Atlantic Treaty Organisation National Executive Committee Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development PLO Palestinian Liberation Organisation PUS permanent under-secretary QMV qualified majority voting RRF Rapid Reaction Force RUSI Royal United Services Institute SALT Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty SDI Strategic Defence Initiative SDP Social Democratic Party SIS Secret Intelligence Service, MI6 TUC Trades Union Congress UNGA United Nations General Assembly UNPROFOR United Nations Protection Force UNSCOM United Nations Special Commission WEU Western European Union

1

The Changing Role of the British Foreign Secretary Kevin Theakston

To become British Foreign Secretary is to enter big-time politics. It is one of the great historic offices of state, held usually by a senior and ambitious politician. The incumbent works in the largest office of any Cabinet minister – it is larger than the Prime Minister’s office – and the other perks of the office include a grand official residence in Carlton Gardens, London, and a country house at Chevening in Kent (used for entertaining and for private meetings with visiting foreign ministers).1 As a globe-trotting statesman, the Foreign Secretary is regularly ‘door-stepped’ by the world’s media. He heads a department staffed by some of the cleverest and smoothest officials in Whitehall, and is at the hub of a worldwide diplomatic and intelligence apparatus, which is the envy of most of his foreign-minister colleagues in other countries. His days are filled with international travel and meetings with foreign statesmen, his in-tray with ‘flash’ telegrams on diplomatic crises and top-secret intelligence briefings. George Brown (Labour Foreign Secretary in the 1960s) said that, more than any other ministry he worked in, the Foreign Office brought home to him the exciting, but also the frightening, responsibility of power.2 This is ‘a job most politicians want’, says David Owen (Foreign Secretary, 1977–79).3 It is also a daunting job, with more pressing limitations and constraints than was the case in earlier periods. John Major (Foreign Secretary for four months in 1989) complained that it was an ‘impossible’ job: ‘There’s a world full of 150 countries, always exploding into bits and pieces, there are boxes full of stuff about places I’ve never heard of. And I am expected to take decisions

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about that!’4 More than in any other department, Foreign Secretaries are at the mercy of outside events and face an intractable environment. It is also, day in and day out, one of the most demanding jobs in government, the Foreign Secretary being one of the most overburdened ministers. In the 1940s and 1950s, the post was still regarded as the number two position in the government – but the job of Chancellor of the Exchequer nowadays carries that status and clout. Prime Ministers have increasingly moved into foreign affairs, limiting the Foreign Secretary’s independence by taking charge of key policy areas, attending international summits and conducting one-to-one diplomacy with other heads of government. A Foreign Secretary can become merely ‘a bag carrier for the Prime Minister’, claims a former Cabinet minister.5 Furthermore, with Britain’s reduced power in the world, and locked into a system of shared decision-making in Europe, there is, it has been said, ‘less room – or need – for vision, and a greater need for tact, collegiality and the tolerance of compromise and disappointment’. Of all departments, it has been argued, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) ‘is the least ideological, the least amenable to change and the least hospitable for a politician wanting to make his mark in Westminster’.6 The job of Foreign Secretary has changed in several ways over the last 30 or so years. ‘The single most important change … is obviously the European dimension and the increasing globalisation of diplomacy’, a former Foreign Secretary said in interview.7 The old restraints on travel have gone and the nature of foreign relations has changed – these used to be largely bilateral and dealt with by traditional means (ambassadors, telegrams and so on). That has changed fundamentally. The foreign ministers of the European Union (EU) states are now caught up in an almost constant process of collective discussion and coordination … It isn’t exactly a common foreign policy, but there is a high degree of collaboration and coordination. The changes have reached their highest extent in the EU, but if you add in NATO [North Atlantic Treaty Organisation], the WEU [Western European Union], the transatlantic angle and the far east too, Foreign Secretaries are really part of a global system of diplomacy.

A senior diplomat agreed in interview that British entry into the European Community had revolutionised the Foreign Secretary’s job: From 1973 onwards, the European dimension has completely transformed the life and work of the Foreign Secretary. His life because

The Changing Role of the British Foreign Secretary

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he spends an enormous amount of time now at EU meetings – whether the monthly meetings of foreign ministers, the informal six-monthly foreign ministers’ weekends, the European Councils to which he goes with the Prime Minister, or the great network of bilateral meetings he has with colleagues, and all the third-country EU fixtures like the EU–Africa summit. So this has completely transformed the way their day is filled but it has also, of course, transformed the work they do because not only has it turned them back into actual negotiators – having to negotiate at meetings at which there are only ministers (such as the European Council or over lunch at the Foreign Affairs Council) – but it has also meant that they have a much greater say, responsibility and interest in a large number of subject areas which the Foreign Office of the 1950s and 1960s probably had very little to do with, like the environment or agriculture or trade policy or whatever it is. Not of course that the Foreign Secretary has become the lead in all of these, but because of the fact that you do many of these things on a European basis and he is definitely the leading minister, under the Prime Minister, who deals with Europe – with the possible exception of the Chancellor of the Exchequer in his area. The Foreign Secretary necessarily becomes rather knowledgeable about trade policy, about the environment – which a Foreign Secretary of the 1950s would not have dreamed of doing.

Consultation and coordination, both at home (in Whitehall) and abroad, have become more important because of the EU angle and the changing content of foreign policy. International political, security and defence issues are still important, but the Foreign Secretary now also has to deal with a more wide-ranging, technical and complex policy agenda than before. Foreign and domestic policies increasingly interact and impact upon each other. As Lord Carrington once put it: ‘issues which can be classified as pure foreign policy, of no immediate interest to any other government department, are now the exception rather than the rule. On most important matters of policy, our decisions need to reflect the balance between international and domestic considerations … There has been a qualitative and I would guess permanent change in the extent to which a Foreign Minister needs to talk to, and listen to, his colleagues in other government departments in order to do his job.’8 The Foreign Secretary has thus been brought into wider fields of public policy, but at the same time can no longer claim a monopoly over his own field. In the days of the powerful Ernest Bevin (1945–51), other ministers were wary about infringing what one of them called ‘the Foreign Secretary’s three-mile

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territorial waters’.9 But nowadays, with foreign or external affairs impinging upon and affecting virtually all departments of government, Foreign Secretaries frequently ‘find themselves defending a broad foreign-policy picture against the special pleading of ministries in whose world external affairs are only one dimension’.10 In Brussels, in particular, policy issues cannot be handled in isolation, says David Owen, and the role of the Foreign Secretary in EU negotiations is to ‘horse-trade across issues’ and to know where to stand firm or give way in the pursuit of a balance of interests.11 The job of Foreign Secretary has become ‘much, much more hectic’ and pressured than it was 30 to 40 years ago, say veteran diplomats. Changes in the technologies and speed of communication and travel have intensified the demands on foreign-policy office-holders. The modern mass media add to the pressures. A senior diplomat described ‘the speed of events’ as a key change over recent decades, together with ‘the inability rarely now to have time to make an informed judgement – you’ve got to be seen to be instantly reacting, instantly active, and that wasn’t the case in the days of Selwyn Lloyd and Alec Home in the 1950s and early 1960s. They had time to be sure of their facts, to think about problems … and the media were less obtrusive and persistent’. Another former official agreed that ‘the presentational side has changed beyond all recognition – the amount of time the Foreign Secretary spends with the media now far surpasses anything that Selwyn Lloyd used to do, for example. And there’s a much greater need to be attuned to and responsive to public opinion.’ This chapter surveys the changing role and position of the Foreign Secretary in British government since 1974 in nine stages. First, it discusses the background, appointments and careers of foreign secretaries in this period. Next, it compares and contrasts Table 1.1: British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 James Callaghan Anthony Crosland David Owen Lord Carrington Francis Pym Geoffrey Howe John Major Douglas Hurd Malcolm Rifkind Robin Cook Jack Straw

March 1974–April 1976 April 1976–February 1977 February 1977–May 1979 May 1979–April 1982 April 1982–June 1983 June 1983–July 1989 July 1989–October 1989 October 1989–July 1995 July 1995–May 1997 May 1997–June 2001 June 2001–


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the foreign secretaryship with other ministerial positions before going on to analyse the heavy demands placed on the Foreign Secretary. The fourth section examines the relationship between the Foreign Secretary and officials in the Foreign Office, discussing also the assistance given to the Foreign Secretary by the junior ministers and special advisers appointed to the department. The role of the Foreign Secretary in relation to the security and intelligence services is the subject of the fifth section. The role and power of the Foreign Secretary can only be understood in the context of the relationship between him and the Prime Minister, and the ups and downs in that crucial relationship since 1974 are analysed in the next section of the chapter, leading in to a discussion of the Foreign Secretary’s position in the Cabinet. Before concluding, the chapter discusses the role of the Foreign Secretary in Parliament.

FOREIGN SECRETARIES: BACKGROUNDS, APPOINTMENTS AND CAREERS

The data in Table 1.2 show that Foreign Secretaries are, unsurprisingly, usually very experienced parliamentarians (it is worth noting that as a peer Lord Carrington had been politically active for nearly 30 years before appointment as Foreign Secretary, receiving his first junior ministerial job in 1951) and experienced ministers (having held, on average, four previous ministerial positions). John Major, David Owen and Robin Cook stand out from the norm – Major because of the way in which he was catapulted into the job after only ten years as an MP and service in low-profile and junior jobs (as a whip, a Social Security minister, and then Chief Secretary to the Treasury); Owen for being the youngest Foreign Secretary since Anthony Eden in the 1930s; and Cook for being the first Foreign Secretary since 1924 to have no prior ministerial experience at all (though he had served for 17 years on the opposition frontbench). Owen at least had some relevant international experience from having been minister for the Navy and a junior minister in the FCO, and Cook had spent three years as shadow Foreign Secretary, but Major had to start from scratch with, as one official put it, ‘a bundle of briefs in one hand and an atlas in the other’.12 Compared to their predecessors in the 1945–74 period, Foreign Secretaries since 1974 are slightly younger (average age on appointment, 1945–74, 59 years; since 1974, 54 years) and marginally less experienced in Parliament

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 Table 1.2: Foreign Secretaries’ career data

James Callaghan Anthony Crosland David Owen Lord Carrington Francis Pym Geoffrey Howe John Major Douglas Hurd Malcolm Rifkind Robin Cook Jack Straw

Age on appointment

Years as MP before appointment

Previous ministerial experience (years)

Prior service/ experience in the FCO?

62 57 38 60 60 56 46 59 49 51 54

29 22 11 – 21 15 10 15 21 23 22

10 8 5 14 9 8 6 10 16 0 4

no no yes yes no no no yes yes no no

(average of 20.3 years as MPs on appointment, 1945–74; since 1974, 18.9 years) and as ministers (average of 9.5 years’ prior ministerial experience, 1945–74, 8.1 years since 1974). Modern Foreign Secretaries conform to the established British ministerial pattern and are usually ministerial generalists, with only three (Owen, Hurd and Rifkind) having previously served as junior ministers in the FCO, while Carrington had been number two to ‘Rab’ Butler in the Foreign Office in 1963–64 while also serving as Leader of the House of Lords. Back in the 1940s Attlee had insisted that politicians with an economics background were needed at the Foreign Office: ‘specialization … is disastrous – look at Eden’.13 In that sense, Callaghan, Crosland, Howe, Major and (to some extent) Cook would earn the Attlee seal of approval. On the other hand, some observers feel that Jack Straw (Foreign Secretary since 2001) has been weakened by his lack of any previous frontbench experience (in opposition or government) of foreign affairs or defence policy. Calculating what proportion of the individual’s total frontbench (government and opposition) service had been spent in posts dealing with foreign policy, commonwealth affairs and defence before appointment as Foreign Secretary, Owen (71 per cent), Hurd (54 per cent), Carrington (50 per cent – including his time as High Commissioner to Australia in the 1950s) and Rifkind (41 per cent) stand out as ‘foreign affairs’ specialists in a broad sense. Of recent Foreign Secretaries, Hurd seemed to be ‘the professional par excellence’. With his 14 years as a career diplomat, gift for languages and deep background experience of the issues (together with extensive ministerial experience) it has been


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claimed that his ‘curriculum vitae matched the sort of profile a headhunter would have dreamed of’.14 But Hurd’s career was in this respect not a typical one for a British Foreign Secretary – though many French foreign ministers have careers like his. Officials admit that his background was an advantage in carrying out many aspects of the job, though some worried that there was also the disadvantage that he seemed patrician and not fully in touch with ordinary opinion (‘he had to deal with that’). Critics felt that he was too much like the senior diplomats: ‘a smooth firstclass professional machine should not be led by a mirror image of itself’.15 The traditional governing elite was surprisingly well represented among this group of modern Foreign Secretaries (for example, Pym and Hurd, both Eton and Cambridge; Carrington, Eton and Sandhurst). Four were Cambridge graduates (Owen, Pym, Howe and Hurd) and one Oxford (Crosland). Callaghan had authentic ‘Old Labour’ working-class and trade-union roots (like Ernest Bevin and George Brown in previous Labour governments) – the other Labour Foreign Secretaries represented different traditions in that party. The two Scots in this group, Rifkind and Cook, were both formidable debaters in their time at Edinburgh University. The process by which Foreign Secretaries are appointed is inevitably highly political, meaning a mixture of top-level political calculation and bargaining, accident and chance, and the game of ministerial musical chairs. D. C. Watt has complained that ‘the political processes by which foreign secretaries emerge bear only the remotest correlation with the virtues, skills, and characteristics which make up a good foreign secretary’; but the same could probably be said of any ministerial position in a British Cabinet.16 The reaction of a very senior and thoughtful diplomat when Watt’s argument was put to him in an interview is worth quoting at length: Prime Ministers, when they appoint Foreign Secretaries, know they can’t take many risks. There is immense scope for embarrassment in foreign affairs and PMs know that. They also know that they’ve got to appoint someone who can take a lot of physical punishment in terms of short nights, endless travel and that kind of thing. I’m not sure they make many mistakes. You’ve got to be a robust person – that’s the first quality if you’re going to survive successfully in that job. You’ve got to be highly intelligent … you’ve got very difficult dossiers to master. You’ve got – to be successful – to be a naturally courteous person. So much of a Foreign Secretary’s

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 life nowadays is dealing with, first of all, foreign minister colleagues in the European Union and other international gatherings and in travel around the world. Someone who is naturally abrasive or ill mannered is not going to be successful – it is remembered in that Foreign Ministers’ club … David Owen’s abrasiveness appeared more often inside the Foreign Office than outside – he was pretty skilful at handling foreigners … It is also an immense help if you’ve got some pretty fundamental knowledge of foreign affairs … I think John Major found it very daunting in his first weeks and months of office – he was just amazed by the agenda.

Looking at the gallery of British Foreign Secretaries, Lord Carrington once described them as a ‘rum lot’. ‘Quite a few of them do not seem to have been much interested in foreign affairs until they were made Foreign Secretary. After all, it is potluck whether you become Foreign Secretary or not. The appointment may depend more on the political balance in the party or the clash of personalities in the Cabinet than on anything else.’17 As a schoolboy at Eton, Douglas Hurd apparently dreamed of becoming Foreign Secretary,18 but three of the recent office-holders did not really want the job at all – Anthony Crosland, John Major and Robin Cook. For Crosland – whose background and main interests were in economic and domestic ministries – the FCO was a ‘waiting room for the Treasury’; and Callaghan intended that he would swap posts with Labour’s Chancellor of the Exchequer, Denis Healey, after 18 months or so (a plan frustrated by Crosland’s sudden death after only ten months as Foreign Secretary).19 Major’s ambition was also to become Chancellor and the job of Foreign Secretary was the one for which he says he felt ‘least prepared’.20 Cook was unhappy at being shunted out of the trade and industry portfolio at Gordon Brown’s insistence in 1994 when Tony Blair became Labour leader (Brown wanting to remove a radical and rival influence over the direction of Labour’s economic policy), and it took him some time to become interested in his new brief when appointed shadow Foreign Secretary.21 Appointment to the job can come like a bolt out of the blue: when Cook’s successor, Jack Straw, called on the Prime Minister the day after the 2001 general election, he expected to move from the Home Office to the Transport ministry in Blair’s reshuffle, and was staggered to leave Number 10 as Foreign Secretary instead.22 Luck and the play of circumstances have a part in all political careers, as Carrington suggested. David Owen would not have become Foreign Secretary in 1977 but for Crosland’s death, Healey’s perceived indispensability at the Treasury and Callaghan


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wanting to avoid a big reshuffle – the Prime Minister thought that a fresh and young face might have presentational advantages but warned Owen that he might be moved if Healey was subsequently to be pulled out of the chancellorship.23 Francis Pym can thank General Galtieri for his appointment – Lord Carrington’s sudden resignation after the Falklands invasion meant that Mrs Thatcher felt constrained to appoint to the FCO a man she neither liked nor respected, and who as a Tory ‘wet’ was politically at odds with her, but whose parliamentary reputation helped to steady the Conservative Party and who, as Leader of the House of Commons, could be moved without the distraction of a big reshuffle in the middle of an international crisis. (The downside was that the Pym–Thatcher relationship was very poor and he was axed at the first chance, after the 1983 election – Pym was also not greatly interested in foreign policy.)24 Geoffrey Howe also ended up as Foreign Secretary by accident, Mrs Thatcher’s first choice for the job in 1983 being Cecil Parkinson – whose chances were scuppered when the PM learned about the looming public scandal concerning his affair with his former secretary, Sara Keays.25 Prime Ministers’ political calculations are central. Callaghan in 1976 had to balance Labour’s factions; he recognised that appointing the pro-European Roy Jenkins to the FCO would antagonise the left, choosing instead Crosland as a Euro-agnostic from the social democratic right of the party.26 Blair’s surprise move of Robin Cook from the Foreign Office in 2001 (demoting him to be Leader of the House of Commons) was reported to have been prompted by a desire to avoid well-leaked Cook–Gordon Brown clashes over policy on the euro damaging the Labour government as a decision loomed about a referendum on the issue; the new Foreign Secretary Jack Straw was (initially) more sceptical than Cook about the euro. In 1995, Major disappointed the Conservative Euro-sceptic right by making Malcolm Rifkind rather than Michael Howard Foreign Secretary. (Rifkind had coveted the job and had been making speeches designed to show that he was not a fanatical Europhile – the promotion of Michael Portillo to Defence provided some political balance to Major’s reshuffle.) Mrs Thatcher was determined to remove Howe in July 1989, did not want to appoint Nigel Lawson or Douglas Hurd, and settled on the junior figure of John Major because he was ‘untainted’ by any previous exposure to the FCO, because she saw him as a long-term successor to her, and because she wanted a dependant she could dominate on the central issues of policy (rather as Selwyn Lloyd had been

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Eden’s and then Macmillan’s ‘poodle’ at the Foreign Office in the 1950s). In October 1989, Hurd finally got his chance after Major moved to fill the gap at the Treasury left by Lawson’s resignation. Even then, it seems that Thatcher would have preferred to appoint someone else and had to swallow her doubts about Hurd’s proEuropeanism and background as a ‘Heath man’.27 In the event, none of her Foreign Secretaries was on ‘the wilder shores of Thatcherism’ (but then the Thatcherite ideological priorities were largely in the field of domestic politics).28 Owen and Major apart, Foreign Secretaries are usually party political heavyweights at the time of their appointment and sometimes rivals to the PM for the top job. Callaghan was a former Chancellor and Home Secretary and had an independent power base in the Labour Party. Callaghan had run against Wilson for the leadership, just as Hurd ran against Major. Cook had been a star performer in opposition and at least initially was one of the ‘big four’ New Labour ministers, though the political and personal battering he took in his first year or two in office substantially weakened his position in the government. Carrington was a senior Tory, from a different wing of the party to Mrs Thatcher, but someone whose appointment in 1979 made sense to her because he was a pragmatic and experienced expert in foreign affairs who, as a peer, posed no political threat to her position. Geoffrey Howe had been a close political ally of Mrs Thatcher in the role of Chancellor of the Exchequer (1979–83), owing his appointment as Foreign Secretary to his loyalty, reliability, industry and capacity for detailed negotiation – though Thatcher claims to have had doubts about his suitability and feared that he might ‘go native’ at the FCO, and later she became suspicious that Howe and Lawson were plotting against her.29 As it happens, the historical record suggests that Prime Ministers can largely rest assured that their Foreign Secretaries are not going to oust them and move into Number 10 Downing Street in their stead. In fact, the FCO is more likely to be a career pinnacle (or cul-de-sac) than a boost for an ambitious politician wanting to climb further up the ‘greasy pole’. To be sure, two of the post-1974 Foreign Secretaries went on to become Prime Minister (Callaghan and Major); but only one of the others left office at a time of his own choosing (Hurd); two were evicted by the electorate (Owen and Rifkind); one died in post (Crosland); and four others were in different ways abruptly and involuntarily removed from office (Carrington, Pym, Howe and Cook). Foreign Secretaries can go up or out, and it is mostly out. Taking a longer view, of the


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31 individuals serving as Foreign Secretary, 1900–97, only five went on to become Prime Minister, compared to nine of the 33 Chancellors of the Exchequer in the same period. Nine of the 20 twentiethcentury Prime Ministers had previously been Chancellor of the Exchequer, with only six passing through the Foreign Office (three – Macmillan, Callaghan and Major – serving in both those major offices of state, though Macmillan and Major were Foreign Secretary for only brief periods). Only Eden and Home, of postwar premiers, were foreign-affairs specialists by background and prior experience, and that was actually a disadvantage for both of them. The road to the top nowadays lies primarily in domestic and economic affairs. Modern Foreign Secretaries should enjoy their job while they can – it may be their last.

A UNIQUE JOB?

‘Being Foreign Secretary is different’, a former holder of that office told me in interview: In most areas of government policy, you can initiate a policy, implement it and see a conclusion while you are in office. Foreign policy is a conveyer belt – it’s moving along and you can influence it for only a limited time, and then you’re gone but it continues. As a domestic minister you can pull certain clear levers – the main ones are legislation and the use of your budget. But in the Foreign Office there’s no legislation and the resources involved are modest (and are spent on the means of policy – staff and so on – not the ends). So different skills are needed in a Foreign Secretary and a different temperament.

It has been said that ‘where other departments administrate the Foreign Office negotiates’ and that the job is primarily ‘one of reaction before action’.30 Certainly in her biography of Crosland, his wife records his difficult adjustment from the big-spending Department of the Environment: ‘in foreign, unlike domestic, policy one seldom has real effect on the human condition. A domestic minister has power, can pursue a policy objective and things will change … A Foreign Secretary is never sovereign – not just because Britain is diminished internationally … The most that can be done is manage relations between sovereign states: it’s all wheel and deal.’31 ‘It’s incremental’, agreed a senior diplomat, who went on to cite Lord Salisbury’s famous description of Castlereagh (written in 1862):

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 There is nothing dramatic in the success of a diplomatist. His victories are made up of a series of microscopic advantages: of a judicious suggestion here, or an opportune civility there: of a wise concession at one moment, and a far-sighted persistence at another; of sleepless tact, immovable calmness, and patience that no folly, no provocation, no blunders can shake.32

‘That was true about the 19th century when Britain was the leading power in the world’, he added. ‘So it’s even more true in spades now.’ Another official summarised the position this way: ‘First, you never see anything through because things are on a longer time-scale than you are likely to be there. Second, you can’t get anything done because the environment in which you are operating isn’t under your control – it requires other players to play your way. And third, British foreign policy is on the defensive.’ Compared to his previous domestic ministries, the Foreign Office ‘was more subject to surprise, bolts from the blue … [and] had more instant hazards’, recalled one minister. Geoffrey Howe felt that being Foreign Secretary was ‘a much less continuous life’ than being Chancellor of the Exchequer, and that the FCO made different demands of its ministers than the Treasury, the Treasury throwing up more intellectually challenging policy problems but the FCO suddenly presenting issues ‘where you’re required to absorb very quickly a great deal of information of a non-technical, but profoundly important, kind which is going to affect your judgement’.33 Harold Macmillan once said that the Foreign Secretary was a bit like the editor of a morning paper (with a few afternoon and evening editions thrown in as well), with information pouring in and decisions having to be taken on matters great and small with great rapidity. In contrast, the Chancellor of the Exchequer was more like the editor of a weekly or monthly journal – the problems were just as difficult as in the Foreign Office but there was more time for reflection.34 For a Foreign Secretary, it has been argued, all this means that ‘success is ninety per cent luck’. Another contrast with domestic ministries comes from the fact that foreign policy is not usually manifestodriven. As Malcolm Rifkind has said: ‘a very high proportion of what one does on, say, housing or education or local government, stems directly or indirectly from the Conservative or Labour philosophy of the particular government that is in office. I think that is much less true when you are talking about foreign policy, where your actions are governed by the national interest of the


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country as a whole, which does not necessarily change simply because governments have changed.’35 That said, in a pointed gesture, Jim Callaghan in 1974 handed out copies of the Labour Party’s manifesto to his FCO officials to emphasise the new government’s commitment to renegotiate the terms of British membership of the European Economic Community (EEC).36 Foreign Secretaries are mostly playing a complex game of small steps and tactical decisions, as a senior diplomat explained: ‘The Treasury has half a dozen big decisions a year … For the Foreign Office, every day of every week of every month of every year is filled with hundreds and hundreds of very small decisions which are like little bits of a mosaic but if you don’t get them in the right place and you don’t apply the right attention, you don’t get very good results. So masses and masses of tactical decisions have to be made: what instructions to send to an ambassador here, what to say to the minister of country X who’s coming to call on you, what exactly to say about country X when you go down to the House of Commons to answer foreign policy questions … If you are to be a successful Foreign Secretary, you have to try to shape those decisions to fit into an overall framework and policy you’re trying to follow. But at no point is there a great big lever which you pull which says, say, “policy on Zimbabwe”.’ One senior diplomat contrasted Owen (‘invariably got lost in the detail’) with Hurd (strong on ‘the wide view’) and Howe (‘a good combination of the two’). In EU business and negotiations in particular, a ‘broad brush’ approach will not work, insiders argue – ministers have to be on top of the dossiers and thoroughly understand the issues while still keeping the ‘big picture’ in mind.

OVERLOAD

Insiders agree that being Foreign Secretary is a ‘crushing job’. ‘You’re expected to devour enormous amounts of information and fly around in not always very attractive circumstances. If you believe that the Foreign Secretary can really have a private life, you become rapidly disillusioned – it’s not like that’, commented a senior diplomat. Early in the twentieth century, Sir Edward Grey complained that the work ‘follow[ed] him like his shadow’ and that his life as Foreign Secretary was a ‘succession of worries … one damned thing after another’.37 The burdens increased remorselessly over the succeeding decades. Eden felt in the 1950s

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that, with increased international meetings and conferences, the workload had doubled compared with pre-1939.38 His permanent under-secretary, Ivone Kirkpatrick, believed that there was ‘no more onerous job in the world than that of British Foreign Secretary’.39 It was a ‘cruel and gruelling position’, declared Harold Macmillan.40 To cope, suggested Lord Strang, a Foreign Secretary needed ‘the strength of a horse and the digestion of an ostrich’.41 Lord Home, in his second stint as Foreign Secretary, thought that the burdens had increased in the 1970s compared to the 1960s,42 and insiders now say that the pressures have increased still more since the 1970s and the job has become even more hectic. ‘The burden now carried by the conscientious Foreign Secretary is close to the intolerable’, according to the historian D. C. Watt.43 It is a heavier load, a tougher job and a bigger responsibility than most other ministerial posts except for the chancellorship and the premiership. ‘The job comes as a great shock to them, just the sheer amount of travelling, for example, and the enormous range of subject matter’, Sir John Coles, permanent under-secretary (PUS), 1994–97, has said. ‘A Foreign Secretary can be concerned at one moment about drugs in Thailand, the next moment about civil war in Sierra Leone, and on it goes … It is an extraordinarily disparate and wide agenda.’44 Even the self-confessed workaholic Geoffrey Howe found it ‘a formidably multi-dimensional job’.45 Thrown in at the deep end, John Major was frustrated by the time-consuming routine meetings with ambassadors; he disliked the pell-mell nature of the job, with multiple issues crowding in and limited time for dealing with the paperwork and briefing. The Foreign Secretary daily faces ‘on average twelve or fourteen overlapping diary items, all requiring a degree of briefing, and many requiring quick decisions’, explained Sir Patrick Wright, his PUS.46 Tony Crosland’s minister-as-intellectual approach had earlier troubled the department: he did not like to take decisions until he had thoroughly researched and thought through the issues. ‘That was perfectly possible in the nineteenth century and probably in the early part of the twentieth century’, argued one of his senior officials, ‘but the pressure of events and the speed with which things happen makes that rather difficult in the modern world.’ Crosland would also have liked to concentrate on one issue at a time but, as a former PUS pointed out, while prioritisation is important, ‘you can’t conduct foreign policy that way nowadays. You have to keep a lot of balls in the air simultaneously. And if you take your eye off them, one comes crashing to the ground.’ Faced


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with this exhausting treadmill-cum-juggling act – an existence divided up into 15-minute segments – Malcolm Rifkind maintains that ‘thinking time is important, otherwise you get bogged down in the very important but inevitably mundane detail’. He insisted on his diary secretary keeping an hour free each day that he would decide how to spend: whether doing his boxes, resting or walking round the park. The FCO was reportedly worried about leaving the minister with time on his hands – what might he get up to?47 Foreign Secretaries have to deal with what Lord Carrington once described as a ‘tidal wave of paper’.48 With his legendary stamina – he could exist on four hours sleep a night – and his appetite for detail, Geoffrey Howe simply devoured paperwork. Working through three boxes a night he claims to have processed 24 tons of paper in his six years in the job.49 Owen too consumed work and paper, and wanted as much as possible sent to him. Callaghan, in contrast, had a disciplined approach, and insisted on having just one red box each night. Hurd found that quite often in a busy day he had not done any of the paperwork and would tackle it late at night, after a dinner engagement, working quickly through the dossiers from 11.00 pm until 1.00 am. Carrington’s style was more laid back and he preferred talking through the issues with his advisers to reading lengthy and detailed submissions. With over 200 embassies and missions overseas feeding in masses of information to the FCO each day, the Secretary of State’s private office staff play a crucial sifting role, which has increased in importance. They must know the Foreign Secretary’s mind, know what he is interested in, and ensure that he sees what he really needs to see. Robin Cook’s remark, early in his tenure, that ‘you can be a successful Foreign Secretary if you focus on the big questions, not necessarily if you finish the paperwork’50 came back to haunt him during the arms-to-Sierra Leone affair when there was controversy over whether officials had deliberately kept ministers in the dark or whether ministers had neglected to do their homework and brief themselves properly. One of his Conservative predecessors privately criticised his ‘unwise posturing’ about red boxes, arguing that a Foreign Secretary needs ‘a stock of well-informed intuition for things that are going to come cropping up all around the wicket – which you only develop if you are burdening yourself with the trouble of being pretty well briefed on most things’. Nineteenth-century Foreign Secretaries hardly travelled at all – they mostly transacted business through letters or telegrams exchanged with British ambassadors abroad and via interviews

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with foreign ambassadors in London (‘nowadays ambassadors have really shrunk from the scene’, noted a recent Foreign Secretary). Asquith believed that no Foreign Secretary should leave the country – and Sir Edward Grey had been in office eight years before his first official visit abroad.51 But since 1945 travel has become an essential, inescapable and increasing part of the job (though disliked by Alec Douglas-Home, who believed in the traditional notion of managing foreign affairs from the Foreign Office).52 Harold Macmillan felt in the 1950s that Foreign Secretaries had become little more than ‘peripatetic salesmen’.53 There was still then a flavour of the old-style diplomacy with Selwyn Lloyd, for instance, spending eight weeks leading the British delegation at the Foreign Ministers’ conference at Geneva in 1959.54 In 1946, Bevin crossed the Atlantic by boat to spend six weeks at the United Nations General Assembly in New York, later travelling across Europe by train for seven weeks of negotiations in Moscow – all very different from the punishing schedules of modern jet-travel diplomacy. The Foreign Secretary’s job has speeded-up and intensified. He can be flown to New York for a meeting and then go back to London in the same day on Concorde.55 Geoffrey Howe calculated that he was airborne for ten hours a week, visited 75 countries and clocked up 700,000 miles of travel during his tenure of office. In his last 12 months as Foreign Secretary, he attended 23 meetings of European ministers, none of which lasted longer than 48 hours.56 Douglas Hurd travelled 130,000 miles in his first year as Foreign Secretary.57 Robin Cook was out of the UK for almost two in every five working days. In the year 2000 he spent 79 working days out of the country (26 of them on EU business). The week’s engagements shown in Table 1.3 – including his gruelling Middle East shuttle and two key EU meetings – involved 11 flights (totalling 7,500 miles) and more than 20 top-level meetings in six countries over six days. In the following week, Cook visited Italy (accompanying the Queen on her state visit) and then South Korea (for the ASEM summit). One overseas trip per month was about the average for Foreign Secretaries from the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s, with David Owen increasing the pace, and from the 1980s onwards ministers averaging almost one trip a week.58 Callaghan introduced the practice of taking groups of businessmen with him on some trips to open doors and help secure contracts, something continued by his successors.59 Fixed commitments include the monthly meetings of the EU General Affairs Council (GAC), other EU Foreign Ministers’ meetings and EU summits, the United Nations (one

The Changing Role of the British Foreign Secretary Table 1.3: Robin Cook’s engagements diary, 9–14 October 2000 Monday 9 October General Affairs Council, Luxembourg 07.25 depart Biggin Hill 09.45 arrive Luxembourg GAC begins 13.00 Lunch GAC resumes Bilaterals with Moroccan Foreign Minister and Bulgarian Foreign Minister IGC Ministerial Meeting 18.30 depart Luxembourg 18.45 arrive Northolt Drop-by to UK–India Round Table Dinner Tuesday 10 October Constituency Day 09.00 depart Heathrow 10.15 arrive Edinburgh 10.45 arrive Constituency Office 11.15 West Calder High School 12.00 depart for Dalkeith 15.15 Meeting with web design company and Jim Devine [Constituency Office] 16.00 Telephone Interview with James Robbins, BBC 17.15 depart Edinburgh 18.30 arrive Heathrow Wednesday 11 October Visit to Middle East 07.00 depart Heathrow 13.00 arrive Tel Aviv, Israel depart by road for Jerusalem 14.00 Call on Israeli Foreign Minister 16.00 Call on Prime Minister Barak 17.00 British Press Briefing 17.15 Call on Israeli President 17.30 Call on Justice Minister 18.00 Press Conference 18.30 depart by road for Gaza 20.00 Dinner with President of Palestine Authority, Yasser Arafat Joint Press Event 22.00 depart by road for Tel Aviv 24.00 arrive Ambassador’s Residence, Tel Aviv Thursday 12 October Visit to Middle East 08.00 depart Tel Aviv 09.30 arrive Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt 09.45 Tête-à-tête with Egyptian Foreign Minister 10.00 Meeting with President Mubarak 11.00 depart Sharm el Sheikh

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Visit to Middle East (cont.) 12.45 arrive Damascus, Syria 13.15 Meeting with President Bashar 14.45 depart for airport 15.15 depart Damascus 16.15 arrive Amman, Jordan 17.15 Meeting with King Abdullah 18.15 depart Amman 19.15 arrive Tel Aviv, travel to Jerusalem 21.00 UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan 01.00 Yasser Arafat depart by road for Tel Aviv Friday 13 October Visit to Israel 08.30 UK Media 09.30 Visiting Press 10.30 Telephone Call with PM 13.30 Call on Israeli Foreign Minister 14.30 Call on Prime Minister Barak 15.30 depart for airport 16.00 depart Tel Aviv 21.15 arrive Biarritz, France Foreign Ministers’ dinner Saturday 14 October Special European Council, Biarritz 09.15 arrive Casino Municipal 09.30 Third Working Session 12.00 Press Conference 13.00 Lunch with Serbian President-elect Kostunica 15.00 depart Biarritz 15.55 arrive Heathrow Adapted from information supplied by Rt Hon. Robin Cook MP.

week each autumn in New York with a crowded timetable of General Assembly sessions and bilaterals with other ministers – Douglas Hurd has described this as an intense ‘diplomatic fair’60), NATO, the G8, the Commonwealth and so on. Most are day-return trips (particularly the EU ones) or overnight only. Even with the amenities of the ‘flying foreign office’ (the ministerial VC10 aircraft) and the VIP treatment, questions can be asked about the cumulative impact of all this on politicians’ health and judgement. ‘There is too much travel now’, argues one recent Foreign Secretary. ‘It is almost too easy, so ministers can contemplate a programme that would not have been possible earlier.’ However, Lord Carrington enjoyed the constant travel, believing that a Foreign Secretary can only benefit from face-to-face meetings with


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his opposite numbers, seeing situations at first hand, and picking up himself the mood and the atmosphere.61 But the fact that the Foreign Secretary is now only rarely in the UK for a week at a stretch has an effect on policy-making and means that he can himself deal only with the broad outline of foreign policy, giving detailed attention only to a few key priority or crisis issues. As an FCO official commented in interview: ‘it is very difficult to get a politician’s interest in or engagement with a subject – let alone anything like action or a decision – without a great effort, a great campaign to get attention. The key is getting the private secretary’s attention. But there is so much travel that ministers are out of a lot of policy-making. It’s almost as if on a big issue, when you need a ministerial decision (“what is the minister’s policy?”), that one simply doesn’t know until the last 24 hours, when they finally focus on it.’ The EU has undoubtedly added to the burdens, with the regular trips to Brussels for GAC meetings and the marathon negotiating sessions (accompanying the Prime Minister) at European Councils and Inter-Governmental Conferences, along with bilateral discussions with other EU foreign ministers. Nowadays the Foreign Secretary will probably see more of his EU counterparts than he will of his British Cabinet colleagues. The work typically proceeds on several levels, with the formal meetings of ministers (Rifkind recalls ‘hours round the table with a stodgy dialogue and little real exchange of views’62), informal bilateral haggling and exchanges in the corridors (‘pull-asides’ in FCO jargon), and further bargaining and deal-making over a working lunch. The EU Foreign Ministers lunch privately together (most speak English). As Douglas Hurd described it: ‘over the meal ministers, deprived of their advisers, could be driven to concentrate on what they really wanted, forgetting the finer points in their written briefs. One had to eat, speak, listen and remember, all at the same time.’63 ‘Lunch has become a device by which we can talk frankly’, according to Robin Cook. In the EU, he says, ‘diplomacy is inseparable from gastronomy’.64 John Major was more a man for the take-away McDonald’s™ and he disliked this aspect of the job, but Hurd argues that ‘decision-taking in a union of nation states will always be difficult. Speeches, meals and concerts help the process along.’65 The modern mass media add an extra dimension that earlier Foreign Secretaries, in the 1950s for instance, did not have to face. ‘Today’s ceaseless activity takes place under an intense media spotlight’, Geoffrey Howe notes. ‘Ministers are catapulted from

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their airplanes into their conference seats; they switch on their microphones, plough through their overcrowded agendas and within moments they are straight out before the world’s press, recounting the day’s events.’66 ‘You are now playing to a public gallery and undertaking diplomacy simultaneously, and that doesn’t help’, admitted one former Foreign Secretary in interview. To some extent, Douglas Hurd suggests, ministers have to wrestle with the trade-off between domestic media pressures (the media looking for British ‘victories’ in EU ‘battles’) and maintaining influence with their foreign colleagues. He also argues that ministers are now ‘required to take within hours, often more or less in public, decisions which their predecessors were able to mull over for weeks in private’.67 But ‘the CNN factor’68 – this intense media coverage of foreign affairs and pressure for a quick response – may increase the danger of taking decisions on the basis of incomplete information in a rapidly changing situation. Added to that, there is now a constant media search for gaffes (Robin Cook getting a very much rougher ride from the media than, say, Lord Home 30 years previously).69 Dealing with the media and with news management as an integral part of decisiontaking and policy-making has become since the1980s one of the most important claimants on ministerial time, and a significant factor in ‘overload’, for all government ministers. That the Foreign Secretary must operate under an international media searchlight is a further complication he must handle.

RUNNING THE FOREIGN OFFICE

‘Political control over the Foreign Office is far from complete’, according to Ian Gilmour (writing before he served in the FCO as a minister). ‘No Foreign Secretary can keep abreast of more than a small minority of major issues at any one time. Very often the officials have extensive knowledge of a question, which it is impossible for the minister to check, and until an ambassador makes a crashing mistake his telegraphed advice is likely to be given great weight. For most of the time the Foreign Secretary does what he is advised.’70 That advice comes from one of Whitehall’s most powerful departments, one with a strong culture and elitist ethos. The fabled ‘Rolls Royce’ diplomatic machine is said by its critics to pursue its own policy and aims to make the Foreign Secretary its mouthpiece. ‘Of course the Foreign Office


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wants to make the Foreign Secretary their creature – sometimes it succeeds’, says Lord Renwick, a former UK ambassador to Washington.71 Until Callaghan’s time in office, it had been the normal practice for the PUS to accompany the Foreign Secretary on his international trips, but that changed in the mid-1970s with the PUS tending to stay behind to run the department. Successive Foreign Secretaries in the 1980s and 1990s said that they wanted the PUS to be their top policy adviser but found that he was primarily a manager and administrator of the bureaucratic machine (though in this period Sir Michael Palliser, PUS 1975–82, and Sir John Kerr, 1997–2001, were influential policy advisers).72 The Foreign Secretary and the PUS have a regular meeting (usually weekly) – according to an insider, ‘some Foreign Secretaries like to relax at that meeting, have a cup of tea, discuss all sorts of things; others were busier people, liked to get through an agenda, get on with other things’. Cook tried to get the specialist junior desk officers to brief him directly rather than having advice filtered through the hierarchy. The principal private secretary is, however, acknowledged to be the linchpin of the system, a succession of high-flyers occupying this key post.73 ‘On the whole, the Foreign Office likes to get on well with its Foreign Secretary’, explained a senior diplomat in interview. ‘It likes a Foreign Secretary who provides leadership. The idea that civil servants are like Sir Humphrey and want a Foreign Secretary they can manipulate is complete nonsense. They like Foreign Secretaries who win – who win in Cabinet and win when they go to Brussels or wherever it is … It’s agony having to conduct something as complex as foreign policy with a Foreign Secretary who’s not really on top of the game.’ The diplomats are said to respect a Foreign Secretary who is clear about what he wants. ‘If a man knows what he wants to do, he can usually get the apparatus to do it’, an FCO official told Geoffrey Moorhouse. ‘Our difficulties arise when he doesn’t quite know what he wants to do.’74 ‘The relationship between members of the diplomatic service and the Foreign Secretary is much closer than in the normal civil service’, argued a senior official. ‘After all the Foreign Secretary stays in the houses of ambassadors and meets them across the breakfast table in a way that a minister doesn’t in the normal civil service.’ However, both Callaghan and Major seem to have been initially wary of the FCO as much for social reasons as any; and Cook too was reported to be suspicious of the establishment culture of the diplomatic service (setting in train changes to

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‘modernise’ the department and make it ‘less stuffy’). But, with the exception of Owen and Cook, Foreign Secretaries in this period do not seem to have had serious problems in establishing good working relations with their officials. ‘Owen couldn’t reach a decision without having a row’, was how an official summarised it. He had a radical, questioning and challenging approach and was brash, abrasive and rough on the people around him. Although pro-European, he complained – like Mrs Thatcher later – that diplomats lacked ‘backbone’, had an ‘appeasement’ mentality and did not fight hard enough for British interests in Europe:75 Here was a very determined department [he recalled] which thought that its view was the right view … they seemed to want to carry on conducting foreign policy on the lines that they thought were right, irrespective of what ministers wanted. That did lead to quite a number of clashes … Some officials … would fight the implementation of a decision taken by the Secretary of State.76

Twenty years later, relations between Cook and his officials were also (at least in his first year or two) strained. Part of the problem was his prickly and impatient personal style, and some officials were privately pleased to see him damaged by the revelations about his private life and the political storm over claims that he had considered replacing his ousted diary secretary with his mistress. Claims that the FCO was up in arms about the much-trumpeted ‘ethical dimension’ in foreign policy are exaggerated, however, though morale plummeted during the arms-toSierra Leone controversy, when Cook appeared to blame officials for not keeping him properly informed and distanced himself from staff failures and administrative mistakes. There were problems with particular disgruntled diplomats (such as Sir David Gore-Booth, the former high commissioner to India, who hit out at Cook for allegedly ‘losing the trust’ of senior officials), but little reliable evidence of determined institutional resistance or obstruction within the FCO to Cook’s policies.77 Geoffrey Moorhouse was not quite right to argue that ‘political control [of the Foreign Office] depends on a powerful amount of attention, energy and willpower vested in one man’.78 Lord Carrington was supported by a second Cabinet minister based in the FCO, 1979–82: Ian Gilmour and then Humphrey Atkins, who formally held the post of Lord Privy Seal. The main reason for this was to provide a senior Cabinet-level spokesman for the FCO in the House of Commons. In 1979 there was no repetition of the


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criticism heard in 1960 when Lord Home had been appointed Foreign Secretary and Hugh Gaitskell had denounced the move as ‘constitutionally objectionable’; though, as John Dickie suggests, it is arguable that the Falklands crisis proved once and for all that the Foreign Secretary must be directly answerable in and to the House of Commons.79 On a number of occasions in the 1960s and 1970s there had been a second Foreign Office Cabinet minister to handle successive EEC application negotiations (Edward Heath, George Thomson and Geoffrey Rippon taking on that specific job in different governments). Carrington and Gilmour worked well together in 1979–81 – and Mrs Thatcher would have sacked Gilmour as a leading ‘wet’ and internal critic of her economic policies sooner but for Carrington’s intervention.80 But a former senior diplomat set out some of the pros and cons of this ‘doublebanking’: Theoretically, it’s an advantage to a department to have two Cabinet ministers. But you find, when they’re both in Cabinet, the more ‘junior’ won’t open his mouth on foreign policy – he feels the Secretary of State should speak on that – so it does not enhance the Cabinet system. But you do have a senior minister available for the Commons (especially useful when the Secretary of State is in the Lords) and a lot of high-level responsible work which is ‘above’ that normally given to junior ministers. He can conduct meetings with visiting Foreign Secretaries and so on – though there’s an ambivalence there as the Foreign Secretary has the prestige and they may want to see him and ask for him. So in practice it’s a difficult role to perform.

Like other Cabinet ministers, the Foreign Secretary nowadays runs a department staffed with a team of junior ministers – currently four in number (three ministers of state and one parliamentary under-secretary). The relationship between the ministerial ‘top dog’ and his juniors can be problematic. Foreign Secretaries may have, at best, only a limited say in who their junior ministers are to be. In 1997, for instance, the Prime Minister vetoed Robin Cook’s choice for the minister for Europe slot and installed his own nominee (Doug Henderson) together with, as parliamentary under-secretary, a close ally whom he had ennobled (Baroness Symons), though Cook was allowed to retain two of his opposition team (Derek Fatchett and Tony Lloyd).81 Formally, responsibilities are parcelled out on a geographical/regional basis and the junior ministers share the burden of ‘representational’ work (visits, receptions, conferences and so on). Every week to ten days, it is

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the practice to hold a ‘prayer’ meeting with the junior ministers, parliamentary private secretaries and special advisers (though there were few such meetings under Callaghan). In practice, the scope and authority of junior ministers varies. The Foreign Secretary will have to get involved in any issue going to Cabinet, or where a strong parliamentary head of steam has built up, or where relations with other countries or international organisations are significantly engaged. Visiting foreign ministers, dignitaries and ambassadors from other states will want to see the Foreign Secretary himself wherever possible – and his diary secretary faces a constant struggle to juggle these demands on his limited time. ‘The Foreign Secretary cannot handle day-to-day relations with large parts of the world’, explained a former junior minister. ‘If, as a minister of state, you have the Foreign Secretary’s confidence, you can do a lot. On Europe, the Foreign Secretary was in charge and I carried out his policy. But on, say, Eastern European policy or sub-Saharan Africa, in effect I ran the policy. On the big issues – on the USSR and dealing with Gorbachev – the Foreign Secretary was involved. But relations with Poland or Hungary were left to me.’ Much also depends on the Foreign Secretary’s own style as a minister. ‘Some want to delegate, want to give their junior ministers a pretty full role’, recalled a former permanent undersecretary. ‘Others were very nervous about delegation and really wanted to control most of it themselves.’ Workaholics like David Owen and Geoffrey Howe pulled to themselves a mass of detailed decision-making and issues. Succeeding Howe, John Major decided to concentrate chiefly on Europe and devolved a lot of the other business to his junior ministers.82 As a junior minister in the early 1980s, Douglas Hurd had been given his head by Lord Carrington and was a particularly influential and active number two to Francis Pym in 1982–83. In turn, when he became Foreign Secretary, his regime was less centralised than Howe’s and he pushed a lot on to able and ambitious ministers of state like William Waldegrave and Francis Maude.83 After 1997, the Labour team struggled to get the official machine to filter more business through the ministers of states’ offices, and there was apparently some resistance from certain FCO departments, with officials uneasy about the Foreign Secretary seeming to turn his back on some issues and having to proceed just with the approval of the Minister of State. Derek Fatchett was a long-time Cook ally and the diplomats found that the Foreign Secretary would invariably back up the position he had taken.84


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Officials routinely say that there are too many junior ministers, but the politicians tend to disagree. At one stage, the Conservatives tried to do without a parliamentary under-secretary, but brought one back after a while. ‘There’s the travel burdens, the need to be MPs too’, explained one Foreign Secretary. ‘If you have too few ministers you lose opportunities to seek to influence backbenchers and parliament, and other countries.’ The Foreign Secretary’s political advisers provide extra political eyes and ears and hands. They work on drafts of speeches, liaise with the party and with backbench MPs, comment on civil service submissions, feed in their own papers, and occasionally undertake ‘back door’ low-profile diplomatic contacts. They can provide a useful alternative source of advice as well as links to outside organisations, and can have a ‘mine-detector’ role, alerting the Foreign Secretary to possible party trouble or sensitivities about certain issues or decisions (offering ‘a public relations/political insight into what the hazards were’, as one Foreign Secretary put it in interview). Jim Callaghan’s adviser, Tom McNally, was particularly influential and he had access to all FCO telegrams except those marked ‘Top Secret: Intelligence’.85 David Owen looked to his part-time adviser, Michael Stewart, for economics briefings so that he could participate more effectively in wider Cabinet discussions.86 Geoffrey Howe also wanted to remain engaged with the domestic debate and maintain his general political profile, and his special advisers planned and managed his regular travel and speech-making trips around the regions of the UK.87 Robin Cook brought with him into Whitehall two special advisers from his opposition staff (for a while, a third was funded by the Labour Party) and these were influential figures, one of them, for instance, selling to Cook the idea of an FCO ‘mission statement’.88 Jack Straw also has two special advisers. FCO officials seem to have come to accept and understand the presence of these politically appointed special advisers.89 A former FCO permanent under-secretary thought that the political adviser system is a very good one and works well … One could post difficult submissions to them and say ‘what do you think?’ And if he could put a flyer on it, saying ‘Secretary of State, I’ve looked at this and I think it’s on the right lines’, it helped get it through. If it came in with the Foreign Office advice and the political adviser’s advice, and the two coincided, it was likely to get through. Departments get out of touch with political opinion and they need to be kept in touch with party thinking.

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 THE SECRET WORLD

Only in 1994, with the Intelligence Services Act, was the existence of the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS, or MI6) and the Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) officially acknowledged. Both are answerable to the Foreign Secretary (as the Security Service, or MI5, is to the Home Secretary), with the Prime Minister having overall responsibility for the country’s intelligence and security services. Robin Cook set out the formal position, namely that the Foreign Secretary is accountable to Parliament for the actions of SIS and GCHQ and is responsible for ensuring that they act within the law.90 Since the 1994 Act, the Foreign Secretary’s role in providing for public accountability has extended to appearing as a witness before the Intelligence and Security Committee (ISC) of senior parliamentarians, and in November 1998, for the first time, Parliament debated an ISC report, with the Foreign and Home Secretaries making ministerial speeches and answering questions. The Foreign Secretary must authorise warrants for intercepts and give specific clearance for sensitive operations (with the Security Service commissioner reviewing the minister’s exercise of statutory powers in this field). ‘As Secretary of State, I have the right to know what is done under my authority and I am responsible for scrutinizing applications and for signing warrants’, Cook insisted, saying that ‘there are robust processes for ensuring that [ministers] … are … kept informed about important things that we need to know’. Back in the 1970s David Owen had initially been sceptical about the system for referring intelligence cases with a political content to the Foreign Secretary, but after a review of six months’ referrals was satisfied that the right sort of cases and issues were being sent to him for approval. ‘The Foreign Secretary, unless there is a need to know, steers clear of operations’, recalled Owen.91 The officials who run and coordinate the work of the intelligence and security agencies prefer to keep ministers at arm’s length, though Douglas Hurd in 1994 claimed that ‘there has been increasing consultation of the Secretary of State when operations are proposed that are sensitive – that could cause difficulty … [and on] controversial matters’.92 The Foreign Secretary has regular meetings with ‘C’, the head of SIS, and with the director of GCHQ. ‘My job, Secretary of State, is to bring you unwelcome news’, Sir Maurice Oldfield (then chief of SIS) told Jim Callaghan in 1974.93 A paper ‘feed’ is provided by the Weekly Summary of Intelligence – the ‘Red Book’


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– of intelligence reports and assessments, which is sent to the Foreign Secretary and other senior ministers. In practice, ministers vary in their interest in and appetite for intelligence. ‘Some ministers do not want to know … others want to know a great deal about what is going on’, Jim Callaghan once said.94 Some have had extensive experience of dealings with the secret world, such as Douglas Hurd (with his background as a diplomat and as Northern Ireland Secretary and Home Secretary before moving to the FCO); Robin Cook, on the other hand, had ‘further to travel than his predecessors’ in coming to terms with his responsibilities in this area (a critic of the security services in opposition, he became a strong public champion in office).95 On the record, Foreign Secretaries tend to play down the significance of secret information. Geoffrey Howe has said: ‘In my early days I was naive enough to get excited about intelligence reports. Many look, at first sight, to be important and interesting, and significant and then when we check them, they are not even straws in the wind. They are cornflakes in the wind.’ Douglas Hurd has cautioned that ‘there is nothing particularly truthful about a report simply because it is a secret one. People sometimes get excited because a report is secret and they think that, therefore, it has some particular validity. It is not always so in my experience.’96 But, Hurd admits, ‘intelligence reports are on some occasions valuable, and on some occasions crucial. They supply just some missing piece in the jigsaw of other people’s intentions that you want to know.’97 David Owen, for instance, says that he grew to respect the work of MI6, particularly on southern Africa, where they provided him with a lot of intelligence.98 He was, however, doubtful of the propriety of spying on the UK’s European partners to aid the Foreign Secretary when negotiating in Brussels (earlier, in the 1960s, GCHQ was routinely intercepting cables in and out of the French embassy in London to gather intelligence on de Gaulle’s reaction to Britain’s EEC application)99. During the Lancaster House conference on Rhodesia, the various delegations attending the talks had their phones tapped and hotel rooms bugged, and Lord Carrington was provided each morning with intelligence briefings based on this material.100 Robin Cook has described how SIS intelligence on the degree of Liberian involvement in the conflict in Sierra Leone was used at a General Affairs Council meeting to convince other EU countries to take a tougher line with Liberia.101 Overall, the contribution and usefulness of intelligence in decision-taking is clearly variable, both the Franks Report on the Falklands and the Scott Inquiry on arms-to-Iraq

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documenting serious shortcomings in Whitehall’s handling of intelligence reports. Many of the failings identified in those episodes were bureaucratic and institutional, but Foreign Secretaries cannot shirk their personal responsibility for understanding and using secret intelligence and for maintaining the accountability of SIS and GCHQ.

PRIME MINISTER–FOREIGN SECRETARY RELATIONS

‘The Prime Minister–Chancellor of the Exchequer relationship is the most important relationship in modern governments, but the Prime Minister–Foreign Secretary relationship is the next most important’, commented a former Foreign Secretary in interview. It is a crucial relationship. ‘There is nothing so difficult or delicate in the management of a government as the relations between the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary’, Harold Macmillan once argued. ‘They must really be like brothers in a partnership … Both sides of Downing Street must work in complete harmony if confusion and something worse are to be avoided.’102 Historically, it has been a variable relationship with some highly effective partnerships (for example, Attlee–Bevin, Macmillan–Home) and some famously poor or tense ones (for example, Lloyd George– Curzon).103 There has occasionally been more an element of sibling rivalry than the harmony described by Macmillan, and in the modern period the Thatcher–Howe relationship was sometimes described as like a dysfunctional marriage.104 All Foreign Secretaries must now accept the inevitability of a major Prime Ministerial foreign-policy role. No modern Prime Minister could adopt Baldwin’s hands-off role. (‘I hope that you will not bother me with foreign affairs during the next three months’, he once told his astonished Foreign Secretary.)105 Whatever their level of personal interest in foreign affairs (which usually increases over their tenure), Prime Ministers are nowadays institutionally obliged to be deeply and continuously involved – they chair the Cabinet’s main foreign and defence policy committee (see below), have to deal directly with other heads of government, travel abroad almost as frequently as the Foreign Secretary and are caught up in the ceaseless round of international and EU summitry. Modern PMs are estimated to spend more than half their time on external relations (perhaps 80 per cent in the later Thatcher years).106 The increasing inter-


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connectedness of foreign (and particularly EU) policy with domestic policy generates trade-offs and throws up issues which cannot be handled by the Foreign Secretary alone and have to be resolved at prime ministerial level. Equally, Foreign Secretaries recognise (as Howe put it) that ultimately in the EU ‘it is only at the highest level of national authority that crucial concessions can be made or bargains be struck’.107 The Prime Minister in contemporary conditions is inescapably a sort of ‘super-Foreign Secretary’.108 A great deal of important business is handled in regular bilateral meetings between the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary. These are normally weekly and last an hour or so, subject to the availability of each of the principals. A sign that things were going wrong in the Howe–Thatcher relationship was when these meetings started to disappear from the diary or lasted a perfunctory half-hour (Mrs Thatcher then closeting herself with her key foreign-policy aide Charles Powell to work through the issues in detail). The Number 10 private office and the Foreign Secretary’s private office are usually in constant contact through the working day and for the bilaterals they liaise to put together an agenda of perhaps four or five issues that one or the other minister wants to raise (the PM’s private secretary sits in on the meeting to take notes).109 ‘They tended to concentrate on issues of the moment – there wasn’t much long-term thinking at these meetings’, commented an insider. Sometimes, indeed, it was simply a talk about the general situation, helping keep the two on the same wavelength and their thinking in line. Any Foreign Secretary knows that if he and the Prime Minister are united, he will carry great weight in the Cabinet. The two are interdependent. Douglas Hurd described the working relationship in his time in terms of a mutual veto: the Prime Minister could block a decision of the Foreign Secretary, and equally the Foreign Secretary could say ‘no’ to a proposal coming from Number 10 (for example, Mrs Thatcher could reject nominations for senior ambassadorships, but could not impose a nomination of her own on the FCO).110 Foreign Secretaries and Prime Ministers sometimes operate in tandem, travelling together on overseas visits and sitting alongside each other at European Council meetings, for instance. Senior diplomats claim to detect a certain edginess here, Sir Nicholas Henderson writing of Foreign Secretaries’ ‘customary ill humour when accompanying the PM on visits abroad, which is nevertheless nothing compared to their mood if there is any suggestion of

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their being left behind!’111 Howe admits that he never relished travelling as Mrs Thatcher’s number two, and it was not easy to be her coadjutor at summit meetings. (‘In the last resort, I could hardly wrestle with the Prime Minister for control of the British microphone’, he notes wryly.)112 A successful foreign policy is built on a close understanding and collaboration between a Prime Minister and a Foreign Secretary. The two must either work closely together or tread on each other’s feet, as Michael Stewart (Labour Foreign Secretary in the 1960s) once said.113 It will sooner or later end in tears if their policies or objectives diverge or if the personal chemistry is wrong (or goes wrong). ‘The toughest negotiations any Foreign Secretary has are always with his own Prime Minister’, says Lord (Robin) Renwick, former ambassador to the USA. For the Foreign Secretary to be effective, he has to have the backing of the Prime Minister and his Cabinet colleagues, otherwise he’s ineffective. And the worst thing any Foreign Secretary can do really is to say to his other [foreign minister] colleagues, ‘well of course I agree with you, but she – meaning Mrs Thatcher – won’t or alternatively some other Prime Minister won’t …’.114

The perception of the divergence between Thatcher and Francis Pym, for instance, apparently led the US government to discount the latter.115 Sir Nicholas Henderson has testified to a ‘built-in friction’ in the Prime Minister–Foreign Secretary relationship.116 To be sure, a Foreign Secretary cannot expect the Prime Minister not to intervene in foreign affairs. The Foreign Office ‘cannot be in a water-tight compartment’, as Balfour put it – but he exaggerated when he declared that it was ‘the rarest thing when the Prime Minister and the Foreign Minister don’t clash’.117 As a very senior FCO official commented in interview: ‘It is true that the relationship is a tricky one with a capacity to go off the rails, but it’s not correctly described as a tendency let alone a probability of going off the rails.’ A former PUS said: the picture of a sort of constantly charged relationship simply isn’t borne out by my experience. There were clashes between Mrs Thatcher and her Foreign Secretaries, but they were no different and no more frequent than between her and her domestic ministers – a lot of that came from her personality. The true picture is one of a sort of latent tension which from time to time does develop into a serious argument – but not all that often. It depends terribly on the personalities of the incumbents.


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Reviewing these relations in the period since 1974, the middle– late Thatcher years (1982–89), marked by poor relations across Downing Street and clashes with the Foreign Secretary, stand out as untypical – Prime Minister–Foreign Secretary relations have more usually been perfectly workable and good. Wilson, for instance, largely gave Callaghan a free hand and full support. The two of them had regular meetings tête-à-tête with Callaghan brought into and carrying a lot of weight on parliamentary, party and domestic political issues across the board. In turn, Callaghan was active on the international scene as PM and his authority over the general course of foreign policy was clear, but he handled David Owen – who was obviously politically dependent on him – well, took care to keep his Foreign Secretary apprised of his views and thinking, and generally backed him up.118 Thatcher and Carrington formed an effective partnership, helped by the fact that as a peer he was not a competitor or personal rival. They had their disagreements and sometimes argued fiercely, but he put a lot of effort into managing the relationship. Against her instincts, she was gradually won round to support his Rhodesia policy and, with bad grace, she accepted the settlement he negotiated on the UK’s EEC budget contribution (Carrington and his deputy, Gilmour, cleverly outmanoeuvring her by briefing the press that the agreement was a great triumph for Mrs Thatcher).119 By contrast, the Thatcher–Pym relationship was poor – ‘she thinks nothing of him whatsoever’, her aides reported – and, following the Falklands victory, was bound to be short-lived as she was obviously going to remove him as soon as she could (as happened in 1983).120 By that time, Thatcher had come to be increasingly suspicious and critical of the Foreign Office as an institution, feeling that it did not stand up strongly enough for British interests in Europe, that it was too ‘wet’ and too interested in ‘good relations’ with other countries. This was bound to strain her relations with her Foreign Secretary – though the Thatcher–Howe relationship was satisfactory enough at first. Howe’s strength was as a steady, safe manager of foreign policy. In some ways he could act as a counterweight to Thatcher’s impetuosity and bloody-mindedness and, initially, restrain her anti-Europeanism. But their relationship became increasingly tense – she would bully and harangue him even in front of officials – and in a key area, the EU, their differences became unbridgeably wide.121 A senior official gives a ringside view: Thatcher–Howe was extremely abrasive. She used to rough him up. But basically the main objective of the exercise was to cut him and

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 the FCO out of the act – and it was done at both levels: of rather contemptuous treatment of Geoffrey personally and Charles Powell [Thatcher’s powerful foreign affairs private secretary] making sure that the FCO didn’t actually get its hands on anything very much. So there was contempt on one side of Downing Street and resentment on the other. And that pervaded the system up and down. Geoffrey was not a man to say anything improper about the PM, and he just reconciled himself and got on with what he could. But the effect of this, particularly with Reagan in the White House, was to ensure that the transmission belt of policy between Washington and London was conducted on anything that was even half way important on the White House–Number 10 net – the Foreign Office really didn’t get its hands on it at all … It meant that the ambassador – who was a friend of Charles [Powell] – played that game too and dealt primarily with Number 10.

Douglas Hurd never found his relations with Thatcher to be impossible and they worked together reasonably well (significantly, both Major and Hurd established good relations with Charles Powell).122 They differed on the issue of German unification and over Britain’s entry into the European Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) – where the PM had to give way in the face of the axis forged between Hurd and Major as Chancellor of the Exchequer, being politically weakened after Nigel Lawson’s resignation and isolated in the Cabinet. Hurd and Major went on to maintain a close and trusting relationship during 1990–95, with Hurd acting as a behind-the-scenes confidant to his Prime Minister. Their most significant difference was over the issue of qualified majority voting in the EU. Major left most foreign-policy issues to Hurd, though the PM was very active on East–West relations and Ireland as well as (inevitably) on the EU.123 As a senior diplomat put it: ‘Major–Hurd was a civilised relationship between colleagues. There wasn’t conflict. John Major was not a man to grab power – he wasn’t trying to usurp the role of the Foreign Office, and he didn’t have a private secretary who played it that way either.’ Robin Cook had never been politically close to Tony Blair, but his personal reputation and political status took such a battering in his first year or so in office that he became increasingly dependent on prime ministerial goodwill, limiting his scope to pursue an independent policy. Number 10 disliked his Foreign Office ‘mission statement’ and was irritated by his ‘ethical’ foreign policy – Blair’s influential chief of staff, Jonathan Powell (a former diplomat and a key foreign-policy adviser), thought Cook’s approach naive and simplistic. On several crucial occasions, Blair


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sided with the Ministry of Defence and the Department of Trade and Industry and refused to back Cook on restricting arms sales and export licences. The Foreign Secretary was also locked out of the crucial inner debate on the euro (dominated by the PM and the Chancellor) in a way that would have been inconceivable in Hurd’s day.124 Blair has become particularly active in foreign policy, and not just because of ‘September 11’. When Cook was replaced in June 2001, a government source was reported as commenting: ‘Tony Blair has basically taken over as Foreign Secretary. He will call the shots.’125 In the seven months after the 2001 election, the Prime Minister visited 22 countries on official business in 31 days abroad.126 Blair has built up his Downing Street foreign-policy staff apparatus with senior and influential figures such as Sir David Manning, the foreign-affairs adviser, who is something like a US President’s national security adviser, and Sir Stephen Wall, the PM’s European adviser. He also uses unofficial personal envoys on delicate missions, such as Lord Levy on the Middle East, an area of policy where there seem to have been tensions between Downing Street and the Foreign Office. All this has created an impression that the FCO and the Foreign Secretary have been bypassed or marginalised on the big foreign-policy issues, something compounded by Jack Straw’s rather hesitant and uncertain performance in his first year in the job.127

POSITION IN CABINET

The Prime Minister–Foreign Secretary axis normally dominates on foreign affairs: other ministers and the Cabinet have only a limited involvement. At Cabinet meetings the Foreign Secretary gives a regular verbal report on international developments, a brief tour d’horizon.128 ‘The Foreign Secretary would say a few things about maybe three items on his mind’, recalled one insider. (In the Conservative government there was also a separate European Affairs Cabinet agenda item, but Blair subsumed that under ‘Current Events’, covering items of report on home and EU business.) Nigel Lawson complained that the Foreign Secretary’s Cabinet briefing ‘seldom revealed anything that was not already well known to the attentive newspaper reader’.129 It is in fact carefully orchestrated with the PM. As a former Foreign Secretary put it in interview: ‘I would not raise a matter in Cabinet which I

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had not told the Prime Minister I was going to raise, and equally I wouldn’t expect the Prime Minister to raise a foreign-affairs matter which I hadn’t been warned of.’ A senior official believed that this Cabinet item could be ‘fairly tiresome for Foreign Secretaries because every member of the Cabinet probably thinks he’s got an opinion on foreign policy and is liable to fire it out. But it depends on the authority the Foreign Secretary has and the closeness of his relationship with the PM. If the Foreign Secretary and the PM are handling foreign policy in really close cohesion, nobody else is going to put their head far above the parapet in Cabinet, frankly.’ In practice, therefore, there may be brief questions and answers but not usually much discussion. ‘It was to keep Cabinet in the picture for the most part’, recalled one Foreign Secretary; ‘it was very much a reporting activity. If a serious issue was going to arise, one would almost always have pre-cooked it … But it was important to keep them informed, get their reactions to difficult questions, issues that were seriously fraught like Northern Ireland and Hong Kong – issues where you needed to canvass other people’s opinions and engage and secure their commitment.’ Back in the 1960s Richard Crossman argued that ‘a Cabinet consisting of busy departmental Ministers can’t make much impact on how foreign policy is conducted’, and that has remained the case.130 ‘The idea of the Cabinet taking some grand strategic decision on foreign policy just doesn’t happen’, concluded a senior official with experience of Number 10 and the FCO. In a fast-moving international environment the need for speedy decisions also makes extensive Cabinet involvement impracticable. ‘Major issues will appear on the agenda and be seriously debated if the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary want them to or feel that the issue is too important for the Cabinet to be circumvented.’131 Under Mrs Thatcher in the 1980s there were significant Cabinet discussions of the EU budget, the Rhodesia settlement, Hong Kong and the Anglo-Irish agreement. In the Major years, on the EU and on Bosnia, the Cabinet was used by the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary acting together to carefully edge policy forward, win over doubters and carry ministerial colleagues along. The Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister are inevitably the key players on Cabinet committees in foreign affairs. ‘DOPC [the Defence and Overseas Policy Committee] used to be an important committee’, argued a former senior FCO official, ‘but my feeling is that that sort of formalised structure has been on the decline.’


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For much of the 1964–70 Labour government, OPD (as Harold Wilson’s committee was known) had weekly meetings, though by 1969–70 Richard Crossman was complaining that ‘OPD hardly meets and when it does it’s on secondary issues and whenever Harold arbitrarily chooses to call it rather than because it’s got a regular job of work … We only get foreign policy discussed in OPD or Cabinet when there is disagreement between Harold and the Foreign Secretary. As long as those two get on we don’t have serious Cabinet control.’132 By the 1980s, meetings of OPD were, Geoffrey Howe admits, ‘relatively few’.133 An official described it as having ‘a limited role: it was there to sort out issues on which departments couldn’t agree, such as resolving disputes over arms sales – its role is not formulating foreign policy’. Thatcher in any case preferred to operate through small ad hoc groups of ministers and advisers.134 Under Major there was a six-hour OPD meeting in August 1992, discussing both Bosnia and Iraq.135 Major was more collegiate than Thatcher though even his OPD committee did not meet on a regular basis but on an ‘as required’ basis, to deal with particular issues. However, OPD(E), the ministerial subcommittee on European questions, chaired by the Foreign Secretary and with the UK permanent representative to the EU in attendance, was a key committee under Major. It played a crucial role in balancing the different views and emphases within the Conservative Cabinet, papering over cracks, and involving different ministers and departments in the formulation of the UK negotiating position before European summits. Major’s OPD system included a number of subcommittees (on nuclear defence policy, European security, Eastern Europe, Hong Kong, and terrorism – the Foreign Secretary a member of them all). Blair discontinued them, though he added (E)DOP(T) to the network – the subcommittee on European trade issues, chaired by the Foreign Secretary (who also chaired the Blair government’s main (E)DOP ministerial committee on European issues). OPD/DOP has been described as consistently being ‘a purely reactive body, in general confirming the line already agreed by its senior members’.136 The Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, Defence Secretary and Chancellor of the Exchequer are the core members and their interrelationship can be intricate. A Foreign Secretary described in interview how he operated in close liaison with the Defence Secretary at all times to make sure that they were taking the same view of things before they went to Number 10, particularly over European defence issues: ‘I headed-off problems by

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working closely with the Defence Secretary – a lot of OPD work was done in that setting and then cleared with Number 10, and once we’d got that right the Chancellor didn’t really have any direct involvement. And you only needed to consult other ministers if you were, say, handling a DTI-related thing … So OPD didn’t have a very strong need to be involved a great deal.’ A significant amount of collective business is in fact transacted by ministerial correspondence and the exchange of minutes, notes and drafts between OPD ministers and their private offices. (The same goes for the Committee on the Intelligence Services, which apparently last met in 1995, instead doing its work by correspondence between ministers.)

FOREIGN SECRETARIES AND PARLIAMENT

His frequent absence overseas helps explain why Robin Cook was reported in February 2000 as voting in only 5 per cent of House of Commons divisions, tying with the Prime Minister for the worst voting record of Labour Cabinet ministers.137 The Foreign Secretary may not be on the premises very often, but the impact of Parliament on the conduct of foreign policy and the behaviour of FCO ministers should not be underestimated. ‘There’s no clear House of Commons foreign-policy function’, as a senior official noted, there being relatively little FCO legislation and limited parliamentary debate on FCO expenditure. Parliament’s direct role in the making of UK foreign policy is normally limited. Nevertheless, Foreign Secretaries usually pay a lot of attention to the House of Commons. Douglas Hurd has admitted that as a minister he never lost his ‘wholesome respect, even fear, of the House of Commons. I felt it was always there behind my shoulder.’ There is the regular monthly appearance at foreign affairs question time, requiring extensive preparations and briefings. As Hurd recalled: You get pinned down partly by people who are advocates of a particular cause, who are passionate Zionists or passionately pro-Palestine, pro-Greek, pro-Turkish, pro-Pakistani, pro-Indian. You may not care for them, because they are one-sided, but they know about that side. They will know exactly what has happened and who has said what, and they can be formidable. What you cannot afford to do is to ignore them.138


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There are usually three or four regular parliamentary debates a year on foreign affairs, including a wide-ranging Queen’s Speech debate and a debate before each European Council meeting, and if a crisis erupts the Foreign Secretary may be forced to go before MPs and make a statement (the row over Sierra Leone took a lot of Robin Cook’s time, for instance, with the opposition baying for his blood). FCO ministers were obliged to clock up many hours on the front bench during the passage of EU-related bills in the 1980s and 1990s, such as the legislation giving force to the Single European Act and ratifying the Maastricht Treaty (the Conservatives’ civil war over Europe producing huge problems of party management in the latter case). The Foreign Secretary is also regularly grilled in public by the Foreign Affairs Select Committee, sometimes in front of the television cameras; Robin Cook appeared before it four times in 2000. Before every European summit, the Select Committee cross-examines the Foreign Secretary at length and in detail about British policy and other issues likely to come up in the negotiations. These can be testing encounters: MPs on the committee are shrewd and knowledgeable. There is also a ‘behind the scenes’ dimension to the Foreign Secretary’s role in and accountability to Parliament. Managing relations with the opposition is one aspect here. ‘It isn’t in the interests of either side to emphasise this’, said a former Foreign Secretary in interview, ‘but actually at critical moments the relationship between the Foreign Secretary and his Shadow can be very important.’ During the Gulf War, for instance, Douglas Hurd worked closely with Labour’s Gerald Kaufman, consulting over the timing of debates and other tactical questions to ensure a bipartisan approach in Parliament.139 There are occasional confidential briefings of the opposition leaders on ‘Privy Council terms’. ‘It requires work on that relationship, but it’s in the interests of a Foreign Secretary to get that relationship going and to see give and take in the House of Commons’, recalled a former minister. The Foreign Secretary will also want to keep in touch with backbench opinion in his own party (Geoffrey Howe took a lot of trouble over this, using his special advisers to liaise and maintain contacts), and particularly with the backbench party foreign affairs committee. ‘Things can go badly wrong if you lose all contact with your own backbenchers or if you fail to give reasonable access to groups of MPs who are interested in a particular subject’, argued a senior diplomat. If necessary, Conservative Foreign Secretaries would drop everything and see

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the chairman of the party’s backbench foreign affairs committee at an hour’s notice, it is claimed – this group ‘had the power to make his life extremely difficult on the floor of the House if he did not carry it with him’.140 It was strong criticism from backbenchers at the Conservative Party 1922 Committee that convinced Lord Carrington that he had no option but to resign following the Falklands invasion in 1982 (earlier, Tory backbenchers had helped to scupper junior minister Nick Ridley’s ‘leaseback’ proposal). ‘Single issue’ MPs from the myriad of all-party groups and committees, often with close ties to lobbyists, ‘will want to see you, in groups or individually’, recalled a former Foreign Secretary, adding that ‘it was a struggle to get them to see a minister of state’. Parliament thus impinges on the life and work of the Foreign Secretary in important ways and, although foreign policy-making is primarily an executive function (resting on Crown prerogative powers), MPs do scrutinise, call ministers to account and have some influence – often indirect and via anticipated reactions. Successful Foreign Secretaries need sensitive parliamentary antennae.

CONCLUSIONS

Search the world over, hunt history from beginning to end, and you will conclude as a result of your labours that the great Foreign Minister is almost the rarest bird that flies.141

The job of Foreign Secretary ‘has changed and diminished’, it has been argued. ‘Forty years ago it appeared secure, defined and powerful. Since then, the Foreign Office has lost some of its functions, much of its independence and most of the mandarin mystique … [One] must wonder whether [the] office still has the weight, visibility and rewards it once offered an ambitious politician.’142 It is a frustrating and onerous job. With public opinion not particularly interested in foreign affairs except when there is a crisis, the post may not play to people’s political ambitions very much and actually be one in which political reputations are more easily lost than gained. As a veteran diplomat mused: It’s a very difficult job to do partly because you never get clear-cut successes. So it’s a rather thankless task for an ambitious politician because if you think that you’re going to project yourself on the


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world stage as Mr Fixit, you’re sure to come in for a nasty surprise, partly because it’s very difficult to fix things, partly because things that get fixed nowadays usually get fixed by a team of people which doesn’t involve you, and partly because the subject matter of foreign policy is not usually of very great interest to most of the voters of this country. So it’s actually a difficult job, and particularly a difficult job if you’re a ferociously ambitious Foreign Secretary who wants to get to the top – he is going to find quite a lot of tension between his ambitions and how to do the job, which is why in my view some of the people who have not felt like that, like Douglas Hurd, never really aspired to be PM … It’s [a job] better done by people who aren’t devoured by that ambition to get to the top.

In the context of European policy, in particular, the Foreign Secretary may be in a politically damaging ‘no-win’ position, as Douglas Hurd suggests: ‘regarded by their interlocutors as particularly cunning and well-briefed, but by their fellow countrymen as hopelessly outclassed and consistently outmanoeuvred’.143 At the same time, there is still a lustre attached to the post of Foreign Secretary144 and, in all governments, some jockeying for position among rivals and would-be successors can always be detected. Doing something with the office – rather than simply being Foreign Secretary – is the challenge. The modern Foreign Secretary is undoubtedly chronically overloaded. There is a mass of detailed paperwork to stay on top of. And there is too much travel – it is an open question whether, with instant communications to other capitals and a highly professional diplomatic corps, all the trips made by a Foreign Secretary are absolutely necessary. Cutting down on the air miles would allow more time to be devoted to policy-planning and decision-taking on foreign policy in conjunction with FCO officials.145 Douglas Hurd has argued that there are too many international institutions, each trying to do too much, and too many international meetings: ‘heads of government and ministers are beset by minor proposals that should either be settled at working level or abandoned. There is much frantic discussion of detail, too little leisurely development of personal trust and analysis of fundamentals.’146 The problems of overload and overflow are compounded by the effects of rapid rotation in office – six of the Foreign Secretaries in office since 1974 were in post for less than three years, and some of them faced very steep learning curves. As a senior FCO official commented in interview: ‘It’s one of those jobs where longevity brings enormous benefits: you get known on the circuit, get to know the ins and outs of so

40


many problems, you become someone to whom other people turn as being someone with accumulated knowledge and wisdom. The British political system makes it almost impossible to stay as long as it is desirable as Foreign Secretary. The chances that we shall have a Foreign Secretary too long are minimal. The chances that we shall have a Foreign Secretary for too short a time are rather strong.’ All this has a direct bearing on the enduring criticism that the British foreign-policy process is too preoccupied with the short-term pragmatic management of overseas relations, and gives too little time and resources to thinking and looking ahead, and to medium- or long-term strategic planning.147 In the final analysis, few individual Foreign Secretaries make more than a marginal difference to the long-run course of British foreign policy. As Sir Michael Palliser, a former PUS, has commented: ‘it is always difficult to ascribe success (or failure) to a Foreign Secretary, because foreign policy is essentially a continuum. There is a tendency for one man … to start something and for it to be carried forward, not always to a conclusion, by his successor, whether of the same or another political party’.148 Limited tenure is a factor here, of course: ‘a minister is in for two acts of a five-act play’, commented one diplomat. But this is also due to the nature of the policy problems and instruments available. ‘The business of foreign policy is essentially an almost unceasing number of very small initiatives, ideas, developments which add to the great stream of historical events that are working their passage in any event’, says Malcolm Rifkind.149 Taking a broad view, Anthony Seldon argues that ‘of the many Foreign Secretaries … since 1868, few have left much noticeable mark on the conduct of foreign affairs. Those who have influenced the nation’s foreign policy are men who knew a great deal about international affairs (many did not), had an ability to read and digest vast quantities of material, were decisive (many were not), enjoyed time in office of at least three years (over two-thirds have served for less), and usually served during a time of crisis. A command of overseas languages and a liking for foreigners scarcely count.’150 At most, says Douglas Hurd, a new Foreign Secretary is able to ‘alter the compass by a few degrees’. Foreign policy is now largely about marginal adjustments, multilateral bargaining and coordination, and incremental steps, and only rarely about dramatic initiatives and big leaps forward. In the end, the realistic view is that ‘no British Foreign Secretary any longer has the chance to be as good as he claims or as bad as his opponents charge’.151


41

NOTES 1. Anthony Seldon, The Foreign Office: An Illustrated History of the Place and its People (London: HarperCollins, 2000). 2. George Brown, In My Way (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972), p. 119. 3. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. 4. Anthony Seldon, Major: A Political Life (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1997), p. 88. 5. Edmund Dell and Lord Hunt of Tanworth, ‘The Failings of Cabinet Government in the Mid to Late 1970s’, Contemporary Record, 8, 3 (1994), p. 457. 6. ‘Cook’s Empire’, The Times, 31 January 1998. 7. This chapter includes material gathered in interviews with ministers and senior civil servants, quoted on a ‘not for personal attribution’ basis. 8. Lord Carrington, ‘My Job’, in Lectures on the Occasion of the Bicentenary of the Office of Foreign Secretary 1782–1982 (London: Foreign and Commonwealth Office, 1982), p. 27. 9. Bernard Donoughue and G. W. Jones, Herbert Morrison: Portrait of a Politician (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1973), p. 466. 10. Michael Clarke, British External Policy-making in the 1990s (London: Macmillan, 1992). 11. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. 12. John Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office (London: Chapmans, 1992), p. 125. 13. Christopher Mayhew, Time to Explain: An Autobiography (London: Hutchinson, 1987), p. 96. 14. John Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus: The Media and Travelling Diplomacy (Luton: University of Luton Press, 1997), p. 167. 15. Ruth Dudley Edwards, True Brits: Inside the Foreign Office (London: BBC, 1994), p. 33. 16. D. C. Watt, ‘Foreign Secretaries as Diplomats’, in Roger Bullen (ed.), The Foreign Office 1782–1982 (Frederick, MD: University Publications of America, 1984), p. 110. 17. Carrington, ‘My Job’, p. 25. 18. Mark Stuart, Douglas Hurd: The Public Servant (Edinburgh: Mainstream Publishing, 1998), p. 31. 19. Kevin Jefferys, Anthony Crosland: A New Biography (London: Richard Cohen Books, 1999), p. 198. 20. John Major, The Autobiography (London: HarperCollins, 1999), p. 111. 21. John Kampfner, Robin Cook (London: Victor Gollancz, 1998), pp. 103–4. 22. James Naughtie, The Rivals (London: Fourth Estate, 2001), p. 114. 23. James Callaghan, Time and Chance (Glasgow: Collins, 1987), pp. 447–8; David Owen, Time to Declare (London: Michael Joseph, 1991), p. 256. 24. Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, p. 140; Hugo Young, One of Us (London: Pan, 1990), pp. 266–7. 25. Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (London: HarperCollins, 1993), p. 310. 26. Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 196–7. 27. Seldon, Major, pp. 85–7, 100, 588. 28. Jeremy Paxman, Friends in High Places (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1991), p. 151. 29. Paul Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy (London: Macmillan, 1997), p. 241; Young, One of Us, p. 333; Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 309. 30. D. R. Thorpe, Selwyn Lloyd (London: Jonathan Cape, 1989), p. 195. 31. Susan Crosland, Tony Crosland (London: Jonathan Cape, 1982), pp. 338–9. 32. Andrew Roberts, Salisbury: Victorian Titan (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1999), p. 701. 33. Simon Jenkins and Anne Sloman, With Respect, Ambassador (London: BBC, 1985), p. 99. 34. House of Commons Debates, 28 July 1960, cols. 1993–4. 35. Jenkins and Sloman, With Respect, Ambassador, pp. 100–1. 36. Kenneth O. Morgan, Callaghan: A Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 413–14. 37. Viscount Grey of Fallodon, Twenty Five Years, vol. I (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1925), p. 141; Keith Robbins, Sir Edward Grey (London: Cassell, 1971), p. 254. 38. David Dutton, Anthony Eden (London: Arnold, 1997), p. 325.

42 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79.

80. 81. 82. 83. 84.

British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 Ivone Kirkpatrick, The Inner Circle (London: Macmillan, 1959), p. 258. House of Commons Debates, 28 July 1960, col. 1994. Lord Strang, Home and Abroad (London: André Deutsch, 1956), p. 298. Avi Shlaim, Peter Jones and Keith Sainsbury, British Foreign Secretaries since 1945 (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1977), pp. 156–7. Watt, ‘Foreign Secretaries as Diplomats’, p. 110. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Geoffrey Howe, Conflict of Loyalty (London: Macmillan, 1994), pp. 314, 595. Major, The Autobiography, p. 117; Seldon, Major, p. 90. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Carrington, ‘My Job’, p. 27. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 568. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. G. M. Trevelyan, Grey of Fallodon (London: Longmans, Green, 1937), p. 69. D. R. Thorpe, Alec Douglas-Home (London: Sinclair-Stevenson, 1996), pp. 214–15, 411, 430. Alistair Horne, Macmillan 1894–1956 (London: Macmillan, 1988), pp. 359–60. Thorpe, Selwyn Lloyd, pp. 291–3. Interview with Alastair Newton, deputy head of FCO policy planning staff, 24 July 1997, ‘Diplomacy in the Information Age’ website, Centre for Strategic and International Studies, Washington DC (www.csis.org/ics/dia). Lord Howe of Aberavon, ‘Diplomacy: A Diet of Diversity’, speech at Warwick University, February 1997, p. 4; Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 397, 568. Seldon, The Foreign Office, p. 131. Sir Geoffrey Jackson, Concorde Diplomacy (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1981), pp. 53–4. Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, pp. 94–5, 128, 162. Douglas Hurd, The Search for Peace (London: Warner Books, 1997), pp. 163–4. Lord Carrington, Reflect on Things Past (London: Collins, 1988), p. 327–8, 332. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Hurd, The Search for Peace, p. 162. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Douglas Hurd, ‘On the High Wire’, TLS, 12 November 1999, p. 7. Howe, ‘Diplomacy: A Diet of Diversity’, p. 4 Hurd, The Search for Peace, pp. 165–7. Interview with Alastair Newton, deputy head of FCO policy planning staff, 24 July 1997, ‘Diplomacy in the Information Age’ website, Centre for Strategic and International Studies, Washington DC (www.csis.org/ics/dia). Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, p. 37. Ian Gilmour, The Body Politic (London: Hutchinson, 1971), p. 199. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. John Coles, Making Foreign Policy (London: John Murray, 2000), p. 135. Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, pp. 61–3. Geoffrey Moorhouse, The Diplomats (London: Cape, 1977), p. 154. D. Owen, Time to Declare (London: Michael Joseph, 1991), pp. 246–9, 260–5. Jenkins and Sloman, With Respect, Ambassador, p. 103. Kevin Theakston, ‘New Labour and the Foreign Office’, in Richard Little and Mark Wickham-Jones (eds), New Labour’s Foreign Policy (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000). Moorhouse, The Diplomats, p. 154. Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, p. 88; Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, pp. 123–4; House of Commons Debates, 28 July 1960, col. 1983. James Callaghan has argued that ‘Foreign Secretaries in the Lords are not a success when trouble blows up’; see Nicholas Henderson, The Private Office Revisited (London: Profile Books, 2001), p. 180. Ian Gilmour, Dancing with Dogma (London: Simon & Schuster, 1992), p. 50. Kampfner, Robin Cook, pp. 127–9. Seldon, Major, p. 91; Major, The Autobiography, pp. 115–16. Stuart, Douglas Hurd, pp. 117, 451. Kevin Theakston, ‘Junior Ministers in the 1990s’, Parliamentary Affairs, 52, 2 (1999), p. 239.

The Changing Role of the British Foreign Secretary 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93.

94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128.

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Moorhouse, The Diplomats, pp. 145–6; Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, pp. 66–7. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 263. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 398. Kampfner, Robin Cook, pp. 130–1, 133. Henderson, The Private Office Revisited, p. 180. House of Commons Debates, 22 June 2000, cols. 541–2. Owen, Time to Declare, pp. 343, 347. House of Commons Debates, 22 February 1994, col. 158. Peter Hennessay, ‘The Itch after the Amputation? The Purposes of British Intelligence as the Century Turns: An Historical Perspective and a Forward Look’, in K. G. Roberstson (ed.), War, Resistance and Intelligence: Essays in Honour of M. R. D. Foot (London: Leo Cooper, 1999), p. 239. Stephen Dorril, The Silent Conspiracy: Inside the Intelligence Services in the 1990s (London: Heinemann, 1993), p. 172. Stephen Dorril, MI6: Fifty Years of Special Operations (London: Fourth Estate, 2000), p. 800. Richard Norton-Taylor, Truth is a Difficult Concept: Inside the Scott Inquiry (London: Fourth Estate, 1995), p. 100. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 343. Peter Wright, Spycatcher (New York: Viking Penguin, 1987), pp. 110–12. Dorril, The Silent Conspiracy, p. 42. House of Commons Debates, 22 June 2000, col. 545. Harold Macmillan, The Past Masters (London: Macmillan, 1975), p. 136. House of Lords Debates, 25 January 1989, col. 702 (Lord Jenkins). Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 570, 581. Ben Pimlott (ed.), The Second World War Diary of Hugh Dalton 1940–45 (London: Cape, 1986), p. 126. J. M. Lee, ‘The Prime Minister and International Relations’, in Donald Shell and Richard Hodder-Williams (eds), The British Prime Ministership since 1945 (London: Hurst, 1995), p. 200. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 454. David Vital, The Making of British Foreign Policy (London: Allen & Unwin, 1968), p. 54. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 394; Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, pp. 270–1; Coles, Making Foreign Policy, p. 94. Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, p. 285. Nicholas Henderson, The Private Office (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1984), p. 114. See also Denis Greenhill, More by Accident (York: Wilton 65, 1992), p. 106. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 305–6, 394. House of Lords Debates, 25 January 1989, col. 757. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 394. Henderson, The Private Office, p. 114. Blanche E. C. Dugdale, Arthur James Balfour (London: Hutchinson, 1936), pp. 292–3. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 409, 506, 588–9; Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 300; Owen, Time to Declare, pp. 261–2. Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy; Gilmour, Dancing with Dogma, p. 295. Young, One of Us, pp. 266–7, 272. Nigel Ashford, ‘Thank you for Being There, Sir Geoffrey’, Independent, 29 July 1989. Stuart, Douglas Hurd, p. 235. Seldon, Major, pp. 452–4; Seldon, The Foreign Office, p. 131. Andrew Rawnsley, Servants of the People: The Inside Story of New Labour (London: Hamish Hamilton, 2000), pp. 22, 58, 76, 169–70. ‘The sacrifice’, Observer, 10 June 2001. ‘Blair Comes under Fire for Global Wanderlust’, The Times, 10 January 2002. ‘The Lost Straw’, Guardian, 4 January 2002. Though it is claimed that, in the mid-1980s, Geoffrey Howe was sometimes encouraged to give lengthy reports of up to 30–45 minutes in order to eat up time and stop

44

129. 130. 131. 132.

133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148. 149. 150. 151.

British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 Cabinet meetings ending embarrassingly early. John Barnes, ‘Clarke on Cabinet Government’, LSE Magazine, Winter 1999, p. 10. Nigel Lawson, The View from No. 11 (London: Bantam Press, 1992), pp. 125–6. Richard Crossman, The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister, vol. I: Minister of Housing 1964–66 (London: Hamish Hamilton and Jonathan Cape, 1975), p. 189. Simon James, British Cabinet Government, 2nd edn (London: Routledge, 1999), p. 145. Richard Crossman, The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister, vol. II: Lord President of the Council and Leader of the House of Commons 1966–68 (London: Hamish Hamilton and Jonathan Cape, 1976), p. 108; Richard Crossman, The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister, vol. III: Secretary of State for Social Services 1968–1970 (London: Hamish Hamilton and Jonathan Cape, 1977), pp. 402, 787. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 397–8. Percy Craddock, In Pursuit of British Interests (London: John Murray, 1997), p. 10. Seldon, Major, p. 306. James, British Cabinet Government, pp. 145–6. Guardian, 17 February 2000. Douglas Hurd, ‘The Present Usefulness of the House of Commons’, The Journal of Legislative Studies, 3, 3 (1997), pp. 3–4. Stuart, Douglas Hurd, p. 243. Clarke, British External Policy-making in the 1990s, pp. 121–2. F. S. Oliver, The Endless Adventure, quoted in Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, p. 86. ‘Cook’s Empire’, The Times, 31 January 1998. Hurd, The Search for Peace, p. 166. Moorhouse, The Diplomats, pp. 162–3. Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, pp. 314–15; Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus, p. x. Hurd, The Search for Peace, p. 171. Kirkpatrick, The Inner Circle, p. 267; Coles, Making Foreign Policy. Michael Palliser, ‘Foreign Secretary’, in Dick Leonard (ed.), Crosland and New Labour (London: Macmillan, 1999), p. 101. How To Be Foreign Secretary, BBC, 4 January 1998. Seldon, The Foreign Office, p. 110. Peter Riddell, ‘Cook’s Hubris is the Real Source of All His Troubles’, The Times, 21 May 1998.

2

James Callaghan: Foreign Secretary 1974–76 David Allen

BACKGROUND

James Callaghan was lucky to have a formidable experience to draw upon when he became Foreign Secretary in March of 1974 following Labour’s surprise success in the general election that had been prematurely called by Edward Heath. In March of 1974 Callaghan had held the position of shadow Foreign Secretary for two years following the reshuffle that had been caused by Roy Jenkins’s resignation in 1972 over the Labour Party’s stance on the EEC. During this time Callaghan travelled extensively to the USA, the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, the Far East and the Middle East, renewing old acquaintances and making many new ones.1 Until then Callaghan had been shadow Home Secretary but Wilson’s decision to replace Jenkins with Healey as shadow Chancellor meant that probably only Callaghan could be given the vacant foreign-policy portfolio. Callaghan was therefore reasonably well informed about the most important foreign-policy issues of the day when he took office. Far more important though was his long career at the centre of British politics, which had begun with his election to Parliament as the MP for Cardiff South in 1945. Callaghan was immediately appointed to the Attlee government as parliamentary private secretary to John Parker, the Under-Secretary of State for Dominion Affairs, but resigned shortly afterwards remaining on the back benches until he was made Parliamentary Secretary for Transport in 1947; in 1950 he was moved sideways to a similar position at the Admiralty. From 1951 onwards Callaghan was elected to the

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shadow Cabinet every year that Labour was in opposition, and when Labour was returned to power in 1964 he held the other two great offices of state: as Chancellor of the Exchequer until the humiliating 1967 devaluation and then Home Secretary until Labour was defeated in 1970. Thus, when he became Foreign Secretary, Callaghan had held either shadow or real Cabinet office continuously for 23 years; a formidable and effective apprenticeship for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO). To Callaghan’s experience of high office must also be added his considerable role within the Labour Party over the preceding years.2 He was elected to the National Executive Committee (NEC) of the party every year from 1955 with the exception of 1962, and after 1967 held the posts first of all of treasurer and then chairman of the party – a formidable power base that served him well as both Foreign Secretary and eventually as Prime Minister. As well as governmental experience and a Labour Party power base Callaghan also bought some more specific experience to bear on his new post. First of all he had been a formidable trade union negotiator for the Inland Revenue Staff Association before the war. Secondly, despite his humble upbringing in Portsmouth, he had during the war been singled out for a commission in the Royal Navy rising to the rank of lieutenant within naval intelligence. He was to make full use of both his negotiating experience and his interest in and knowledge of naval power during his time at the FCO. Furthermore Callaghan had direct experience of the problems of international relations. From 1956 until he became shadow Chancellor in 1961 he was shadow Colonial Secretary,3 a portfolio that enabled him to pursue, with the enthusiastic backing of the Labour Party, the cause of decolonisation. During this period Callaghan got to know well a number of black African leaders who were to come to power in the 1960s and whose friendship proved invaluable when he made the advancement of Commonwealth affairs one of the objectives of his time at the FCO. Like many other Labour politicians of his generation Callaghan also developed a wide range of contacts through the Socialist International such that he knew personally many of the social democrats who found themselves in power in European states when he was Foreign Secretary. As we shall see, Callaghan’s contribution to events in the Middle East, in Africa and in many parts of western Europe depended heavily on the contacts that he had made in the period before he became Foreign Secretary. His experience as Chancellor in particular gave him a string of contacts in the USA and even led to him nearly absenting himself

James Callaghan, 1974–76

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from British politics when, during his period in opposition after the 1970 defeat, he was offered but eventually declined, the post of managing director of the International Monetary Fund. It is perhaps understandable that Callaghan might have considered a change of direction after Labour’s 1970 election defeat. He was then 58 and four years older than Harold Wilson who showed, at that time, no sign of seeking an early retirement. Callaghan might have calculated that Labour would be out of office for at least four and possibly five years with no guarantee then of either a return to power or, for Callaghan, further advancement from the lofty heights that he had already attained. Morgan records Callaghan’s own dissatisfaction with his record in office between 1964 and 1970, spoilt as it was for him by the humiliation of the 1967 devaluation of sterling.4 During the period in opposition Callaghan consolidated his financial position, became a farmer in Sussex and survived a prostate operation. His decision to carry on in politics was perhaps initially influenced by the fact that Harold Wilson was damaged by the election defeat, and the danger that Callaghan too might be seen as ‘yesterday’s man’ was lessened by his changed status in the Labour Party brought about by the divisions over Europe, which saw the end of Roy Jenkins’s leadership ambitions. It was Jenkins’s decision to resign over the Labour Party’s negative attitude towards EEC membership that opened the way for Callaghan to become shadow Foreign Secretary at a time when the fate of the Labour Party depended on the way that the major foreign-policy issue of the EEC was handled. Nevertheless while Callaghan’s previous career certainly prepared him well for the challenge of becoming Foreign Secretary it still required a spectacular miscalculation by Edward Heath to actually get him into the FCO. If Heath had not called an election in early 1974 but had held on for another 18 months then he might well have stayed in office, in which case Callaghan would presumably have given up on ever returning to power and would have become neither Foreign Secretary nor, eventually, Prime Minister – no wonder that he called his autobiography Time and Chance.5

PERSONAL STYLE

Callaghan came to the FCO with a mixture of respect and suspicion for the institution but, from the beginning his previous experience of government, ensured that he was never overawed in the way

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that George Brown6 and Michael Stewart had been. While Callaghan himself refers to the FCO as ‘this Rolls Royce of Departments’7 he was also believed to have said on his first day in office that he supposed the FCO to be pro-Arab, pro-Catholic and pro-European.8 Callaghan came to trust the FCO and he clearly developed excellent relations with his senior officials9 but he was also careful not to rely exclusively upon them. Moorhouse records that he always chose to take problems away and to consult outside the FCO when faced with difficult decisions.10 Callaghan himself, in a Fabian pamphlet that he published at the end of 1975, makes much of the fact that he ‘tried to secure full and open debate about the general direction of our foreign policy. Problems such as peace and war … should not and can not be left as sole prerogative of a few foreign policy experts … Foreign policy is not an idol to be hidden in the temple untouched by profane hands.’11 To this end and ever anxious to protect his domestic back, Callaghan sought regular consultations with the Trades Union Congress (TUC) International Committee, the Labour Party International Committee (although he often found these meetings both irritating and tedious) and the Confederation of British Industry (CBI) – a reminder of a time when British government was perceived to be increasingly corporatist. Callaghan also encouraged British missions abroad to make visiting trade unionists as welcome as they did industrialists and argued that this was a useful two-way education process.12 This determination to seek advice outside the FCO was also connected to Callaghan’s sensitivity to the domestic context of the foreign policy that he was seeking to pursue. He was, of course, concerned about his position in the Labour Party in general and among the Labour hierarchy in particular. It is not clear exactly when Callaghan knew of Wilson’s determination to retire in March 1976; in his autobiography Callaghan recalls being told of this by Harold Lever at the end of 1975,13 but others believe that he probably knew earlier. For instance Nicholas Henderson records in his diary14 that Michael Palliser, who worked closely with Callaghan first as Britain’s ambassador to the EC and then (1975) as permanent under-secretary of the FCO and head of the diplomatic service, informed him when Callaghan first became Foreign Secretary that Wilson’s departure was imminent. Henderson also recorded his very strong impression that Harold Wilson was, by 1974, a man living in the past with little sense of his own role in the future.15 Whether he knew or not of the strong possibility of succeeding him, Callaghan enjoyed an extremely good relationship with Harold Wilson during his time at the FCO.


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Wilson himself was much more relaxed, some would say tired, during his second period in office and he did not appear to see Callaghan as any sort of rival. On the contrary, he clearly came to regard Callaghan as his preferred successor and trusted confidant. At the end of the gruelling EEC negotiations in Dublin in 1975 Wilson summed up the relationship when he announced: ‘We have the great advantage that Jim and I are a complete partnership. We pass the ball from one to another and break through the opposition.’16 For his part Callaghan could and would talk to Wilson most days and would regularly cross the road to visit him in Downing Street to discuss both FCO and other government and Labour Party business. For two years they acted as a most effective and mutually reinforcing team: Wilson provided full support for his Foreign Secretary and only really sought to be kept fully informed on matters related to his long-held interest in South Africa and Israel. Callaghan probably enjoyed better relations with the Prime Minister than any other Foreign Secretary in recent times. In line with his determination not to rely exclusively on the FCO, Callaghan made some significant appointments both to his ministerial team and to his private office. Wilson seems to have indulged him when it came to the ministerial appointments, sending Goronwy Roberts, who had lost his seat at the election, to represent the FCO in the Lords at Callaghan’s behest and giving him David Ennals and Roy Hattersley as his effective and supportive ministers of state. Hattersley, who was strongly in favour of the EEC, did much of the donkey work on the renegotiation portfolio, while Jack Cunningham, then ‘a rising star in the Labour Party’,17 skilfully ensured that Callaghan was kept in touch with thinking in the party. Joan Lester was appointed by Callaghan as ‘his conscience’18 but she was soon replaced by the more compliant Ted Rowlands.19 Callaghan also made some impact with the appointments that he made to his private office. As well as Cunningham, he appointed Tom McNally, who had been his main adviser when in opposition but who had also been Labour’s international secretary. McNally, who was given the title of political adviser, was one of the first of Labour’s ‘spin doctors’ and Callaghan arranged for him to have sight of all incoming telegrams other than those that related to intelligence matters. McNally played a significant role during Callaghan’s period at the FCO, acting as his personal emissary with Lord Greenhill on a trip to Rhodesia and persuading the FCO to revive its interest in the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) process. Dickie credits McNally and Cunningham with persuading Callaghan to stand firm on Belize

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when the FCO was inclined to concede matters to the USA.20 McNally also became Callaghan’s main speech-writer although this did not stop him wishing to emulate his friend Henry Kissinger by insisting that the Foreign Office also provide him with a team of speech-writers – as Dickie reports the FCO could not manage a whole team but Callaghan was given the services of just one official (Christopher Meyer) who was transferred to the planning staff in order to carry out this function.21 More controversially Callaghan refused to accept a diplomat as his press officer (head of news department) but appointed instead Tom McCaffrey who had carried out this function for him at the Home Office. Callaghan liked and respected his FCO advisers but there was no way that he was going to allow them to completely embrace him. Callaghan also initiated the practice of taking his private office (and the British press corps!) with him on his travels. To this end he made use of a converted RAF VC10 as a ‘flying foreign office’ enabling him, for instance, to visit six African countries in just eight days in a trip at the end of 1974, which has been described as ‘meet the people’ diplomacy.22 The epic journey was brilliantly stage-managed and organised to achieve the maximum positive publicity back home for the Foreign Secretary. Callaghan also used his flying office for his celebrated mission to rescue Denis Hills from the clutches of Idi Amin in July 1975.23 Callaghan brought a very distinct style to his time at the FCO; he made good but nevertheless wary use of the expertise offered him, and he was always able to act in the knowledge that he had the full support of the Prime Minister. He was an effective negotiator who drew on his union experience and who liked to hit his opponents with strong positions late in the day. He came into the FCO with a reputation as a fixer and as a very hard but judicious worker. (Callaghan would attend to his paperwork but he would insist on taking only one box per night home with him.) He put considerable store on the extensive personal relationships and acquaintanceships that he had cultivated over his many years as a senior and well-travelled British socialist politician and he used his position to develop new ones, such as the close and lasting relationship he came to have with Henry Kissinger. He came to the FCO with strong views about the need to counter what he saw as the Heath government’s excessive pandering to the EEC and he was determined to restore both the special relationship with the USA and with the Commonwealth.24 This was not, however, to be at the expense of Britain’s role in an integrated Europe. Over the EEC, as we shall see, Callaghan demonstrated his talents as a


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clever and calm negotiator and his pragmatic flexibility as he accepted the reality of UK membership of an EEC that he had little enthusiasm for. His realistic appraisal of Britain’s relatively weak position led him to demonstrate great caution and a determination never to act without the full support of the USA. He was also skilful in managing his party during a period when its divisions had the potential to inflict real damage on the government’s external policies. Callaghan knew which buttons to push to get the Labour Party to work for rather than against his foreign policy, and in so doing he managed to retain the respect and admiration of both his party colleagues and his FCO officials – no mean feat in the 1970s. The only time when the FCO had serious cause to doubt Callaghan’s intentions came when he instructed the Central Policy Review Staff (CPRS), under the direction of Kenneth Berrill, to conduct yet another review of Britain’s overseas representation.25 The FCO did not like the terms of reference, which looked as if the FCO was the target26 and it liked even less the eventual proposal that the diplomatic service and the home civil service be merged. Had Callaghan still been Foreign Secretary when the report was published in 1977 then he might have accepted some of its more controversial proposals, but as it turned out he was now Prime Minister and was not inclined to add to his troubles by further antagonising an outraged diplomatic service.27 Callaghan came to the FCO at a significant time for both the country and the Labour Party. His most important and immediate task was to stage-manage the renegotiation of the terms of Britain’s EEC membership, but as we shall see below he was also to be tested by a number of other equally serious issues that arose during his stewardship of British foreign policy.

CONTEXT

In an ideal world Jim Callaghan would have placed a very low priority indeed on the EEC as a subject for his attention as Foreign Secretary. He would most certainly have preferred to devote his time to improving Britain’s relationship with the Soviet Union and the USA and to enhancing the role of both the Commonwealth and the United Nations. Circumstance, however, dictated that the first year of his two in the FCO had to be devoted to the renegotiation of the terms of Britain’s membership of the EEC so that the referendum on Britain’s continued membership of the EEC, which

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Labour had promised while in opposition, could be held. Callaghan had always been sceptical about the advantages of EEC membership and, as Labour’s position had hardened, he had spoken out against it. After the 1970 defeat the issue, which came to the fore once again as Heath sought and looked like achieving EEC entry, threatened to seriously divide the Labour Party. In the key vote on the European Communities Bill in 1972, 69 Labour MPs defied a three-line whip to vote with the Heath government; 20 Labour MPs abstained; and Roy Jenkins had resigned as deputy leader of the party following its decision to support a referendum on the issue.28 Wilson’s strategy, which was supported by Callaghan, was to avoid further discussion of the principle of membership by focusing on the inadequacy of the terms of membership that Heath had accepted. In this way and by promising a referendum after renegotiating the terms Wilson and Callaghan hoped to avoid a potentially fatal split in the party. The strategy as laid out by Wilson had one serious flaw: it was based on the assumption that it would not be put to the test in the near future because the downfall of the Heath administration was not anticipated. When Heath lost the election that he himself had called in early 1974 Wilson found himself back in power committed to renegotiating the terms and then putting them, with a governmental recommendation, to the British people in a referendum. It fell to Callaghan as the new Foreign Secretary to shoulder this task. Wilson supported him throughout and made a number of important interventions but he left most of the detailed negotiation,29 both with the EEC and its member states and within the Labour Party at home, to Callaghan and Hattersley.30 Callaghan embarked on the EEC negotiations with no apparent desire to see them succeed. The parameters of his brief had been laid out in Harold Wilson’s speech to the 1972 Labour Party conference and then in the Labour Party election manifesto.31 It was to improve access for Commonwealth agricultural products, to reduce Britain’s budget contributions, to retain the freedom to fix exchange rates (by rejecting proposals to create an economic and monetary union), to prevent VAT being imposed on ‘necessities’, to retain the power to pursue fiscal, regional and industrial policies and to initiate policies designed to help developing countries. At the beginning Callaghan was of the opinion that achievement of these objectives would require alterations to the EEC Treaties and to the European Communities Act, but he was soon disabused of this notion by the FCO32 who understood that the changes sought had little real substance given the way that the EEC had evolved – European Monetary Union (EMU) was not a


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credible option, the agricultural demands could be met without fundamentally changing the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), and the proposed Lome Convention gave Britain what it wanted with regard to assisting developing countries. The only real sticking point was the question of the budgetary contributions and even here, once Britain accepted the inviolable nature of the principle that the EEC should dispose of its own resources (albeit by deciding to return some to Britain), the problem boiled down to one of political will on the part of the other EEC member states. Far more difficult than reaching agreement with the rest of the EEC was the problem of keeping the Labour Party and Cabinet together, and Callaghan’s aggressive opening stance at a meeting of EEC Foreign Ministers in Luxembourg on 1 April 1974 was primarily designed to take the wind out of the sails of the antimarketeers at home. He had warmed up for this supposed confrontation with a meeting in the FCO attended by Britain’s ambassadors to the EEC states.33 At this meeting Callaghan presented his ambassadors with the Labour Party manifesto and suggested that they regard it as his negotiating brief. He also made it clear to those who could understand the delicacy of his position that, while he intended to ‘negotiate to succeed’, his major problem probably lay at home rather than with the EEC and that this would require him to demonstrate to his Cabinet colleagues that he was firmly resistant to the blandishments of the ‘elitist, pro-European attitudes of the Foreign Office’. Callaghan was right to focus his concerns on the domestic front. Wilson estimated that when Labour came to power his Cabinet was split 12 to nine against continued EEC membership, with Wilson and Callaghan agnostic.34 It was a measure of their successful tactics that by the time the same Cabinet voted on the renegotiated terms in 1975 the split was 16 to seven in favour of staying in: meaning that Fred Peart, John Morris, Merlyn Rees, Lord Shepherd and Reg Prentice had been persuaded to change their views, leaving just Michael Foot, Barbara Castle, Eric Varley, Willie Ross, Tony Benn, Peter Shore and John Silken opposed. This was where the real success lay rather than the acquiescence of the other EEC member states to the insignificant changes to the workings of the EEC that had been agreed. This is not to say that the negotiations in Brussels and in the various national capitals were not long and hard, although they were probably made easier by the changes of personnel that occurred shortly after Labour came to power: Helmut Schmidt replacing Willy Brandt and Valerie Giscard D’Estaing replacing

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the deceased Georges Pompidou. Schmidt in particular proved to be supportive of Callaghan (even most effectively addressing the Labour Party conference on the issue in late 197435 when Callaghan introduced him not as a head of government but as a fraternal delegate from the socialist party of Germany); and Giscard, for all his self-importance and pomposity, was less wedded to the terms agreed with Heath than Pompidou would have been. Callaghan engaged vigorously in an essentially theological argument with the others about the importance and relevance of the concept of political union, which he was fundamentally opposed to and on which he suspected his fellow foreign ministers to be essentially hypocritical. In 1975, in a classic statement of traditional British pragmatism on the issue, Callaghan wrote that ‘I have always felt uneasy about some of the political rhetoric used about the future of Europe and the willingness to set objectives (such as EMU and political union) and adopt unrealistic dates before anyone knows they can be reached.’36 Callaghan’s negotiating position was eased once Labour had won the second election in 1974 because the other EEC countries then knew that they would have to deal with the Labour government for the foreseeable future. Callaghan certainly softened his attitude towards the EEC as the endgame approached, and he and Wilson gave assurances to both Schmidt and Giscard that, if concessions were made towards the British position, they would personally advocate acceptance of the new terms. Callaghan was never enthusiastic about the EEC but he did come to quite like the European Political Cooperation procedure for coordinating EEC member state foreign policies. The Cyprus crisis in particular (see below) made Callaghan think hard about Britain’s ability to act alone without the support of the USA, such that a bit of European solidarity began to look quite attractive. The deal was finally struck with some assistance from M. Ortoli, the French President of the Commission at the Dublin European Council meeting in the spring of 1975. This laid the path clear for the referendum which Callaghan had supported, albeit not very enthusiastically. He saw it as making the best of a bad job, having early on correctly recognised that it represented a life raft for both sides of the EEC debate. Wilson suspended collective Cabinet responsibility for the duration of the campaign, but the result was never seriously in doubt with two-thirds of the electorate giving a two-to-one majority for acceptance of the renegotiated terms. The whole campaign had been a great success for Callaghan personally. Wilson was content to ‘leave it to Jim’ and Callaghan was


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able to practise statesmanship and enhance his popularity in a party that fundamentally wanted to put the issue behind it as soon as possible. He emerged in a strong position vis-à-vis the other potential leadership candidates and he certainly gained the respect of the FCO for the way that he had handled not just his EEC interlocutors but also the potentially explosive domestic scene. The successful renegotiation was important for British politics and British foreign policy, but Callaghan was probably right in his sceptical assessment that membership of the EEC would make little real difference to the enormous economic problems that Britain was to face in the rest of the 1970s. In the summer of 1974, with the EEC negotiations only just under way, Callaghan faced a major crisis when the Cypriot government of Archbishop Makarios was overthrown by a Greek junta-inspired coup leading to a Turkish invasion of the northern part of the island.37 Britain found itself at the centre of events mainly because, along with Greece and Turkey, it was a guarantee power charged with preserving the independence of Cyprus, but also because it had several military installations on the island and because a large number of British tourists were trapped in what potentially was a full-scale war zone. While the EEC negotiations had supported the view that ‘Jim could fix it’ the Cyprus conflict suggested that even his powers of persuasion were limited especially, as proved to be the case, when he could not rely on the support of the USA and his friend Henry Kissinger. American support would always have been problematic, partly because Kissinger did not share Britain’s enthusiasm for Makarios, because the Cypriot leader had requested Soviet help in his bid to keep his country independent, and partly because the USA had tacitly supported the Greek military regime, which was behind the overthrow of Makarios, in a bid to keep Greece within the NATO fold. However, matters were made considerably worse by the situation in Washington where the Nixon presidency was coming to its end as a result of the Watergate scandal. At vital moments Kissinger was distracted by events at home, and he records in his memoirs that he was often unable to receive diplomatic material at the western White House in California because of the volume of Watergate-related traffic.38 Callaghan too records that things were made much more difficult for him because of his inability to talk directly to Kissinger at critical moments in the crisis.39 Callaghan, like almost every British Foreign Secretary since Suez, knew better than to seek to go it alone in a military crisis without the full support of the USA.

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Once Makarios had fled the island and found his way to Britain, Callaghan’s main objective was to deter a Turkish invasion, which seemed likely given the situation of the besieged Turkish Cypriot population. He tried to invoke the provisions of the Treaty of Guarantee, which required the guaranteeing powers to take action to maintain or restore the sovereign integrity of Cyprus, but neither the Greeks nor the Turks were prepared to enter negotiations with each other or with the British. Instead the Turks demanded that Britain offer direct assistance through its military bases to Turkish forces seeking to protect the Turkish Cypriot population. Callaghan could not go along with this, but he needed the USA to put more pressure than it was prepared to on the Greek government to withdraw its support for the rebels in Cyprus if he was to hold the Turks at bay. The US government was less concerned than the British for the fate of a Commonwealth country and just wanted to keep the two sides apart and the Soviets out. It was also less keen than the British to see the end of the Greek military regime for it feared that the new government would be Sovietinclined, and so Kissinger did not give Callaghan the help that his diplomatic strategy required. Worse, when the Greek government did fall, Kissinger’s brand of realpolitik led him to give tacit support to the Turks as they invaded and then refused to leave Cyprus. As Callaghan, first of all in London and then in Geneva, tried to negotiate a return to the status quo he received little assistance from the USA and was, as a result, able to achieve nothing other than avoid British involvement in military hostilities. Nearly 30 years after the crisis the situation remains much as it was when the immediate threat of war between Greece and Turkey or between Britain and Turkey was dealt with by an acceptance of an effective division of the island and thus the failure of the Treaty of Guarantee. Callaghan was severely criticised at the time for his apparent reluctance to take action either to deter the initial coup or the subsequent Turkish invasion. He was given a difficult time in 1976 in front of a House of Commons select committee, which he initially refused to attend40 and at which he then stonewalled. The result was a critical report that complained about Callaghan’s unhelpful attitude and which criticised his actions, claiming that they reflected either a lack of information or initiative or both. Kellner and Hitchens suggest that Callaghan, recognising the limited options that he had, preferred to be accused of ignorance rather than collusion with US indifference to the fate of a Britishprotected Commonwealth country.41 It was not a happy episode in Callaghan’s career although it did not do him significant damage


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because war was avoided, British tourists were returned safely and the Greek military government, which was so disliked by many in the Labour Party, fell. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the Cyprus crisis did have its comic moments. Callaghan records the fact that he first knew of the Turkish invasion of Cyprus when Kissinger phoned him at home in the middle of the night.42 When the FCO car failed to arrive Callaghan hailed a passing Homepride bread delivery van and hitched a ride into work.43 Callaghan’s memoirs also contain an interesting discussion of the use of the telephone (which he disliked as a poor replacement for face-to-face contact) in a crisis which is illustrated by the reproduction of his phone log for Sunday 21 July during which he had no fewer than ten separate phone conversations with Kissinger alone.44 However, despite all the phone calls, Callaghan’s Cyprus experience tended to confirm what he already believed: the special relationship with the USA was vital but, however carefully it was nurtured, it had its limitations. No wonder that Callaghan became relatively enthusiastic about the development of EEC foreign-policy cooperation. Callaghan had much greater success when it came to dealing with the situation that arose in Portugal after 1974.45 Once again he found himself in greater agreement with his EEC colleagues than with the USA – indeed his great triumph was to ‘educate’ the Americans into a more subtle understanding of the significance of Portugal’s admittedly controversial return to democracy. In 1974, fed up with the costly colonial wars being waged in Africa by Salazar’s equally dictatorial successor Caetano, the Portuguese military staged a military coup and established a Marxist junta that looked as if it was capable of taking Portugal directly from fascism to communism missing out liberal democracy. While the USA was inclined to leave the military junta to do its worst in Portugal, in the belief that this would be a salutary lesson to the rest of western Europe, Callaghan sought to give his support to the Portuguese socialist party led by Mario Soares. He had known Soares for years through the Socialist International and, when the armed forces movement was invited to Moscow, Callaghan ensured that Soares was invited to London. Callaghan saw the opportunity that the Portuguese revolution offered to democratic forces and, while the Labour Party built on its links with the Portuguese socialists, Callaghan also used Tom McNally to encourage the British Conservatives to establish their own links with Portugal’s right-of-centre democratic parties. While the Americans raged on the sidelines, Callaghan and

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Wilson also exploited their links with the Soviets both in Moscow and on the margins of the CSCE conference in Helsinki. In effect they called on the Soviets to leave Portugal alone, arguing that this would be seen as a show of good faith that could be rewarded with a successful CSCE conference, which is what the Soviets most desired.46 Callaghan also orchestrated the other European socialists, and he and Wilson played a leading role in a meeting of socialist heads of government which was convened in Stockholm just after the Helsinki conference. At this meeting such luminaries as Palme, Brandt, Schmidt, Mitterrand, Kreisky, Craxi and Rabin all pledged their support for Soares,47 and eventually were rewarded by his electoral triumph – a striking rebuttal of the US view that nothing could be done to prevent a communist Portugal and that this would be a good thing as it would ‘vaccinate the rest of Europe’ against similar experiments. Callaghan deserves great credit for his part in the ‘rescue’ of democratic Portugal. When Callaghan first became Foreign Secretary he made it clear that he wished to improve Britain’s relations with both superpowers and that he wished to assist the developing process of détente wherever possible. At a time when the USA was showing little interest in the substance of the proposed Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, Callaghan recognised its importance to the Soviet Union and its potential to improve relations across the European continent. He rejected the traditional FCO argument that the Soviets wished to use the CSCE to divide western Europe from the USA, and he took steps to engage the Soviet Union. He invited Gromyko to London and set up a return visit to Moscow for Harold Wilson and himself. He showed considerably more sensitivity in his handling of yet another spy case than had his Conservative predecessors.48 Callaghan was responsible for setting up an annual Anglo-Soviet meeting under the auspices of Chatham House along the lines of the Konisgwinter conferences that had done so much to bring the Anglo-German elites together since the end of the war. Kissinger came to value Callaghan’s ‘take’ on the Russians because he understood that, in his dealings with them, Callaghan never deviated from his basic position as an unshakeable ally of the USA. Callaghan reached a significant agreement with the Soviets about a mutual non-interference in the affairs of Yugoslavia in the event of the death of Tito, and he would claim that his ‘quiet diplomacy’ within the margins of the CSCE produced results not just with regard to Portugal but also in relation to the regular release of Soviet dissidents that he privately identified. Callaghan believed


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with some justification that, unlike one or two of his predecessors, he knew how to deal with the Russians. In later years Callaghan was critical of Mrs Thatcher for allowing the Falklands situation to develop as it did in the early 1980s. He was faced with regular demands from the Ministry of Defence to save money by withdrawing HMS Endurance from the South Atlantic, but he understood the symbolic importance of its presence49 (he was in any case an enormous enthusiast for the demonstration of sea power). Similarly he would claim that he too was faced with the problem of the Falkland Islands’ steady economic decline and the British public’s apparent uninterest in paying any price to retain the islands. Like Mrs Thatcher he was prepared to consider negotiating with the Argentinians but he would claim that, unlike her, he never ‘took his eye off the ball’ but remained vigilant and determined to send the Argentinians no false signals. His aim was to cooperate with Argentina but to deter via preventive diplomacy any thoughts of an Argentinian takeover of the Falklands. In 1975 Callaghan was sufficiently concerned about the need to be careful over this issue that he sent Wilson a 17-page memo on the subject. In retrospect Callaghan perhaps had grounds to be as critical as he was of the Thatcher government’s policy prior to the Argentinian invasion because it seemed to break all the rules he had so carefully laid down. Callaghan himself compared his experience with his Conservative successor by stating that ‘we kept the peace but the Tories won the war’.50 If Callaghan saw himself as the peacemaker over the Falklands then he has to be seen as warmonger, albeit on a near farcical scale, when one considers his curious prosecution of the third Cod War with Iceland in late 1975. When Iceland declared a 50-mile limit and sought to restrict the rights of British fishermen within the excluded area Callaghan took enormous offence at what he saw as unjustified unilateral action. He instructed the Royal Navy to intervene should the Icelandic fishery patrols seek to cut the nets of offending British trawlers. At the time Iceland relied on fishing for 81 per cent of its export earnings while Britain relied on it for 0.2 per cent of its export earnings! It remains a mystery why Callaghan chose to make a fight of this; some say that he had little regard for Iceland where he was based for a short time during the war; others argue that British foreign policy on this issue was essentially ‘captured’ by Fred Peart, the Minister for Agriculture, Fisheries and Food; and others say that he just could not resist the flexing of a little naval muscle. In any event he was given short shrift by Kissinger when he complained to him about

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Iceland’s behaviour. Morgan excuses him by seeking to lay the blame at Hattersley’s door,51 but the ultimate irony is that, when Britain eventually gave in, as it was bound to do, the job of negotiating the climbdown fell to Callaghan’s successor, Anthony Crosland, who had the great misfortune to be the MP for the fishing port of Grimsby. Finally we should make some mention of Callaghan’s African exploits. Here he tried to work with Kissinger as a source of wise counsel and as trusted friend of a number of African leaders. He did his best to make progress on Rhodesia without any real success, but he did successfully influence Kissinger over Angola once the US policy of supporting UNITA had failed and the Soviet– Cuban-backed MPLA prevailed. Callaghan enjoyed a great deal of goodwill in Africa because of his time supporting decolonisation while he was the shadow Colonial Secretary. His major tour of Africa in 1974–75 was something of a triumph because it was the first visit by a senior British government member since Macmillan had given his ‘winds of change’ speech at the start of the 1960s. Callaghan’s enthusiasm for developing a progressive stance on Africa52 was related to his wider ambition to enhance the role of the Commonwealth: this was partly informed by a desire to ensure that Britain continued to enjoy wide support from Commonwealth countries at the United Nations. Callaghan never really achieved very much in Africa other than to rescue a rather seedy British adventurer Denis Hills from the clutches of Idi Amin, although this took considerable personal courage on Callaghan’s part and it is to his great credit that he makes no reference to it in his autobiography.

ASSESSMENT AND CONCLUSIONS

Callaghan was Foreign Secretary for only two years before becoming Prime Minister following the resignation of Harold Wilson. Although he earned the respect of many senior members of the diplomatic service his relationship with the FCO remained a wary and ambiguous one. While Callaghan admired much about the FCO he was still prepared to shake up the institution, first by controversially appointing David Owen as Foreign Secretary and then by agreeing to send his son-in-law, Peter Jay, to run the great diplomatic prize of the Washington embassy. Some might say that he saved the FCO from the proposed ravages of the CPRS report,


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but others would remember that it was Callaghan who set the think tank to work in the first place. His great policy success is usually said to be the successful renegotiation of the relationship with the EEC, although this is probably best seen as more of a domestic than an external triumph. There was little significant substance to the renegotiated terms but they did lead to a successful referendum, and this in turn began the process of Britain’s adjustment to a European vocation. Heath certainly failed to either explain the EEC to the British or the British to the EEC, and Callaghan’s cool evaluation of the significance of EEC membership for Britain based the relationship on more realistic lines. With hindsight, however, it might be argued that Callaghan’s policies only temporarily patched over Labour’s difficulties with the EEC and that they re-emerged with a disastrous impact once Labour lost office in the 1980s. Despite the time that he had to spend on the EEC, Callaghan probably did achieve his objective of ‘cultivating the rest of the world once more’.53 Despite the major problem over Cyprus and the minor one over Belize54 Callaghan did a great deal to repair the damage that Heath had done to the special relationship with the USA: this was recognised by Kissinger himself.55 Kissinger liked and respected Callaghan and clearly valued his advice and his evaluation of the individuals that Kissinger was doing business with. In the Middle East, in Africa and in western and Eastern Europe, US policy was to some extent tempered by a British input and Callaghan deserves credit for achieving this. It is no use having a Rolls Royce of a Diplomatic Service if no one listens to it and Callaghan made sure that Kissinger was at least aware of the British view. He can count changes to US views on the Portuguese revolution and the CSCE as notable successes. Nevertheless the relationship remained a one-sided one and, while Kissinger was personally very helpful to Callaghan (in particular by attending the ceremony when Callaghan was given the freedom of Cardiff in 1975),56 it is hard to find examples of direct US assistance being given to any of Callaghan’s chosen policies. Kissinger did give Callaghan support over the EEC negotiations, making it clear that he would enjoy the support of the USA regardless of the outcome, but the main advantage he bestowed on Callaghan was to listen to him and to make sure that others knew that he listened to him. Callaghan also deserves credit for acknowledging and acting upon a growing Soviet interest in détente. It was important to the Europeans and the Soviets that the CSCE was taken seriously, and Callaghan ensured both that it was and that the EEC members got

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their collective act together in the face of US indifference. In the end one has to conclude that Callaghan was fortunate to be Foreign Secretary at a time when he could rely on the unquestioning support of a powerful but no longer ambitious Prime Minister. Callaghan himself acknowledged his debt to Wilson when he commented that ‘I got used to him being there to shoulder the final responsibility, to feeling able to turn to him naturally for a second opinion and well informed advice.’57 Callaghan’s confidence in the post was further boosted by his senior position within the Labour Party and his long experience of government at Cabinet level. For most of the time that he was Foreign Secretary he was also regarded as the most likely successor to Harold Wilson: this obviously impacted favourably on his relations with other senior members of the government. The need to renegotiate EEC membership was not nearly the poisoned chalice that it might have been because it enabled Callaghan to be seen as statesmanlike and tough on the EEC in comparison to his predecessors while at the same time consolidating his role in the Labour Party as the ultimate fixer after Harold Wilson. His experience at the FCO between 1974 and 1976 stood him in good stead when, like most Prime Ministers, he eventually tired of domestic matters and sought solace in his international dealings.

NOTES 1. Kenneth O. Morgan, Callaghan: A Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 373–407, covers this period in Callaghan’s life. 2. Peter Kellner and Christopher Hitchens, Callaghan: The Road to Number Ten (London: Cassell, 1975), p. 30 and pp. 87–8. 3. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 136–68, covers in some detail Callaghan’s time as Shadow Colonial Secretary. 4. Ibid., p. 369. 5. James Callaghan, Time and Chance (Glasgow: Collins, 1987). 6. John Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office (London: Chapmans, 1992), p. 101. 7. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 294. 8. Geoffrey Moorhouse, The Diplomats: The Foreign Office Today (London: Cape, 1997), p. 155. 9. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 410–11. 10. Moorhouse, The Diplomats, p. 168. 11. Jim Callaghan, Challenges and Opportunities for British Foreign Policy, Fabian tract 439 (London: Fabian Society, 1975), p. 1. 12. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 320. 13. Ibid., p. 386. 14. Nicholas Henderson, Mandarin: The Diaries of an Ambassador 1969–1982 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1994), p. 72. 15. Henderson, Mandarin, pp. 71–2. 16. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 324. 17. Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, p. 80.


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18. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 294. 19. The Callaghan ‘team’ at the FCO is discussed in some detail in Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 410–12. 20. Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, p. 81. 21. Ibid., p. 257. 22. Ibid., p. 82. 23. For an account of this episode, which Callaghan modestly does not mention in his own memoirs, see Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 456–7. 24. Henderson saw the new government as ‘bent on reversing the foreign policy of its predecessor’: Henderson, Mandarin, p. 59. 25. Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office, pp. 65–6. 26. See David Allen, ‘The Foreign and Commonwealth Office: Adapting to the European Union within a Transformed World’, in David Spence and Brian Hocking (eds), European Foreign Ministries: Integrating Diplomats (London: Palgrave, 2002) and ‘The United Kingdom: The Foreign and Commonwealth Office: Flexible, Responsive and Proactive’, in B. Hocking (ed.), Foreign Ministries: Change and Adaptation (London: Macmillan, 1999), pp. 207–25 for a discussion of the CPRS report and reaction to it. 27. See Henderson, Mandarin, pp. 126–8 for a good example of a traditional diplomat’s reaction to the CPRS investigations. 28. Harold Wilson, Final Term: The Labour Government 1974–1976 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson and Michael Joseph, 1979), p. 51. 29. Henderson records that Wilson seemed to have little interest in the details of the EEC deliberations: Henderson, Mandarin, p. 79. 30. See Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 408–34; Callaghan, Time and Chance, pp. 297–326; and Wilson, Final term, pp. 51–65 and 83–109 for a full account of the EEC renegotiation and subsequent referendum. 31. Wilson, Final Term, pp. 52–3. 32. Henderson, Mandarin, p. 63. 33. Ibid., pp. 61–3 for an account of Callaghan’s briefing for UK ambassadors. 34. Wilson, Final Term, p. 103. 35. Henderson, Mandarin, pp. 76–7; Morgan, Callaghan, p. 421. 36. Callaghan, Challenges and Opportunities, p. 13. 37. For full details of this episode see Callaghan, Time and Chance, pp. 331–57; Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 444–50; and Peter Kellner and Christopher Hitchens, Callaghan: The Road to Number Ten (London: Cassell, 1976), pp. 136–42. 38. Henry Kissinger, Years of Upheaval (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson and Michael Joseph, 1982), pp. 1187–93. 39. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 339. 40. Kellner and Hitchens, Callaghan , pp. 139–42. 41. Ibid., p. 142. 42. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 342. 43. See Moorhouse, The Diplomats, pp. 124–5 for an account of the Cyprus crisis decisionmaking arrangements inside the FCO. 44. Callaghan, Time and Chance, pp. 344–6. 45. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 431–4 on Callaghan and Portugal. 46. Ibid., p. 362. 47. Ibid., p. 43. 48. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 365; Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 450–4 deals more generally with Callaghan’s policy towards the Soviet Union. 49. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 460–2. 50. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 370. 51. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 430–1. 52. Ibid., pp. 454–60. 53. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 296. 54. Morgan, Callaghan, pp. 443–4; Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 378. 55. Henry Kissinger, ‘Reflections on a Partnership: British and American Attitudes to Postwar Foreign Policy’, International Affairs, 58, 4 (1982). 56. Morgan, Callaghan, p. 442. 57. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 392.

3

Anthony Crosland: Foreign Secretary, 1976–771 Oliver J. Daddow

Anthony Crosland’s career as Foreign Secretary has generally received peremptory attention, inviting comparison with one of his Labour predecessors, Herbert Morrison.2 This should not surprise us for a number of reasons. It reflects first of all Crosland’s own political agenda which, like Morrison’s, was geared more to the development of socialist ideology and Labour’s economic policy, most notably through his 1956 publication The Future of Socialism and follow-ups The Conservative Enemy and Socialism Now.3 Writing at the time of his death, his close friend Dick Leonard observed that ‘it is almost certainly as a thinker and writer that Crosland will be most remembered’,4 an opinion that over 20 years on has been upheld in a populist newspaper article that labels him ‘one of the great socialist intellectuals of his generation’.5 Second, and again like Morrison, Crosland had little time to make his mark at the Foreign Office, but whereas the former was the victim of an electoral swing to conservatism the latter was unluckier, dying from a stroke. Finally, he was not at the helm during a period of crisis or revolution in Britain’s external relations, either of which would have sparked historiographic interest in his policy. In this respect, he differed from Morrison who is forever connected with Britain’s policy towards the Schuman Plan and European unity. Crosland, by contrast, took office just after one of the most divisive issues in British foreign policy, the European referendum, had been resolved at enormous costs to the long-term cohesion of the Labour Party.6 Furthermore, the Vietnam War had ended; ‘PLP [Parliamentary Labour Party] v. quiet on Foreign Affairs’, noted

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one adviser,7 and the decision on membership of the European Monetary System (EMS) had yet to hit the Whitehall agenda. The key issues with which he wrestled were, significantly, domestic: the Labour government suffered from the traumas of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) loan negotiations and the country was beset by union militancy and strike action, which would soon culminate in the ‘winter of discontent’. This chapter argues that the dearth of attention to Crosland’s stint at the Foreign Office does not do justice to the insights it provides into his personality in particular and post-war political history in general, especially the ultimately irreconcilable divisions over Europe in the Labour Party that led to the split in 1981 and the constraints on foreign policy-making in an era of growing interdependence in the international political economy of the 1970s. It analyses his tenure in four parts: the first briefly recaps his pre-Foreign Office career; the second examines his personal style; the third explores the international context into which he was thrown; and the final part assesses and concludes. It does so with the caveats that his short period in the job makes firm conclusions difficult to draw and that there is a severe deficiency of sources. The official record will not be available in the Public Record Office until the years 2007–08; the Crosland Papers in the London School of Economics Library contain only limited insights; and, as previously mentioned, his contemporaries tend to focus on achievements before he became Foreign Secretary. Whitehall’s official history of British foreign policy now extends to 1976, but concentrates almost exclusively on the Cold War environment.8 Nonetheless, it can be established that it is insufficient to see Crosland primarily as an intellectual who brought little or nothing to the Foreign Office, as his resolution of the Cod War, his setting up of the Geneva conference on Rhodesia and his conduct of European policy all demonstrate.

CAREER

Inside government, before being appointed Foreign Secretary, Crosland’s ministerial career had largely been on the domestic side. He was Minister of State at the Department of Economic Affairs (DEA) in Harold Wilson’s first Labour government from October 1964. During a Cabinet reshuffle instigated by Patrick Gordon Walker’s loss of the Leyton by-election and subsequent

Anthony Crosland, 1976–77

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removal from government in January 1965, Crosland moved to become Secretary of State for Education and Science. He remained there until August 1967 when he became President of the Board of Trade, a post that gave him prominent opportunities to indulge his interests in international trade and economics. In October 1969 he became Secretary of State in the newly created Department of Local Government and Regional Planning, where he stayed until Labour’s general election defeat in June 1970. By that time he was already being tagged a ‘talented yet unpredictable force never quite living up to his potential’.9 When Labour returned to power in March 1974 Crosland was made Secretary of State for the Environment and took over from James Callaghan as Foreign Secretary in April 1976. Before entering politics, Crosland fought in the Second World War, serving in the Royal Fusiliers, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers and the Parachute Regiment, where he saw action in North Africa, Italy, France and Austria. He was educated at Oxford University, where he was president of the Union in 1946 and chairman of the Oxford University Democratic Socialist Club. In 1947–50 he was employed as a fellow and lecturer in economics at Trinity College.

PERSONAL STYLE

That Crosland stirred contrasting and ambiguous emotions in people is well captured by Roy Jenkins’s comment that: ‘Although there had been many contretemps and mutual irritations in our political relationship of the previous ten years, he remained … the most exciting friend of my life’.10 To his second wife, Susan Crosland, whose biography has been described as ‘possibly the finest memoir of a British politician ever written’,11 he was clearly devoted, settling down in 1964 after a youthfulness of what can only be described as ‘laddish’ or, to use the language of his time, ‘raffish’, behaviour.12 A ‘clever, handsome, irreverent husband’, she later recalled.13 What she called ‘irreverence’, others, including his friends, have interpreted as his ‘legendary rudeness’, a ‘lofty arrogance’ that could make him a prickly person to deal with,14 a characteristic that would come to cause him problems when it came to establishing a base within the Labour Party. A trait that also manifested itself early in his career, but which had fewer long-term ramifications, was his enthusiasm for socialising, an anti-puritanical streak that seems to have developed in reaction to

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his strict Brethren upbringing. A letter from A. J. P. Taylor in 1951 illustrates this point: ‘You might … be a junior Minister by now; and would have been if it wasn’t for drinking too much.’15 Crosland himself, in The Future of Socialism, voiced his hedonism openly: ‘Total abstinence and a good filing system are not now the right signposts to the socialist Utopia: or at least, if they are, some of us will fall by the wayside.’16 Socialism as he saw it did not preclude people from being able to choose how they enjoyed themselves, indeed it was an essential prerequisite. One of the main aims of his project was the ‘broadening of cultural opportunities’.17 His foreign secretaryship was, however, to be more memorable for two other features of his personality. First, his antipathy to formal dress – stemming back to his school days – which, observes Kevin Jefferys, ‘became obsessive, causing him particular problems when he became Foreign Secretary’.18 Photographs of him waiting to greet the French President at Victoria Station, dressed in a lounge suit rather than tails, together with wearing a black, not white, tie at a reception for the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh hosted by the American President in Washington, are likely to linger in the popular memory longer than, say, the detail of what he achieved in Rhodesia or even the Cod War (discussed below). In diplomacy, where tone, images and perceptions of foreign policy are at least as important variables in the decision-making process as the objective reality of foreign policy itself,19 the public image and status of the Foreign Secretary was surely damaged, both at home and abroad, certainly, if the number of letters he received about his dress is any indication of the significance attached to this aspect of his job.20 Second, his ‘feeling of inadequacy until he had mastered the groundwork’ had more practical and immediate effects on his foreign secretaryship, raising as it did doubts about his suitability to the post.21 Jenkins is scathing: ‘The disadvantage of Crosland’s impressively ratiocinative progress towards a view was that when the three days had gone and he had come out of the dark, the issue had often resolved itself. He had not so much taken a more rational decision as lost the opportunity to take one at all.’22 David Owen, Minister of State and successor to Crosland at the Foreign Office, has likewise highlighted the dangers posed by Crosland’s preference for thought over practical application of policy: ‘he was in danger of being judged as doing too little’.23 Owen is referring to the Rhodesian question on which Crosland was low-key, a decision that would seem to be in line with his natural cautiousness in the face of less than all the facts. An alternative explanation of


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why Crosland took such a tortuous route to decisions is that he intentionally played on his need to think as a way of distracting attention from the real issue which, according to the American Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, was that ‘he could master the subject. I didn’t know if he wanted to.’24 This crucial insight, from someone with whom he worked closely on Rhodesia, raises serious doubts about the Jenkins and Owen line that Crosland’s personality was inadvertently to blame for his low profile as Foreign Secretary. Maybe it was a deliberate ploy not to make high-profile gaffes or blunders, thereby keeping him in the running for the job of Chancellor – or even leader of the Labour Party – when the occasion arose. Looking back on Crosland’s personality, mind, intellectual ability, socialising, manner, tone and mores, one can clearly discern threads that run through his life, and which have come to colour – and taint – conventional assessments that he was ‘only a partial success’.25 Kissinger’s judgement – true or not – sheds light on another leading thread of Crosland’s foreign secretaryship: his association not with the Foreign Office but the Treasury. It is no secret that Crosland was distraught when Jenkins beat him to the chancellorship in 1967.26 The word was, ten years later, that his dream was about to be fulfilled,27 Callaghan apparently being on the verge of swapping him with Denis Healey, putting them in what were considered to be their ‘natural’ government homes.28 Even when he was appointed, a congratulatory letter from his parliamentary private secretary Christopher Price pointed to ‘the hope of higher economic things to lead you on’;29 and in office his chief adviser David Lipsey consistently urged Crosland to consider his long-term future vis-à-vis the Treasury.30 His ‘promotion’ seemed even more certain at the time of his death, The Economist mourning the loss of ‘the strong personality who was to have become Britain’s next chancellor of the exchequer next July’.31 Coincidentally, however, Crosland was at the heart of the Cabinet during another in the series of economic crises that befell the Labour governments of the 1960s and 1970s. In the autumn of 1976 Chancellor Healey applied to the IMF for assistance to the British economy, leading to a split in Cabinet over the deflationary conditions attached to an IMF loan, Britain eventually agreeing to a cut in the public sector borrowing requirement of £1,500 million in 1977–78 and expenditure cuts of £1,000 million for each of the next two years.32 The IMF saga has a bearing on Crosland’s reputation as Foreign Secretary in four ways, all of which have

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helped sustain the view that he ultimately saw the Foreign Office as a staging post on his way to the Treasury. Most obviously, it diverted his attention from foreign to economic policy: ‘for months’, he moaned in 1976, ‘I’ve not had time to think properly about economics. God, I wish I didn’t have to be away so much.’33 Second, it focused Cabinet and country attention on Crosland, who led the faction in Cabinet opposed to the initial IMF proposals, and who disputed where the cuts should hit hardest. His opinion that they should be made in defence rather than housing moved Tony Benn to make the cynical observation that this was ‘the first time Crosland had admitted there were foreign affairs for a long time’.34 Third, the more damaging aspect of this stance was that it could hardly have endeared Crosland to his Foreign Office officials: one has been quoted as saying that ‘He made no bones about the fact that he felt things had changed and we needed to protect our economy more’, an opinion that went against the Foreign Office line that foreign policy transcended party barriers and that this was clearly an occasion on which Crosland should go with his officials not his instincts.35 Finally, concerning the issue of his wider political reputation, he has been sharply rebuked for his decision on 1 December to support Callaghan in accepting the IMF terms. Paymaster-General Edmund Dell, for instance, trumpeted: ‘The truth was that he had been out-argued by Healey and demolished by the facts.’36 The IMF crisis came at a bad time not just for the Labour Party but for Crosland when, by all accounts, he was trying hard to throw himself into his new job.37 Not only did it shift his and others’ attention onto the British economy, it further undermined his reputation within the Labour Party. So the signs were that, on coming to office, Crosland would not enjoy good relations with his civil servants. First of all, he was not seen as a ‘natural’ Foreign Secretary. Of particular relevance is the observation that, unlike his predecessor Callaghan, he had not shadowed the post, giving more than a little credence to the impression that he was ‘dropped from the skies into the FO’.38 The change of environment, the workload, the speed with which international events move, would have been daunting for any individual, let alone Crosland, for whom ratiocination was the best way to decide on a course of action. In sum it is questionable whether he ever appeared, or felt, ‘quite at home there’.39 The second reason why problems were thought likely to occur was Crosland’s eccentricity over protocol because it added to the picture of an untypical Foreign Secretary.


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The dress code was not his only problem: He in turn struggled to conceal his dislike of what he considered to be endless, time-wasting meetings and functions with foreign ambassadors. ‘What’s the point’, he asked his wife rhetorically on one occasion, ‘when I don’t know what to say to him or understand what he’s saying to me?’40

His principal private secretary Ewen Fergusson confirmed that he viewed ambassadors with a ‘jaundiced eye’, held European ministers in low esteem because they could not engage intellectually and intensely disliked meeting people ‘who were sometimes stupid, boring, self-important, but who had to be seen willy-nilly’.41 One story will suffice to illustrate the potential he had to annoy his civil servants and international partners. At an Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) ministerial meeting in Luxembourg, May 1976, Crosland was said by Kissinger to have been insulting and unconventional, so that the meeting ended in half an hour as opposed to the usual two hours. He was, concluded Kissinger, ‘a colossal pain in the neck’.42 His personality combined with discomfort in the methods of international diplomacy and negotiation to shocking effect. The civil service flinched when he brought in his own diary secretary, Margaret Turner and a team of advisers, headed by Lipsey and, later, Michael Stewart, in preference to relying on official briefs.43 ‘Except with D. Lip. [sic] and Margaret’, commented his wife, ‘he drew a boundary round himself which the sophisticates of Private Office were very hesitant to cross.’44 His reliance on the economist Stewart probably hurt the Foreign Office most deeply, such are the clear lines of demarcation between the Foreign Office and Treasury. Clearly, though, his successor found the move beneficial: ‘As a result I felt more confident participating in domestic Cabinet economic discussions and in the mysteries of international economics.’45 Inadvertently, therefore, Crosland’s highly personal move may have helped diminish the historic rivalry between the two key departments of state, promoting a more cooperative approach to the making of foreign and economic policy in Britain.46 The third reason why one might have expected Crosland to receive a cool reception from the Foreign Office was over the issue of Europe. Of all the wrangles in the Labour Party in the Wilson and Callaghan years, Europe was perhaps the most divisive; it has particular resonance in terms of how Crosland is judged as a

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person and a politician. Based on Crosland’s notes and jottings on the subject, Jefferys describes him as ‘mildly though not fanatically pro-European’ at the time of Britain’s first application to join the EEC in 1961–63. His ‘agnostic approach’ even brought him into conflict with his mentor, Hugh Gaitskell, who led Labour’s opposition to Harold Macmillan’s membership bid.47 Explaining Crosland’s brand of Europeanism, his wife points to his ‘internationalism’ that put him ‘emotionally in favour of entry’; Jefferys highlights a more sophisticated approach concentrating on the ‘political need for Britain to readjust to the loss of Empire’.48 The crux for Labour, and for Crosland, came with Edward Heath’s push for British entry in 1971. Crosland’s view, expressed in a conversation with Guardian deputy editor John Cole and editor Alastair Hetherington, that ‘he was sceptically pro-EEC’,49 made him, by the standards of The Economist and the Jenkinsites on the centre-right of his party, an ‘unenthusiastic European’.50 What was critical in terms of his reputation was, therefore, not his approach per se, but the way in which it led him to fall out with both the left and right of the Labour Party in the early 1970s. He thought ‘Labour unity more important than the common market’.51 This led him to abstain in the crucial House of Commons division in October, a move he justified by saying a ‘yes’ vote would have been tacit support for ‘the Conservative enemy’, while a ‘no’ risked splitting Labour. By the right of the party he was seen as ‘back sliding’, going back on what they saw as his instinctive preference for entry during the 1960s; by the left he was portrayed as a traitor. ‘I don’t care terribly enough about it’, he complained.52 The problem was the rest of the party and Whitehall did. Crosland was also accused of using Europe for personal advancement: by abstaining he was loosening ties with Jenkins in a bid to advance his position within the upper echelons of the Labour leadership and on the NEC.53 This diversion into the legacy of the European debate impinges directly on consideration of his relationship with the Foreign Office. A generally Europhile department,54 headed by permanent secretary Sir Michael Palliser, son-in-law of one of the ‘founding fathers’ of the EEC, Belgium’s Paul-Henri Spaak, one might have expected a frosty reception for Crosland. With Britain’s presidency of the EEC due to begin in 1977, preparations were already underway in Whitehall when Crosland was appointed. But what was expected of the relationship was quite different from what actually came to pass between Crosland and the Foreign Office. As the final section shows, too much can be made of his alleged


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lack of interest in foreign affairs, the problems he had with protocol and dress, his thoughtfulness and potential for dispute on a range of issues such as Europe. A closer examination of the issues he tackled and what he achieved in ten months suggests, again, that the conventional wisdom about his reputation has obscured the fact that he came to terms with the job more quickly and with more verve than one might imagine.

INTERNATIONAL CONTEXT

Crosland’s epitaph for himself is most apt in terms of clarifying the main issues he confronted during his time as Foreign Secretary: ‘When I pop off and they cut open my heart, it will be engraved “Fish” and “Rhodesia”.’55 The opening of the official British archives for this era in 2007–08 will undoubtedly enrich the ability with which contemporary historians reconstruct the way in which foreign policy was developed under Crosland. It will also present the opportunity to scrutinise more closely other areas of British foreign policy, notably its fostering of détente with Russia through what the official historians describe as Britain’s role as ‘Cassandra to the Western Alliance’ in the ongoing talks on mutual and balanced force reductions (MBFR) in central Europe,56 the decision to break off diplomatic relations with Idi Amin’s Uganda (the first time Britain officially broke relations with a Commonwealth country), and the escalating Falklands crisis. Events that have barely been touched upon in existing literature await further scrutiny.57 Nonetheless, one can discern a pattern to policymaking and execution that show a man interested in foreign affairs and who had a good rapport with key officials that gives the lie to reports of possible rifts between minister and department. Even in this first draft of history it is possible to begin questioning the tired assumption that he was interested only in economics and social equality. In 1950 Crosland was a member of the British delegation to the Council of Europe, continuing an interest in European unity that flowed from a paper he co-wrote on federal union in 1939.58 In his time at the Council of Europe he was concerned with questions of German rearmament, and in 1957 attended a Princeton University ‘special seminar’ on defence looking at broader issues of NATO’s deterrence of Russia.59 The growing importance of the European question in British foreign policy was reflected in his 1960s

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musings on Britain’s attitude to the continent; he followed up with notes on the multilateral force (MLF), British nuclear weapons and the independent deterrent.60 It is problematic to deduce a simple cause and effect here: jottings and notes are hardly the evidence of a thorough immersion in the field of foreign affairs, and it would have been hard for any MP at the time of the Korean War and Charles de Gaulle’s rejection of Britain’s membership of the European Communities not to show at least some interest. However, in the light of this evidence, one can certainly go further than some conventional characterisations of Labour’s foreign policy under Crosland as being wholly inspired and guided by Callaghan’s Atlanticism and affinity for the Commonwealth.61 Cod War The first issue Crosland had to deal with was the latest ‘Cod War’ between Britain and Iceland, evidence of broader difficulties the EEC was encountering in framing a common fisheries policy since the 200-mile exclusion barrier agreed at the UN conferences on the Laws of the Sea in the middle of 1974,62 and also earlier disputes between the countries over fishing limits.63 This was the third such conflict since the Second World War: in 1952 Iceland extended its limit from three to four miles, in 1958 from four to 12 miles and in 1972 from 12 to 50 miles.64 The most recent quarrel had broken over Iceland’s decision in November 1975 to announce its authority over the ocean up to 200 miles from its coastline. Britain refused to acknowledge Iceland’s authority in this matter and so continued fishing up to the old limit.65 Representing Grimsby, with its huge fishing industry, the matter was of particular prescience to Crosland, and he was well aware of the interests at stake; Grimsby was also one of the two ports in Britain, along with Hull, that took to blockading Icelandic fishing catches from landing in their ports. One letter from the British Trawlers’ Federation in April 1976 rammed home the point that, even putting aside the Cod War, unless financial assistance was forthcoming from the British government, ‘many of your own constituents will be made redundant’.66 On 1 June 1976, Crosland accepted an EU compromise keeping British fishermen outside Iceland’s 200-mile exclusion zone without specific agreements. The Economist represented the widely held view in Britain by labelling it an ‘ignominious but inevitable defeat’ for Britain.67 The former ambassador to Iceland, Sir Andrew Gilchrist, added to the sense of malaise, pointing to Britain’s


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already ‘diminished stature’ on the world stage since Suez that blighted London’s ability to settle the dispute on its own terms.68 An assessment of three major influences on Crosland’s decision reveal that such judgements about the seeming inevitability of the outcome of the last Cod War are not without substance. First, Iceland was home to Keflavik, an important observation post used by the Americans in the Cold War. Iceland’s government cleverly used this as a bargaining chip: the Foreign Minister, Einur Ágústsson ‘made it known at NATO headquarters that he could not guarantee what would happen to the base and Iceland’s NATO membership if nothing were done to defend Iceland’s vital interests’.69 With such fears permeating Washington’s decisionmaking circles, it is no surprise that Keflavik has been seen as ‘a key factor in the failure of the British attempt to win their confrontation with Iceland’. Gilchrist advised, therefore, that ‘Any action which put at risk the NATO (really American) base in Iceland would undoubtedly be ill-regarded, and must therefore be excluded from British consideration.’70 His second consideration was that international opinion had already begun to shift in favour of wider limits, a move that the British government had not resisted. At the United Nations Sea Bed Committee preparations for the New York Law of the Sea conference in 1973, London agreed to the concept of a 200-mile exclusive economic zone (EEZ) as a means of gaining control over gas and oil reserves. ‘It was accepted that such an EEZ would inevitably encompass a 200-mile fishery zone, and that traditional distant water fishing was eventually doomed.’ It was a situation that Crosland and even the British trawler owners had come to accept.71 Whitehall policy-makers must have realised that they had little chance of coming out on top in this conflict when to continue fighting the trawler owners’ case not only threatened the cohesion of the Western alliance but also would have meant them having to swim against the tide of international opinion and probable UN laws against distant water fishing. The final influence on Crosland’s decision was the more practical one that Britain’s membership of the EEC ruled out a bilateral deal with Iceland. Any such deal would need to be worked out in advance with the EEC, which would not only lessen its impact but detract substantially from the benefits to Britain, since any gains accruing to it would have to be shared with its EEC partners.72 On balance, Crosland’s settlement, if one can even put it down to him, seems more or less a done deal. As the Royal Naval Staff History summarises: ‘most people inside and outside the

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industry had believed for some time that such an outcome was likely, and it was generally accepted that realism and commonsense had prevailed’.73 ‘What were the alternatives?’ Crosland asked members of Parliament in his explanation to Parliament on 7 June. ‘I regard it as a concession only to common sense.’74 Given that the terms of the settlement were so favourable to the Icelandic government and its fishermen, it is perhaps natural that they warmed to Crosland during the Cod War. But according to the words of Britain’s permanent representative at NATO, John Killick, the Foreign Secretary also carried himself and presented British policy in a manner that made him both an able negotiator and a likeable person: what a very good impression you had made on the Icelanders. This was clearly not meant to imply that they had found you a ‘soft option’ but that they had quickly hoisted in that you meant business and were seriously interested in a settlement.75

Rhodesia and the Cold War The second issue Crosland had to deal with was Rhodesia. Crisis had erupted when, on 11 November 1965, during Wilson’s first administration, Prime Minister Ian Smith announced a Unilateral Declaration of Independence.76 That a solution had not been found in over ten years prior to Crosland’s appointment, and that it involved the race issue, made this a potentially explosive situation, and as Owen has pointed out: ‘Rhodesia had already proved to be a political graveyard for British Ministers and diplomats.’77 The crux of the problem from the British perspective was that it had no intention of imposing a constitutional settlement on Rhodesia and was intent instead on seeking a negotiated agreement which could only take place with the cooperation of Smith’s uncooperative white ruling minority. This, writes Paul Moorcraft, was a ‘long, sad, haggling odyssey to civil war’,78 and the new British Foreign Secretary could scarcely be expected in a ten-month period to single-handedly resolve the dispute between Britain and the Smith regime on the one hand and the Smith regime and the black nationalist leaders on the other. Nonetheless, one can discern three features of his approach to the Rhodesian crisis that suggest a bold attempt to grasp the key issues and a willingness to work with the Foreign Office and internationally to find a solution. First of all, Crosland, like the Foreign Office, was well aware of the interplay between Rhodesia and broader Cold War politics. It


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is no coincidence that, four days after Smith’s speech and Wilson’s response, the Soviet government issued a statement reminding the world of its continued support for the right to self-determination of ‘African peoples’ in Southern Rhodesia and claiming that British actions were ‘only an attempt to whitewash its actual policy’ of neocolonialism.79 Like so many events between 1945 and 1989,80 Rhodesia was just another to become entangled in superpower rivalry, which had been heightening in the region over Soviet military assistance to the Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola (MPLA) and the presence in Angola of Soviet-backed Cuban forces.81 It is hard, without access to the official record, to assess the degree to which the Foreign Office was leading Crosland’s thinking, or vice-versa, though the former interpretation might be nearer the mark. Compared to his predecessor, who ‘seemed determined to assume a more positive attitude towards the East’, Crosland fell quite quickly behind the harder official line. His advisers do not seem to have been at all perturbed when Crosland became ‘somewhat disenchanted’ with the development of AngloRussian relations.82 It is evident that Crosland was planning a major foreign-policy speech on the Cold War and détente in September 1976; over Christmas he cogitated on communism in Italy and the threat it posed to the Atlantic alliance and stability in France, Spain and Portugal.83 This was not a Foreign Secretary who focused solely on economics. The Cold War dimension inevitably meant American interest, particularly in the wake of the involvement in the Angolan civil war by communist Cuban forces. As Kissinger put it: ‘this whole enterprise after all only makes sense as a firebreak to African radicalism and Soviet intervention’.84 When Kissinger first came to London on 23 April 1976 for a briefing on Rhodesia, Crosland was away on constituency business in Grimsby. Having followed him there, Kissinger was disappointed to find that ‘the Foreign Secretary appeared to know nothing about foreign policy except for the Cod Wars’.85 However: ‘It became a unique relationship’, remarked Kissinger, ‘not because we agreed or disagreed, but because we were on the same wavelength.’86 ‘In less than a year’, Crosland reciprocated, ‘we have established an intimate, constructive, and rewarding friendship’, adding ‘gaiety and wit to the sometimes bleak world of foreign affairs’.87 Much has been made in the historiography of their shared sense of humour, evidenced by their awarding to each other of ‘points’ for ‘a wide variety of idiosyncracies’.88 They would often open crucial foreign-policy discussions in this way: ‘Dear Henry, You get one point for your

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originality in phoning London from Zurich via Washington, thus ensuring total secrecy via total inaudibility.’89 Close personal friendship appears to have alleviated the prospect of a serious rupture in Anglo-American relations over Kissinger’s handling of the Rhodesian crisis. This was a happy coincidence, because Kissinger habitually went further than Britain in putting pressure on Prime Minister John Vorster of South Africa and Smith to agree on the workings of interim government in Southern Rhodesia.90 Crosland maintained that British policy remained set along the lines laid down by Callaghan in March 1976, centrally concerning Britain’s reluctance to send a governor to the country to oversee the transfer of power. Kissinger’s representation to Vorster and Smith of British discussion documents as official policy ‘may not be nice’, but, Crosland admitted, ‘We remain most anxious not to cramp your style or restrict your room for manoeuvre.’91 The third theme of Crosland’s Rhodesian policy was his low profile, the most obvious example being his non-attendance at the October 1976 Geneva conference on Rhodesia, charged with settling the structure and functions of interim government, how long the transfer of power should take and who should control Rhodesia’s armed forces as the country progressed to majority rule. He sent in his place Ivor Richard, Britain’s UN ambassador, along with Ted Rowlands, Minister of State for African Affairs. When the conference collapsed, it was Richard, not Crosland, who undertook a tour of Africa to sell Britain’s proposals.92 His wife justifies his actions by arguing that he preferred to step in if things went badly.93 The Economist, by contrast, believed Crosland was abdicating his responsibilities as Foreign Secretary: ‘If Mr Crosland feels he is incapable of the task, what else can he do as Britain’s voice in the world? Why have a foreign secretary at all?’ it asked.94 Owen’s view, put forward in his memoirs, is that the Foreign Secretary was wary of associating himself too publicly with Rhodesia: policy failure could damage his chances of achieving higher office.95 All interpretations of Crosland’s motives in not heading the Geneva conference or the subsequent tour of Africa are necessarily partial. To his wife’s justification, one might reply that he did not step in, allowing the conference to end after seven weeks. To The Economist critique, one might reply that the end of the conference and the Richard tour coincided with Britain’s presidency of the EEC – could Crosland have juggled his commitments so he could attend to both? Owen’s criticism has more weight, judged in terms of the volume of notes on Crosland’s leadership aspirations. It is questionable, though, how far Crosland was


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different from the norm. Was it not natural that high-profile ministers would intermittently take soundings on their popularity within the party? Crosland’s ambition to reform society along socialist egalitarian lines would, of course, have been best served by his becoming party leader. Perhaps Crosland’s low profile is best explained by another of Owen’s comments, made in 1977, that ‘on her own Britain cannot bring peace to Rhodesia’.96 By the time Crosland came to the Foreign Office, it was becoming clear that the solution to the Rhodesian problem lay not in bilateral exchanges between London and Salisbury, but in a multilateral context. That the solution was gradually taken out of Britain’s hands in the 1970s is shown in Moorcraft’s comment: ‘After 1972 the British did not come close to solving the crisis.’97 Smith’s policy was more and more governed not by British diplomatic initiatives, or lack of them, but by internal political developments; the biting of international sanctions; his internal war with guerilla forces; increased European migration from Rhodesia; and externally by Rhodesian relations with Mozambique, Angola, Zambia and, crucially, South Africa, leading Victor de Waal to the conclusion that ‘Ian Smith’s defeat on the issue of black majority rule came not at the hands of Britain or America … but at those of South Africa’.98 Add to this Britain’s ‘overriding concern with her economic crisis’, burgeoning American interest in southern Africa, and by 1974, notes Elaine Windrich, ‘the real decisions were being taken elsewhere’, making Britain ‘an interested, but detached party’. Thus, although Kissinger ‘consulted’ with Crosland before his peace missions,99 Moorcraft is convinced that in reality ‘the Americans would provide the diplomatic thrust while politely calling everything an “Anglo-American initiative”. Rhodesia was, after all, still a British colony.’100 The subtler judgement that Britain was neither the key player nor focal point of international diplomacy during the Cod Wars or the Rhodesian crisis is borne out in the context of European policy, Crosland’s third main area of responsibility while at the Foreign Office. European unity The third, less well remembered dimension of Crosland’s foreign policy concerned his approach to Europe, vital considering that in January 1977 Britain assumed the presidency of the EEC, four years after acceding to the Community. Holding the presidency of the EEC could be seen as an opportunity to impose national

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interests onto the Community agenda. In practice, scholars of the European Union have noted, scope for such ambition is limited by the rolling work programmes at supranational level and the multiple links among national and European civil servants.101 This was well recognised at the time: ‘Community cognoscenti claim that trying to steer the mass of community [sic] business going on all the time in any particular direction in six short months is a bit like trying to budge an elephant.’102 The problem forecast by contemporary critics was that Crosland, described by The Economist as ‘an unenthusiastic foreign minister and an unenthusiastic European’, did not have even this limited ambition,103 a prediction confounded by two realities. First, it overlooked the extent to which Whitehall had prepared for the presidency. Beginning in earnest in September 1976, the Foreign Office instituted structural reform, creating a ‘presidency secretariat’ to work with the Cabinet Office European Unit, and began looking at key issues to be dealt with in the months ahead, notably fisheries policy and direct elections to the European Parliament.104 Thus, however limited Crosland’s enthusiasm for European integration was perceived to be, (‘lukewarm’ is how Hattersley describes it),105 the fact was that the agenda of Britain’s presidency had been set well in advance by existing Community programmes and by the Europhiles in the civil service. Perhaps this explains the second reality that Crosland’s attitude to the EEC proved to be relatively constructive. In his opening speech to the European Parliament, Crosland avoided bold idealistic statements about the ultimate goals of the European project, limiting himself to commenting on what could be achieved immediately ‘to make the Community work as effectively as possible, thereby demonstrating that it exists politically as well as economically, even if the emergence of a new political structure is for tomorrow and not for today’.106 Very few British statements on Europe met with the approval of The Economist, and it was, predictably, critical: ‘not exactly the stuff European dreams are made of’.107 Yet Crosland had gone no more nor less far than his predecessors had done or successors would do. Incrementalism, pragmatism and a focus on the economic not political dimensions of unity are classic yet accurate representations of the British approach to Europe since the Second World War. Broad continuity across Labour and the Conservatives since 1945, in substance if not tone, suggests both a thin dividing line between the parties on the central questions of integration, characterised by as much intra- as inter-party debate, and consensus between the


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government and civil service on how to handle the European debate.108 When Jenkins describes Crosland as ‘an active Foreign Secretary of the country which held the presidency of the Council of Ministers’,109 this reflects the limits on what he could have achieved as well as the symbolic not substantive functions of the Community presidency.


One shall never know what Crosland could have achieved had he lived longer, rendering all speculation about whether he was ‘lost leader’ or ‘lost Chancellor’ somewhat redundant. There are four conclusions to be drawn from this analysis of Crosland as British Foreign Secretary. The first is that the most damaging accusation one can level is that he never paid serious enough attention to establishing a political base within the party from which he could launch a credible bid for the leadership, a position that would have given him the leverage to promote social reform at home and internationalism abroad. Minister for Health and Social Security in Wilson’s 1974–76 government, Barbara Castle, confided this characteristically caustic judgement to her diary shortly before the leadership election: ‘Despite the endless build-up he gets in the press, he isn’t a serious contender at all.’110 This was not due to any lack of ambition on Crosland’s part, but disdain for the machinations of British political life, the courting of colleagues and contemporaries for the sake of it, rather than for some higher political, social or intellectual end. Nor was his profile helped by his dislike for television appearances and disdain for the press which, he felt, ‘favoured brief summaries over elaborate argument’.111 Contrary to the retrospective judgement of The Economist that ‘He was not all that ambitious’,112 contemporaries maintain that he was pursuing the chancellorship and the leadership of the Labour Party.113 Two points are worth mentioning in response to these contradictory positions. One is that, on the evidence of his personal papers, there is much weight behind Owen’s assessment that he was ‘never as uninterested as he pretended to be in jockeying for position as a potential Leader of the Labour Party’.114 That he stood for deputy leader and leader in 1972 and 1976 respectively, and several times for the constituency section of the NEC, would seem to support the view that he was keenly

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jockeying for greater influence within the Labour Party.115 The other is that his conspicuous lack of success on all these fronts has surely damaged his reputation. Coming last in the battle to succeed Wilson was especially hurtful; being made Foreign Secretary just weeks later might have been compensation but surely added fuel to the argument that he was ‘only a partial success’ as a politician. The second conclusion to be drawn is that the variety of interpretations placed upon Crosland’s appointment as Foreign Secretary so soon after failing to win the leadership of the Labour Party sheds light on the personal and factional in-fighting within the Labour Party that simmered throughout the Wilson and Callaghan governments and which would soon result in the breakaway by a Jenkins-led group of Europhiles to form the Social Democratic Party (SDP). Roy Hattersley, Minister of State at the Foreign Office, captures the significance to the Labour Party of the European debate in the 1960s and 1970s as follows: When, almost ten years later, the Social Democratic Party was formed, three of the Labour dissidents who were its founding fathers were men who had left the Opposition front-bench rather than continually vote against the Bill that took Britain into the European Community.116

Jenkins thus remarks that, with the dust of battle barely settled over the parliamentary vote in 1971 and the European referendum in 1975, it would have been hard for Callaghan to appoint him Foreign Secretary. ‘Crosland’s record made him better equipped to carry through those decisions that would inevitably bind Britain more closely to the European Community’, he recalled in words remarkably reminiscent of Callaghan’s own.117 Leaving aside longer-term considerations of his move to the chancellorship, Crosland was the ideal choice to appease the ‘antis’ in the Labour Party. From its inception, Crosland’s secretaryship bears testament to the importance of personal connection and party unity over intellectual merit or suitability to high office in the British two-party system of government. The role of the civil service in providing overall strategic direction to British foreign policy has thus been significant. The captain may change, but there is always a ‘hidden hand’ on the tiller. The third conclusion is that Crosland’s approach to key issues such as Europe suggests he was one of the last of the wartime generation of Labour politicians committed to party unity at almost any cost as a way of keeping the Conservatives out of office


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and enacting social reform at home through higher public spending. His greatest asset, notes Hattersley, was his ‘absolute and total confidence in the superiority of egalitarian socialism over all other philosophies’.118 Wilson and Callaghan, despite their critics, managed to hold Labour together through deeply troubling times for both the left and right of the party over Vietnam, withdrawal from ‘East of Suez’, Rhodesia, Europe and economic policy (especially sterling and labour relations). The term ‘pragmatic’ has subsequently taken on pejorative connotations,119 but in the context of Labour politicking in the 1960s and 1970s, and the small parliamentary majorities Labour commonly held, such an approach was not without its rationale.120 Critics, notably Europhiles, might argue that Prime Ministers lacked ideology or scruples for changing positions on issues of fundamental concern to them, but this was symptomatic of differing attitudes to the ultimate aims of the Labour Party. For Crosland in particular, ‘a middle-class intellectual who wanted to do the right thing by working people’,121 no debate was important enough to rupture the Labour Party. The strong rhetorical and ideological underpinnings of Thatcherism and Labour Party in-fighting in the 1980s might even be seen as a direct reaction to what Cole describes as ‘the last fling of the old post-war consensus’ under Wilson and Callaghan, and of which Crosland was a prominent actor.122 The fourth conclusion is that, when judging the record of a Foreign Secretary, one needs to look not only at what he did but, crucially, at the limits upon him. Clydeside Labour leader Jimmy Maxton’s maxim that ‘nobody should come into politics without realising that he could only be as good as he was allowed to be’ bears out this argument vis-à-vis Crosland for personal as well as political reasons.123 ‘[If] the foreign secretary were to achieve a significant and lasting reorientation in the central direction of British foreign policy he would need to remain in office for a substantial period of time’, notes Shlaim.124 Crosland’s sudden death necessarily cut short his ability to impose himself on British foreign policy. But this chapter also serves to throw into sharper focus the generic constraints on foreign policy-making manifesting themselves in the 1970s. In 1977, The Times observed ruefully that: It would almost certainly be a mistake to hold the historic view of the Foreign Secretaryship as one of the genuinely cardinal offices of state nowadays. As new forces are felt in the world and new groupings take place, the importance … attached to the post has declined, and has only relatively been enhanced by United Kingdom entry to the EEC.125

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Crosland’s predecessor, Callaghan, eloquently draws attention in his memoirs to the weight of history, civil service tradition, existing policy frameworks and the reactiveness of British foreign policy: Foreign policy is a mixture of the old and the new. We may initiate but we also inherit; we may vote at the ballot box for changes in policy and personalities, but on acquiring office governments inherit an international situation on which the footprints of the past are heavily marked. We cannot legislate about the actions of others, we cannot wipe the slate completely clean.126

Crosland was in situ at a time when changing global forces were severely hampering attempts by middle-ranking powers such as Britain to forge an independent foreign policy. Certainly this was how it appeared to former Treasury civil servant Sir Edwin Plowden, who remarked wryly on hearing of his appointment, ‘I do not know how interesting it is these days – at best it should provide travel to some pleasant places.’127 Indeed, through the 1960s and 1970s the question was not what Britain wanted to do, but how it could do it. Locked into an increasingly interdependent international political economy, Crosland had severely limited room for manoeuvre. Whether any other potential Labour Foreign Secretary in 1976–77 would have pursued a different policy, even on Europe, or one that led to lasting change in other areas, such as Rhodesia, is seriously open to doubt. A Foreign Secretary’s legacy is made of more than policy alone. Perceptions of what was achieved develop not from the objective reality of foreign policy, but from the more obvious images and memories that flow from personality, political status and the organisational context of Whitehall. Nevertheless, it is too easy to confuse reputation with reality. ‘None of his colleagues could analyse a problem with greater precision, was more likely to propose a distinctive solution, or could express his thoughts with greater elegance’, mourned The Times.128 Beneath the typically hagiographic blandishments of the obituary pages lurks an important final conclusion. Crosland was not simply an economist who had no interest in foreign affairs. He ultimately wanted to head the Treasury, that much is certain, but his foreign policy was no less sophisticated for it. In large part this was due to his meeting of minds with leading officials on the core issues, the mechanics of which will be further elucidated by the release of government papers in the coming years. But the way he handled the Cod War, the relationship he developed with Kissinger and his


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thoughtful approach to Europe must not be overlooked. Crosland may not be remembered as Foreign Secretary, but that is not to say there is nothing to remember.

NOTES 1. I would like to thank Richard Aldrich, Alex Bellamy and Kevin Theakston for their comments on earlier drafts. The analysis, opinions and conclusions expressed or implied in this chapter are mine and do not necessarily represent the views of the Joint Services Command and Staff College, the UK Ministry of Defence or any other government agency. 2. Labour Foreign Secretary between March and October 1951. See B. Donoghue and G. W. Jones, Herbert Morrison: Portrait of a Politician (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1973), pp. 479–514. 3. C. A. R. Crosland, The Future of Socialism (London: Jonathan Cape, 1956), The Conservative Enemy (London: Jonathan Cape, 1962) and Socialism Now (London: Jonathan Cape, 1974). For more on the enormous impact that Crosland’s economic writing had within the Labour Party and the political establishment in Britain, see the biographies by K. Jefferys, Anthony Crosland: A New Biography (London: Richard Cohen, 1999) and S. Crosland, Tony Crosland (London: Coronet, 1983). An insightful account by someone close to key Labour Party players in his time at the Guardian in the 1960s and 1970s can be located in J. Cole, As It Seemed to Me: Political Memoirs (London: Phoenix, 1996), especially p. 165. For the details of Crosland’s ideas, see D. Reisman, Crosland’s Future: Opportunity and Outcome (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997). 4. The Economist, 19 February 1977, p. 13. See also The Times, 21 February 1977, pp. 1 and 11. 5. Daily Mail Weekend, 10 March 2001, pp. 14–15, at p. 15. Roy Jenkins, a close friend of Crosland, writes that he was ‘very much an intellectual in politics’. See R. Jenkins, Twentieth Century Portraits (London: David & Charles, 1988), p. 64. 6. On the European referendum in particular, see P. Goodhart, Full-hearted Consent: The Story of the Referendum Campaign (London: Davis-Poynter, 1976); D. Butler and U. Kitzinger, The 1975 Referendum (London: Macmillan, 1976). For the view of the Foreign Secretary who led the negotiations see, J. Callaghan, Time and Chance (London: Collins, 1987), pp. 297–330. See also Cole, As It Seemed to Me, chs 13–26. 7. Anthony Crosland Papers (hereafter ACP), 5/12/21, Lipsey note on conversation with McNally, 27 April 1976. 8. G. Bennett and K. A. Hamilton (eds), Documents on British Policy Overseas Series 3, vol. III: Détente in Europe 1972–1976 (London: Whitehall History Publishing in Association with Frank Cass, 2001). Hereafter DBPO 3, 3. 9. Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 145. 10. R. Jenkins, A Life at the Centre (London: Papermac, 1991), p. 457. See also Jenkins, Twentieth Century Portraits, p. 67, where he describes Crosland as being capable of ‘dazzling charm’. 11. Review of Crosland, Tony Crosland, The Economist, 5 June 1982, pp. 91–2, at p. 91. On his early years, see this biography, pp. 1–71, echoed in Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 1–63. 12. The Times, 21 February 1977, p. 11. 13. Daily Mail Weekend, 10 March 2001, p. 15. For a sympathetic account of his personal qualities, see also E. Short, Whip to Wilson: The Crucial Years of Labour Government (London: Macdonald, 1989), p. 108. 14. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 400; The Economist, 5 June 1982, p. 91. See also Leonard’s obituary in The Economist, 19 February 1977, p. 15; Cole, As It Seemed to Me, p. 24. 15. ACP, 4/2/3, letter from Taylor to Crosland, 27 May 1951. See also ACP, 4/2/2, letter from Boothby to Crosland, 27 May 1951. 16. Quoted in Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 59. 17. Ibid., p. 29.

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18. Ibid., p. 5. See also p. 201 and Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 340. 19. For further discussion of the relationship between perception and reality in the field of foreign policy-making, see A. Shlaim, P. Jones and K. Sainsbury, British Foreign Secretaries since 1945 (Newton Abbott: David & Charles, 1977), p. 16; J. E. Dougherty and R. L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr, Contending Theories of International Relations: A Comprehensive Survey (New York: Harper & Row, 1981), p. 458; S. Smith and M. Smith, ‘The Analytical Background: Approaches to the Study of Foreign Policy’, in M. Smith, S. Smith and B. White (eds), British Foreign Policy: Transition, Change and Transformation (London: Hyman, 1988), pp. 3–23. R. Hattersley, Fifty Years On: A Prejudiced History of Britain since the War (London: Abacus, 1997), p. 262, makes a similar observation: ‘History is often made by vague impression, rather than by hard evidence.’ 20. A plethora of letters of rebuke from the general public can be found in ACP, 8/13. That letters on general foreign-policy questions have not been kept – presuming there were some – necessitates cautious judgement, however. 21. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 339. 22. Jenkins, A Life, p. 218. 23. D. Owen, Time to Declare (London: Michael Joseph, 1991), p. 254. 24. Quoted in Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 326. My emphasis. Later, on p. 323, his wife agrees that ‘he seemed uninterested in getting to grips with the job’. 25. The Economist, 5 June 1982, p. 91. 26. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 187; B. Castle, The Castle Diaries 1974–76 (London: Jonathan Cape), p. 30 (no date, linking section on 1974 general election). 27. See also Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 205 and 216. 28. A speculative article which accurately reflects government thinking on the subject is to be found in The Economist, 13 November 1976, p. 30. 29. ACP, 5/11/84, letter from Price to Crosland, April 1976. 30. See for example ACP, 5/13/19, note by Lipsey on priorities for 1977. 31. The Economist, 19 February 1977, p. 13. 32. For more details on the background to and resolution of the IMF crisis, see Callaghan, Time and Chance, pp. 422–43; Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 209–16; D. Sanders, Losing an Empire, Finding a Role: British Foreign Policy since 1945 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1990), pp. 213–15; Thorpe, A History of the British Labour Party (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), pp. 192–3. 33. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 342. 34. Quoted in Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 212. 35. Quoted in Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 382. 36. Quoted in Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 215. 37. The Economist, 13 November 1976, p. 30. See also Crosland, Anthony Crosland, pp. 355–6. 38. Quoted in Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 200. 39. The Times, 21 February 1977, p. 11. 40. The verdict of one of his advisers, Bill McCarthy, quoted in Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 200–1. 41. Taken from Crosland, Tony Crosland, pp. 338–9. 42. Quoted in ibid., p. 337. 43. Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 200. Then Minister of State at the Foreign Office Roy Hattersley described them as ‘occasional gurus’: see Hattersley, Fifty Years On, p. 181. 44. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 323; see also p. 383. 45. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 263. 46. As William Wallace points out: ‘The separation of foreign economic policy from the traditional concerns of foreign policy has been deeply embedded in British policy and practice’: W. Wallace, The Foreign Policy Process in Britain, 2nd edn (London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1977), p. 156. See also M. Beloff, New Dimensions in Foreign Policy: A Study in British Administrative Experience 1947–59 (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1961), pp. 23–4. 47. Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 201 and 80. 48. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 111; Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 153. 49. Hetherington Papers (hereafter HP), 20/38/2, ‘Points from a lunch with Anthony Crosland on Monday December 4 1972’. 50. The Economist, 27 November 1976, p. 67. For further discussion of the development of


51. 52. 53. 54.

55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

62.

63.

64.

65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76.

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the paper’s attitude to European unity after 1945, see Oliver J. Daddow, Britain and Europe since 1945: Historiographic Perspectives on Unification (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003). The Economist, 5 June 1982, p. 91. Quoted in Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 227. On the Europe episode and its aftermath, see Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, pp. 153–61; Crosland, Tony Crosland, pp. 224–30. Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 201. As the writing on British European policy in the 1960s and 1970s demonstrates, the Foreign Office was the motor force behind Britain’s turn to the Community. Key texts include J. W. Young, Britain and European Unity, 1945–99 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000); H. Young, This Blessed Plot: Britain and Europe from Churchill to Blair (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998). See also G. Wilkes (ed.), Britain’s Failure to Enter the European Economic Community 1961–63: The Enlargement Negotiations and Crises in European, Atlantic and Commonwealth Relations (London: Frank Cass, 1997); O. J. Daddow (ed.), Harold Wilson and European Integration (London: Frank Cass, 2002). Quoted in Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 339. DBPO 3, 3, preface p. 15. There is a fleeting allusion to it in ibid., pp. 351–2 and 378. ACP, 2/19/4, C. A. R. Crosland, G. Stent and K. Illsey, ‘Federal Union: The Truth’. ACP, 4/1, notes and programme from Princeton University conference on NATO, 19–29 June 1957. ACP, 4/9/23; ACP, 4/9/26-33. See for example D. Reynolds, Britannia Overruled: British Policy and World Power in the Twentieth Century (New York: Longman, 1991), pp. 248–51; Callaghan, Time and Chance, pp. 305–6. We should not underestimate the extent to which the realities of negotiation amended Callaghan’s attitude towards the EEC. See Hattersley, Fifty Years On, p. 231. John Cole writes: ‘Politically, Callaghan decided that Europe was not developing at an alarming speed; and economically, he began to see that Britain had little alternative.’ Cole, As It Seemed to Me, p. 124. Discussions can be traced in The Economist, from the middle of 1976. A neat summary article highlighting key issues appears on 28 August 1976, pp. 45–50. For more on the outcome of the UN conferences and the Royal Navy’s account of events, see Naval Staff History, BR 1736 (57), The Cod War: Naval Operations off Iceland in Support of the British Fishing Industry (1958–76) (London: HMSO, 1990). The fishing limit claimed by a country is ‘the zone in which it is entitled to make and to enforce regulations for the catching of fish in the sea’. This is taken from the account of the former British ambassador to Iceland, Sir A. Gilchrist, Cod Wars and How to Lose Them (Edinburgh: Q Press, 1978), p. 53. Tensions were exacerbated in 1952 when Iceland also refused to submit its grievance with Britain to the Hague Court. For a history of the quarrel back to the turn of the century, see H. Jónsson, Friends in Conflict: The Anglo-Icelandic Cod Wars and the Law of the Sea (London: C. Hurst, 1982). For a succinct summary of the history and details of these contretemps, see also ‘TED [Trade and Environment Database] Case Study: Iceland Cod War’, www.american. edu/ted/icefish.htm. ACP, 7/13/4, letter from British Trawlers’ Federation to Crosland, 2 April 1976. The Economist, 5 June 1976, p. 80; The Economist, 29 May 1976, p. 51. See also Jónsson, Friends in Conflict, pp. 181–2. Gilchrist, Cod Wars, p. 106. See also preface, p. 7. Jónsson, Friends in Conflict, p. 174. Ibid., pp. 47 and 70. Naval Staff History, The Cod War, pp. 97 and 102. Gilchrist, Cod Wars, p. 106. Naval Staff History, The Cod War, p. 161. His speech is reproduced in Jónsson, Friends in Conflict, pp. 181–2. ACP, 5/13/6, letter from Killick to Crosland, 8 June 1976. Jefferys agrees with this sympathetic version of events in Anthony Crosland, pp. 201–2. For the text of his speech, Wilson’s and Wilson’s response see ‘Modern History Sourcebook: Rhodesia: Unilateral Declaration of Independence Documents, 1965’,

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77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99.

100. 101. 102.

British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/1965Rhodesia-UDI.html, pp. 1–5. Robert Blake’s imperious volume, A History of Rhodesia (London: Eyre Methuen, 1977), is a good starting point from which to understand events, though inevitably it is thinner on events in the 1960s and 1970s than on earlier periods. For an insightful diplomatic history, written during the unfolding of events, see E. Windrich, Britain and the Politics of Rhodesian Independence (London: Croom Helm, 1978). See also R. C. Good, U.D.I.: The International Politics of the Rhodesian Rebellion (London: Faber and Faber, 1973); L. A. Sobel (ed.), Rhodesia/Zimbabwe 1971–77 (New York: Facts on File, 1978), especially pp. 61–109. Rhodesia features prominently in Wilson’s anodyne memoirs: The Labour Government 1964–1970: A Personal Record (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson and Michael Joseph, 1971) and Final Term: The Labour Government 1974–1976 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson and Michael Joseph, 1979). Owen, Time to Declare, p. 271. P. L. Moorcraft, A Short Thousand Years: The End of Rhodesia’s Rebellion (Salisbury: Galaxie Press, 1980), p. 17. ‘Modern History Sourcebook: Rhodesia’, pp. 6–7. According to Wilson, Rohodesia was the ‘most complicated issue which any government of this country has had to face in this century’: quoted in Windrich, Britain and the Politics of Rhodesian Independence, p. 11. Note, for example, the perceptions of obstructionism caused by Russia’s disagreement with the EEC’s fisheries policy, The Economist, 5 February 1977, pp. 15–16. DBPO 3, 3, preface p. 25. Ibid., preface p. 20; and Cartledge, quoted ibid., preface p. 26. For details, see Crosland, Tony Crosland, pp. 389–90; ACP, 5/13/21-8, Lipsey note on role at Foreign Office and priorities for next year, 22 December 1976. ACP, 5/14/31, letter from Kissinger to Crosland, undated but circa 22 September 1976. See also Windrich, Britain and the Politics of Rhodesian Independence, pp. 259–60. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 325. Quoted in Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 328. ACP, 5/14/23 and 27, letters from Crosland to Kissinger, 14 and 17 January 1977. ACP, 5/14/7, Susan Crosland notes on Crosland–Kissinger telegrams, undated. ACP, 5/14/26, telegram 234 to Washington, 14 September 1976. What has become known as the Annex C saga bears this out. See The Economist, 16 October 1976, pp. 73–4 and Crosland, Tony Crosland, pp. 361–70. The Economist, 16 October 1976, p. 73; ACP, 5/14/28, telegram from Crosland to Kissinger, 16 September 1976. For more on Kissinger’s peace initiatives, see Windrich, Britain and the Politics of Rhodesian Independence, pp. 262–74. For the details of the tour, see The Economist, 8 January 1977, pp. 13–14; 15 January 1977, pp. 59–60; 27 January 1977, p. 63; and 29 January 1977, pp. 13–14. Crosland, Tony Crosland, p. 375. The Economist, 23 October 1976, p. 10. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 179. Quoted in Windrich, Britain and the Politics of Rhodesian Independence, p. 274. Moorcraft, A Short Thousand Years, p. 29. V. de Waal, The Politics of Reconciliation: Zimbabwe’s First Decade (London: Hurst, 1990), p. 32. See also Blake, A History, p. 406. E. Windrich, ‘Rhodesia: The Road from Luanda to Geneva’, The World Today, 33 (March 1977), pp. 101–11, at p. 101; Windrich, Britain and the Politics of Rhodesian Independence, pp. 245, 258 and 262: Moorcraft makes the same point that Smith’s willingness to negotiate in 1976 signified that ‘the tempo of pressure had mounted from all directions’ in recent months: Moorcraft, A Short Thousand Years, p. 5. See also Blake, A History, p. 393: ‘it was in effect the threat of South African pressure along with the closing of the Mozambique frontier which made Mr Smith do his deal with Dr Kissinger’. Moorcraft, A Short Thousand Years, p. 36. Elsewhere he was blunter, asserting that Kissinger was merely ‘pretending to ask Britain for advice’, see p. 41. N. Nugent, The Government and Politics of the European Union, 3rd edn (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1994), pp. 127–8. The Economist, 18 September 1976, pp. 73–4, at p. 73. See also its remark that ‘Presidency really means being impartial arbiter of ministerial, and dozens of


103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108.

109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115.

116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128.

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committee, meetings each month to keep community [sic] business going’, The Economist, 1 January 1977, pp. 8–9, at p. 8. The Economist, 27 November 1976, p. 67. The Economist, 18 September 1976, p. 74. See also The Economist, 27 November 1976, p. 67. R. Hattersley, ‘Crosland Died 25 Years Ago’, Guardian, 18 February 2002, http:// politics.guardian.co.uk/columnist/story/0,9321,652072,00.html. Quoted in ibid. The Economist, 15 January 1977, pp. 49–50, at p. 50. ‘Consensus’, Kavanagh and Morris note, ‘does not mean absence of conflict’ between parties. ‘It is more appropriate to think of it as a set of parameters which bounded the set of policy options regarded by senior politicians and civil servants.’ D. Kavanagh and P. Morris, Consensus Politics from Attlee to Major, 2nd edn (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), p. 13. (Emphasis in original.) See also D. Dutton, British Politics since 1945: The Rise and Fall of Consensus (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991), pp. 35–7 and S. George, Politics and Policy in the European Community, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 112–14. Jenkins, A Life at the Centre, p. 457. Castle, The Castle Diaries, p. 705 (25 March 1976). Jefferys, Anthony Crosland, p. 195. For further discussion of his attitude to television appearances see Crosland, Tony Crosland, pp. 153–4. The Economist, 5 June 1982, p. 91. Owen, Time to Declare, pp. 178–9. Ibid., p. 179. See, for instance, files 5/14 and 6/4 both of which provide evidence that Crosland and his supporters, mainly Lipsey, were concerned about his standing on the backbenches and in Cabinet. In the deputy leadership election, Ted Short won, Michael Foot came second and Crosland was last with 61 votes. In the leadership election, eventually won by Callaghan, Crosland was eliminated after the first ballot with a mere 17 votes. In the NEC elections he was eighth in 1970, ninth in 1971, holding that position in 1973 only to fall to twelfth in 1975. Hattersley, Fifty Years On, p. 226. Jenkins, A Life at the Centre, p. 196; Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 399. Hattersley, Fifty Years On, p. 180. See for example P. Foot, The Politics of Harold Wilson (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968). The Labour majority was four in 1964, rising to 96 in 1966. In 1974 it was back to three. The Conservatives were not immune: Heath held a majority of only 30 in 1970. Cole, As it Seemed to Me, p. 165. Ibid., p. 158. Paraphrased in ibid., p. 75. Shlaim et al., British Foreign Secretaries since 1945, pp. 20–1. The Times, 21 February 1977, p. 1. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 331. ACP, 5/11/23, letter from Plowden to Crosland, 21 April 1976. The Times, 21 February 1977, p. 1.

4

David Owen: Foreign Secretary, 1977–79 Fergus Carr

CAREER

Following the death of Anthony Crosland in February 1977, Jim Callaghan appointed David Owen as Foreign Secretary. Callaghan reports that Owen went ‘visibly pale’ at the news of his promotion.1 As Minister of State at the Foreign Office, Owen had hoped, at best, to be placed in temporary charge until the budget after which he expected Denis Healey to become Foreign Secretary.2 Callaghan’s motives were not just to surprise Owen: ‘we were going through a difficult time electorally, and the thought came into my mind that it would do the Government no harm if I surprised the press and others who were already picking Tony’s successor by bringing in someone entirely fresh and young whom they had not thought of’.3 David Owen entered politics as Labour MP for Plymouth Sutton in 1966, a seat he represented until the new constituency of Plymouth Devonport was created in 1974. In 1967 he was made parliamentary private secretary to Gerry Reynolds in the Ministry of Defence. Promotion followed to Under-Secretary of State for the Royal Navy in 1968–70. When Labour lost office, Owen became opposition junior defence spokesman. In 1974 his appointment as Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Health brought a brief change of policy responsibility before a return to the world of external affairs followed in 1976 as Minister of State in the Foreign Office. At 38, Owen was the youngest Foreign Secretary since Eden, and as the ‘matinée idol’4 of the Labour Party certain to cut a dash.

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 PERSONAL STYLE

David Owen’s style in running the Foreign Office has been criticised.5 Owen accepts that he was ‘not above reproach and at times I left myself open to justified criticism for I was too brash and abrasive’.6 He admits that his ‘impatience was too often on display’ and now ‘wiser, older, I would now handle myself differently’.7 In his defence Owen states that the ‘exuberance and the irrepressibility of youth’ meant that the ‘issues I tackled then I would probably shirk now’.8 Europe was the policy area in which Owen principally clashed with his officials. The problem, Owen believed, was that ‘too many of the Euro-diplomats were reluctant to embark on any course which put us at serious loggerheads with the majority of Community members’.9 The biggest source of friction I had to contend with at the Foreign Office was a relatively small number of senior diplomats who had got used to having a campaigning role over the European Community and had built up strong links with journalists sympathetic to Europe. Over the years they had been given more political licence by Conservative and Labour politicians than is normal for officials. In the process some of them had become zealots for the European Community and all its works, and were none too keen to accept political control.10

In 1977 Owen believed the Euro-diplomats were still in the ‘first flush of post-referendum euphoria and were very reluctant to sound warnings about the manifest unfairness of the British budgetary contribution’.11 Criticism of the negotiated terms was for some officials seen as a ‘personal slight’12 and Owen believed it would have been wiser to have a new team of diplomats to deal with Europe after entry.13 As Foreign Secretary, Owen vowed to ‘shift the whole emphasis of the Foreign Office to a more selfconfident, assertive stance towards the Community’.14 Owen looked for change but did not embrace the Berrill Report in August 1977 resulting from the Central Policy Review Staff (CPRS) examination of the diplomatic service. Berrill made radical proposals: the abolition of the diplomatic service as a separate entity and a significant reduction in representation overseas. The proposals had been leaked in advance of publication as the diplomatic service mobilised to defend itself15 in a manner that Owen suggests would ‘long be admired by connoisseurs of Yes

David Owen, 1977–79

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Minister’.16 The government duly rejected the integration of the diplomatic service and the home civil service. Its white paper, The United Kingdom’s Overseas Representation published in 1978, stressed Britain’s global interests and stated that ‘in principle there is now a greater not lesser need for effective overseas representation’.17 Owen supported the retention of a separate diplomatic service and ‘blue water diplomacy’. He looked for reform by the promotion of quality officials, an ‘up and out system’.18 He believed by the 1990s this had been achieved and the ‘new generation of diplomats are less effete and more realistic’. 19 Owen’s relationship with his Prime Minister, James Callaghan was crucial to his role as Foreign Secretary. Owen reports, ‘relations between Jim Callaghan and I, and between No 10 and the Foreign Office, were exceptionally good for two-and-aquarter years’.20 Callaghan’s support was important to Owen in the Foreign Office, in policy development and in the Cabinet. Owen reports that the ‘advantage to me, within the Foreign Office, of being seen to have the ear of the Prime Minister was immense’.21 Owen states he had considerable freedom in policy, he did not feel ‘curbed’ by Callaghan and has contrasted the growth of prime ministerial intervention in foreign affairs affecting his successors with his own experience.22 Constraints were set though and with, regard to Israel, Callaghan repeated Harold Wilson’s warning to him that he would have his full support, right or wrong, with one exception, Israel. Owen understood the warning, not to get the government isolated on Israel.23 He has reported that Callaghan ‘had a very clever, subtle way of letting me know if he didn’t approve of some policy’.24 At the same time he ‘was amazed how Jim consciously chose not to interfere’.25 Travel with the Prime Minister afforded Owen the opportunity to learn his ‘inner thinking’ and both looked to keep foreign policy close to that of the USA.26 In terms of leading the Cabinet, Callaghan’s style has been described as consultative and collegial.27 Owen believes that one of Callaghan’s ‘strengths was that in Cabinet he concentrated his efforts on a few specific issues and did not waste political capital by using his weight on others, being content to act as an impartial chairman’.28 This did not of course stop the Prime Minister acting outside the Cabinet. Owen cites the government’s decision to join the European Monetary System (EMS) in 1978 as a typical example of Callaghan’s skill in securing Cabinet approval by prior work with himself, Denis Healey and Peter Shore.29 Callaghan managed his ministers by ensuring they did not disagree without each other

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knowing and, as Owen recalls, informing them when he could not support them in Cabinet.30 Callaghan’s political skills were needed not just for managing Cabinet government but ensuring the survival of a government that soon lost its majority. Without the ‘Lib–Lab Pact’ it might not have survived Conservative censure and Owen could have left office after 32 days. In practice, Owen was to remain Foreign Secretary until Labour lost power in 1979.

CONTEXT

David Owen’s tenure as Foreign Secretary was contextualised by an international system on the eve of a ‘Second Cold War’.31 In Europe, arms control was found wanting as a new generation of theatre nuclear weapons was deployed. In the wake of the Soviet SS20 missile deployment, Chancellor Schmidt questioned the credibility of the US strategy of ‘extended deterrence’. The West German leader saw in the emergent regional imbalance of theatre nuclear forces a potential for ‘decoupling’ the deterrent threat of Washington’s strategic forces from Europe. Revolution and conflict from the Horn of Africa to Iran appeared to erode the West’s position in the Third World and underline the limitations of détente. At the same time President Carter’s human-rights policy became part of a deteriorating superpower relationship. On the economic front the news was better: the traumas of the 1976 sterling crisis eased and there were signs of recovery by the autumn of 1977. The absence of a majority in the house, however, was clearly a constraint for policy-makers including the Foreign Secretary. Yet aspects of foreign policy, particularly with regard to southern Africa and human rights, were quite radical. Under David Owen, British policy rejected internal settlements and sought majority rule for Rhodesia, Namibia and South Africa. Human rights also became an important part of Britain’s relationship with the Soviet Union. The Labour government’s capacity to sustain such policies was, as we shall see, critically affected by the quality of its relationship with Washington. On other fronts – nuclear deterrence, arms control, the Falklands and not least Europe – there were challenges. It is to these areas that we now turn, seeking to establish British policy and David Owen’s contribution.


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Europe The issue of Europe had divided the country and the Labour Party. In 1970 all three main parties had pledged to take Britain into Europe if acceptable terms could be found. In the Labour Party there were significant divisions that gradually came to the fore in 1971. Roy Jenkins, deputy leader of the party, led the promarketeers. On 28 October 1971, 69 Labour MPs, including Owen, defied their party and voted with the Conservative government to establish the principle of entry to the Community. The Labour Party’s conference and National Executive had rejected the ‘Tory terms’ and looked to the parliamentary party to follow the party line. Owen, with other pro-marketeers, heeded the party call at the second reading of the European Communities Bill, ‘the worst vote I have ever cast in Parliament and the one of which I am most ashamed’.32 When Labour went further and embraced the principle of a consultative referendum upon Community membership, Roy Jenkins resigned followed by George Thomson and Harold Lever from the shadow Cabinet. David Owen and Bill Rodgers, along with others holding shadow portfolios, also resigned. When Labour returned to power in 1974, ‘renegotiation’ and then the referendum became the means to sustain party unity. Renegotiation of the terms was ‘part real, part cosmetic’,33 but sufficient for Callaghan to recommend that the UK remained part of the Community. The referendum could not hide the divisions in the Labour Cabinet or the party’s ranks, but the left were ‘appeased by the fact of the referendum, the right by its result’.34 In 1976 David Owen was invited to replace Roy Hattersley as Tony Crosland’s deputy in the Foreign Office. Owen, a committed European, soon became convinced that ‘the UK really did have a lousy deal’.35 The Agricultural Policy, which we had always known worked against our interests, was out of control – big surpluses were building up in milk products, olive oil and wine and costs were soaring. It was also clear that in a few years’ time the UK budgetary contribution would rise so much that we were quite likely to find ourselves the nation making the largest contribution. We also had to cope with a fishing policy which had been cobbled up by the original six members on the eve of the Community’s expansion and which could hardly have been more unhelpful to UK fishing interests.36

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The Minister of State, sought to develop a tough negotiating stance37 and Owen looked to the French Foreign Office as a model, ‘they talk European and think France’.38 In contrast he saw too many British diplomats as Euro-federalists who believed in an ‘eventual United States of Europe and do think this is a higher calling than the more mundane task of fighting the British corner’.39 David Owen had not renounced his faith in Europe but differed with officials over ‘what sort of European Community the UK had joined in 1973, and what its future shape should be’.40 Owen looked for a more robust defence of national interests and rejected Euro-federalism. He believed his resignation in 1972 had misled senior officials that he shared Roy Jenkins’s views on Europe. Owen argued that the ‘skill is to voluntarily surrender and pool such sovereignty as is necessary to maintain the coherence of the Community, but to still retain the sinews of nationhood’.41 Britain’s destiny was ‘to resist tides of Euro-Federalism, hopefully in combination with other nations. But, if necessary, we must do it alone, confidently insisting on retaining the essentials of nationhood within the Community.’42 Beyond the Foreign Office, Owen faced other problems in managing policy towards Europe. The referendum had not healed all the divisions in the Cabinet, Parliamentary Labour Party or Labour Party as a whole. Chairing the European Cabinet committee was difficult for Owen as the key anti-Europeans – Peter Shore, John Silkin, Stan Orme, Tony Benn and Albert Booth – regularly attended while the pro-Community ministers – Shirley Williams, Roy Hattersley, Bill Rodgers and Edmund Dell – often sent their junior ministers who were less enthusiastic.43 The scale of negative opinion towards the Community affected issues such as the direct election of representatives to the European Parliament and participation in the EMS. In 1977 the Community looked to adopt direct elections to the European Parliament. David Steel had sought to make a commitment to direct elections under a system of proportional representation, a condition of the Lib–Lab Pact. Callaghan had concurred with the principle of direct elections even though a majority of his Cabinet (including Owen) favoured continuation of the indirect system but warned ‘proportional representation was an animal of a very different colour, for the party was against it and so was I’.44 Michael Foot and Tony Benn opposed the principle of direct elections for the potential erosion of Westminster’s authority. Owen, however, believed that he had convinced the majority of the Cabinet that Britain had to honour its treaty obligations and that a system of


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proportional representation based upon regional lists would favour Labour.45 In the end Callaghan agreed to free votes on the principle of direct elections and the method to be utilised. On the EMS, Owen has ‘inferred’ that Callaghan was ‘not prepared to risk the row in the Labour Party that would undoubtably come if we were to join the European Monetary System before the election’.46 Callaghan confirms this impression reporting that ‘many people in the Labour Party remained suspicious of what they thought was too close an entanglement with Europe’.47 Owen was also sceptical and his scepticism was economically based. He did not think that Britain was in the right phase of the economic cycle to join.48 Callaghan was further concerned about the EMS ‘pulling up’ sterling and deflating the economy.49 Owen had success in carrying his colleagues with the policy of Community enlargement to Spain, Portugal and Greece. The idea had been floated in May 1977 among EC Foreign Ministers and was accepted by the special Cabinet meeting on Europe in July. Owen used the ‘emotional key’ of Spain to unlock the ‘Left’s suspicion and hostility to the Community’.50 The opportunity to consolidate democracy in post-Franco Spain was too great to pass up for many of the party. At the Brighton Labour Party conference in October 1977, Michael Foot’s speech balanced critique of the Community with proposals for reform and a strident endorsement of enlargement to Greece, Portugal and Spain.51 This speech, with the Prime Minister’s letter to the National Executive Committee, carried policy forward in the party. While reform of the Community was less contentious at home it was more difficult to resolve in Brussels. Owen did secure agreement from the Commission for a zero farm price rise by the spring of 1979 after progressive reductions, but did not resolve Britain’s budgetary contribution. The problem was that Britain was the largest net contributor to the budget except for Germany. It had been one of the main issues in the Wilson renegotiation and had surfaced again under Callaghan in 1978–79. Jenkins soon came to think of it as the ‘Bloody British Question’52 and Labour’s pursuit of change was concluded under the Thatcher administration in 1979. Human rights In 1978 the Foreign Secretary published his book on human rights.53 David Owen did not believe ‘that a country can operate in the world without trying to project abroad its own ethical values,

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its own moral principles’.54 He did not, however, seek absolute consistency with the principle of ethical values and admitted to the possibility of a ‘very great deal of inconsistency in policy’.55 Owen embraced the belief that certain rights are inalienable, guaranteeing the integrity of the person and the right to life itself. He further argued that ‘the abuse of human rights is the legitimate subject of international concern; and that the enforcement of human rights can no longer be left to national governments alone’.56 This conviction was shared by the Carter administration and became part of an Anglo-American approach to foreign policy. Britain was to promote greater respect for human rights in its bilateral relations where there was cause for concern. Owen did not see this as an ‘ideal or a sufficient way of going about things, requiring as it does a balance between the need for a consistent moral position, on the one hand, and on the other, a hard headed but necessary calculation of national interest of the likely effectiveness or otherwise of any action which we may take, and of the strength of public feeling at home’.57 In this respect arms sales to countries such as Indonesia and Iran were particular challenges. The human-rights implications had to be balanced against the consequences of non-supply and the pressure of allies. The Callaghan government, however, was the first to support a mandatory arms embargo on South Africa and warned British companies to review their profile of investments in the republic.58 Owen further saw some rights in the economic and social sphere being long-term goals because their attainment may be beyond the capacity of governments. Conversely he did not accept that the primary responsibility of government to ensure basic political freedoms and civil rights could be denied on economic grounds. He declared ‘it is not justification for apartheid that in South Africa the black population enjoys a higher standard of living than elsewhere in Africa’.59 He set a challenge for the Labour government: which, as a matter of conviction and policy, is implacably opposed to racialism in all its forms, is to point the way unswervingly to where the future of Africa must lie. This is not only a moral obligation, it is the assertion of our national interest. We must make it unequivocally clear that we are now committed to doing everything possible to enable Africans to win their legitimate rights in Southern Africa.60

In light of Soviet and Cuban intervention in Africa, Owen warned ‘it would be an error to portray the continent’s conflicts in exclusively East–West terms. It plays straight into the hands of the


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Soviets’ because ‘they will then be able, convincingly, to depict the West as morally bankrupt and supporters of apartheid’.61 With regard to the Soviet Union, Owen welcomed détente but saw its first stage as over, leaving issues which are ‘more complex, more contentious and far more intractable’.62 He saw détente as having a ‘Jekyll and Hyde nature’ of competition and cooperation. While the Russians sought to limit détente to relations between governments, Owen believed it should include free competition between the two ways of life. Human rights were seen as integral to this competition: There is no going back on the human rights commitment. It is here to stay. Unless the Soviet leadership recognizes that genuine public concern for human rights is a major determinator of Western foreign policy, the future of détente will be in doubt.63

At the same time Owen underlined the complexity of East–West relations in which human rights were only ‘one strand’ and ‘it is no part of our policy to promote campaigns of denunciation’.64 He reminded the public that governments have to take this complexity into account, that this was not ‘an excuse for dodging the issue: it is the means by which we try to draw the fine line between measures that stand a chance of being effective, and those which will spark counter-productive reaction’.65 Africa David Owen’s strategy in southern Africa firmly embraced the principle of human rights: Over Namibia and Rhodesia and South Africa itself, there was a choice to make and I was determined we would make it. Majority rule and soon, was where both principle and interest now lay.66

Owen believed ‘Britain’s trading interests, as well as our political interests, lay in ensuring that we were not identified with sustaining racial discrimination or minority rule.’67 He argued he was not advocating a ‘starry eyed policy divorced from self interests’ but ‘on the contrary, I believed that Britain had to curb and put its large financial interests in South Africa at risk in the medium term in order to be able to secure them in the long term’.68 In policy terms the consequences of Owen’s stance were to reject ‘internal settlements’, qualified or limited franchise proposals and adopt sanctions. It was also fundamental to work with the USA to develop a joint approach to avoid British

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isolation and prevent domestic divisions in Westminster constraining policy. The US ambassador to the United Nations, Andy Young, looked to bring mandatory sanctions against South Africa. Owen and Secretary of State Cyrus Vance, also saw pressure on South Africa as essential to any initiative on Rhodesia and Namibia. The importance of sanctions was not just to encourage a process of constitutional change in South Africa, but to secure pressure from Pretoria on Smith’s white-minority Rhodesian regime. Owen states, ‘I was determined to bring UDI to an end and ensure majority rule for Zimbabwe.’69 Resistance to sanctions in Britain was not, however, insignificant. Owen reports that within the Labour Cabinet there was a powerful group of ministers – Edmund Dell, Denis Healey and Harold Lever – who were opposed to sanctions because of their potential damage to exports,70 and ‘within Whitehall it was virtually a forbidden subject’.71 Owen’s strategy was to make the Cabinet and Whitehall aware that the USA was heading towards sanctions and to ‘say that Britain would use our veto against economic sanctions on our own was unrealistic’.72 The Cabinet Office was asked to analyse the comparative balance of economic advantage between trade with Black Africa and South Africa. The paper ‘gratuitously introduced the familiar arguments of principle against sanctions and issued grave warnings about their dangers’.73 Much to the Foreign Secretary’s displeasure his representatives had signed the paper: ‘this was a central test of political control’.74 ‘I worked on the simple principle that the Foreign Office should speak in Departmental Committees with the same voice that I spoke in Cabinet.’75 Owen identified the problem as coming from those dealing with economic and trading questions, and found it unacceptable that ‘after officials had had the opportunity to put their viewpoint, they should go to interdepartmental committees and try to undermine my decision’.76 As Owen tried to win the case for sanctions, it emerged that the government was sitting on a major scandal – ‘Oilgate’, the breaking of oil sanctions against Rhodesia by British companies with government knowledge.77 An investigation by Thomas Bingham QC resulted in a formal report in September 1978. The report detailed arrangements by which BP and Shell ‘swapped’ oil with the French company Total to supply Rhodesia. In 1968 the oil companies admitted to Commonwealth Secretary George Thomson details of the ‘swap’ and as a consequence ‘sanctions busting’ but within the law. Thomson claimed he reported to the


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Prime Minister,78 but Harold Wilson denied knowledge of the swap.79 After 1971 the swap arrangement ceased and Shell Mozambique handled Shell and BP supplies for Rhodesia.80 For Owen the fact that neither politicians nor civil servants involved in sanction-breaking were held to account was deeply unsatisfactory, but the evidence assembled for Bingham ‘helped me break Whitehall’s resistance to contemplating sanctions against South Africa’.81 The tragic death of Steven Biko further changed the mood of the Cabinet leaving Owen with ‘little difficulty in obtaining authorization to apply UN mandatory sanctions against South Africa in relation to all arms supplies’.82 With the Gleneagles Agreement severing Commonwealth sporting links with South Africa, and the Foreign Secretary’s warning to British companies about their investment profiles in South Africa, pressure was steadily built up. In April 1977, Owen visited southern Africa to ‘win acceptance to opening discussions about a constitution for an independent Zimbabwe – to get the South Africans to put pressure on Smith and persuade the Front Line Presidents to put pressure on the Patriotic Front of Nkomo and Mugabe’.83 The Foreign Secretary’s strategy was based upon Anglo-American proposals, agreed in March, for a constitutional conference. The proposals differed from the preceding Kissinger initiative, which had looked to setting up an interim government, that would work out the details of an independence constitution by concentrating first on devising an independence constitution.84 As Owen put it: I wanted to turn the earlier strategy upside down. Instead of attempting to establish an all-party interim government and then taking 18 months to produce a constitution, we, with the US, would produce a draft constitution by the summer and hold an all-party constitutional conference to discuss it.85

The Carter administration prioritised southern Africa and strongly endorsed British policies towards Rhodesia.86 Owen was also to establish a good working relationship and friendship with Cyrus Vance, ‘as close … as I suspect has ever existed between a US Secretary of State and British Foreign Secretary’.87 This relationship would prove critical to the implementation of Owen’s policy. In the Commons, Owen’s policy was attacked by the Conservatives, and in the media the Sunday Express mounted a virulent campaign of opposition. Without a majority, US support was vital and it undercut the Conservatives who held back from an assault on Washington. While the Tories may not have liked the

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policies of the Carter administration, they were not prepared to challenge US leadership. At the same time the Liberal Party endorsed Owen’s policy as did the left and right wings of the Labour Party. By this process Owen could pursue a radical policy, endorsing majority rule buttressed by sanctions, despite the opposition of the Tory right wing.88 The Anglo-American initiative at first produced optimism, but both the Patriotic Front and Ian Smith soon eroded hopes of an easy settlement. A joint Anglo-American consultative group was established, led by John Graham a senior Foreign Office official, and the US ambassador to Lusaka, Stephen Low. The issues were ‘one-man one-vote’, the future of the Rhodesian security forces, and the future role of the guerilla forces. The Anglo-American plan was for a ceasefire to be maintained by a United Nations force as the British Cabinet had rejected the idea of a Commonwealth force. Britain would, however, assume responsibility for governing Rhodesia and, during a period of no longer than six months, there would be free elections on a one-man one-vote basis. All executive and legislative powers would be vested in a resident commissioner who would also be commander-in-chief of the Rhodesian armed forces and the forces of the Patriotic Front. Owen asked Field Marshall Lord Carver to take on the role of resident commissioner, and secured United Nations support. He failed though to secure Smith’s support, who turned to an ‘internal agreement’ with Muzorewa, Sithole and Chirau. The Patriotic Front in turn wanted to control the interim administration and rejected the British role. As the momentum towards a settlement faltered, the guerilla war in Rhodesia intensified. Owen felt under pressure to convene a Lancaster House conference. He was personally tempted to outflank Conservative opposition and meet growing demands in Britain and the USA for a settlement. He was advised by Sir Anthony Duff and Lord Carver, however, not to convene a conference as it would fail: They also went as close as was decent in saying that before a conference could be successful, not only would the internal settlement have to be seen to fail, as they were both certain it would, but also a general election in Britain would have to take place in order that a new British Government, whether Labour or Conservative, would have authority to convene it and over-rule Smith.89

Once Owen had ‘accepted this hard fact’, the task was to kill off an early conference. In Whitehall, Duff was important and Cledwyn Hughes, a former Commonwealth minister, was appointed by


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Callaghan to investigate the likelihood of a diplomatic settlement. Hughes reported that there was little prospect of a conference succeeding: ‘Smith was not ready to face the inevitable, and up to the present, circumstances had not forced him to do so.’90 British policy was now to wait for the power struggle in Rhodesia to move forward: While we had been at pains to ensure that no party had a veto on our Anglo-American proposals, we could never escape the fact that as long as either the Patriotic Front or the Rhodesian armed forces, or both, were prepared to continue the war there could be no peaceful transition.91

When the Lancaster House settlement was finally reached under the chairmanship of Lord Carrington, following the Lusaka Commonwealth conference, its key features were clearly consistent with the policy line set by David Owen and in accord with the Anglo-American proposals. Britain, the USA and the Soviet Union David Owen and Jim Callaghan clearly valued the British relationship with the USA. In a number of policy areas London and Washington adopted a similar policy line or stance. This was particularly the case in Africa but also evident in Middle East policy, and on issues such as nuclear deterrence and nuclear proliferation. Owen saw the strength of the special relationship as lying in ‘actions often taken quickly, informally and in an atmosphere of trust’.92 His relationship with Vance was mirrored by Carter’s relationship with Callaghan, creating a positive bond between the two leaderships.93 In this context, Owen made the proposal to replace the British ambassador in Washington with Peter Jay. This was a contentious step because Jay was married to the Prime Minister’s daughter. The matter was made more controversial by the timing of the announcement of the departure of the then incumbent, Peter Ramsbotham, to a new post and his replacement with Jay. Callaghan reports that Owen wanted an ambassador more in tune with his ideas. The Prime Minister refused at first because ‘he was my son-in-law’ but then relented to the appointment.94 Owen has reflected on Jay’s ‘excellent job in Washington’: he ‘established a personal relationship with the President, but more important, he crossed the ring fence which Carter’s Georgian mafia had put up around themselves’.95 At the same time

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the Foreign Secretary had strengthened his grip on the Foreign Office. By making a political appointment to Washington he gained a line of information that could break the ‘closed circuit of Foreign Office internal communications’.96 London and Washington found rapport in a number of policy areas. President Carter’s Camp David initiative was strongly supported by the Labour government. Britain supported this approach to the Arab–Israeli dispute and sought to facilitate the American-led peace process. It became British policy to ensure European Community support for Camp David despite French desires for a more comprehensive settlement.97 Israel did not therefore become a divisive issue in the Labour Party. On East–West relations Britain endorsed US policies. Soviet– American relations were strained in 1977 with disagreements over the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty (SALT) II and the Horn of Africa. Owen believed Moscow saw the British as a useful avenue to Carter on arms control, but Gromyko was ‘perplexed about the emphasis that was being given to human rights’.98 The Foreign Secretary felt in a ‘cleft stick’: All my instincts sympathized with Carter’s wish to elevate human rights and I was not afraid of embarrassing the Soviet Union, but I also wanted, as did Vance, substantive progress on arms control. Up to a point, we could aspire to both, but even though there was no explicit linkage implicitly we did face choices. If forced to choose, I was more concerned then about the troubling build-up of nuclear weapons.99

Owen also had to curb his feelings toward the Soviet elite. He has admitted that he ‘had to deal with these people within the diplomatic niceties but I despised and mistrusted them’.100 While Owen believed that any Soviet concessions on human rights were made out of cynicism, as a means of securing a better press in the UK, the overall effect of the Western campaign, he thought, was critical to the transformation of Eastern Europe in 1989. The issue of theatre nuclear weapons complicated Western Alliance relationships and deepened divisions with the East. In 1977 Chancellor Schmidt drew attention to the way in which SALT could neutralise superpower strategic nuclear capabilities and ‘in Europe this magnifies the significance of the disparities between East and West in nuclear, tactical and conventional weapons’.101 The focus of Schmidt’s comments was the new Soviet SS20 missile, but his argument prompted a review of the overall NATO–Warsaw Pact regional balance of power. One possible Western response to


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rectify the perceived imbalance of power was the deployment of the neutron bomb or ‘reduced blast/enhanced radiation’ weapon which was denounced by the Soviet Union as the ultimate ‘capitalist weapon’, killing people not buildings. Protests over the weapons grew in western Europe with Schmidt under particular pressure from sections of his party, the SPD, as well as popular protests. The Ministry of Defence in Britain was in favour of the neutron bomb but Owen was not. He went along with the military, however, because both Callaghan and NATO endorsed the decision. As the European leaderships acquiesced to deployment of the new weapon despite domestic opposition, President Carter announced on 7 April 1978 that he had decided to defer its production. The cancellation at this point raised fundamental questions about the cohesion of the Alliance and reliability of US leadership. In order to restore credibility, Jimmy Carter, James Callaghan, Helmut Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing met at Guadaloupe in January 1979. The summit discussed the modernisation of Western theatre nuclear weapons while pursuing parallel arms control initiatives. An equally difficult issue was the question of a future inclusion of British and French nuclear forces in one comprehensive SALT III agreement.102 Guadaloupe set NATO on the road to the deployment of Cruise and Pershing II missiles while the arms control track first faltered and then was aborted in detoriating East–West relations. At the strategic level the SALT process succumbed to the same fate. The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in December 1979 led to the US refusal to ratify the SALT II treaty. The future of the British deterrent force was at the same time a major issue. Nuclear decisions were made by the Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Defence Secretary.103 The key challenge for the Labour ‘four’ was the future of the Polaris strategic force. In the late 1960s the Soviet Union began to develop anti-ballistic missile defences, which led British governments to consider how to ensure the effectiveness of Polaris. Heath’s Conservative administration endorsed a programme of warhead modernisation codenamed ‘Chevaline’. The Chevaline project soon quadrupled in cost and in 1977 the Labour Cabinet four met to consider cancellation. The decision was not to cancel; in retrospect, a mistake for Denis Healey as the Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty had limited the Soviet defence system to Moscow.104 For Owen:

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 I believed it was not militarily necessary after the ABM Treaty but, since we had spent three quarters of the total cost, I feared cancellation would raise military questions capable of destroying the political effectiveness of Polaris as a deterrent without an improved warhead. Since nuclear deterrence is as much psychological and political as military, I therefore favoured continuing with Chevaline.105

Owen also advocated exploration of Cruise missiles as a relatively cheap replacement for Polaris missiles in contrast to the purchase of Trident, the new American submarine-launched strategic missile. He reports the ‘Ministry of Defence were strongly against this, wanting the best available, irrespective of cost, which was undoubtedly Trident’.106 Owen began to feel that the financial costs of more sophisticated systems were too great for Britain, but lost the argument. Owen never doubted that Britain should retain its independent nuclear deterrent but the debate was never developed because ‘none of us ever felt able to go out and argue the case positively to the Parliamentary Party, let alone the Party in the country’.107 The issue was too divisive and the Labour Party of the 1970s inhibited discussion of nuclear weapons and made the leadership too secretive, preferring to stifle debate.108 The Falkland Islands Both Owen and Callaghan have contrasted the Labour government’s handling of relations with Argentina over the Falklands in the late 1970s with Mrs Thatcher’s failure to deter war in 1982. For Callaghan, ‘the verdict of history must be that the Labour Government kept the peace and the Conservative Government won the war’.109 For David Owen, a critical factor was the use of intelligence. ‘The 1977 record shows that intelligence served as a tool for Ministerial decisions. The 1982 records show intelligence was ignored.’110 The Labour case was that, in the context of strained relations with Argentina, the importance of maintaining HMS Endurance on station, reviewing intelligence reports, sending the ‘right’ diplomatic signals and deploying naval forces helped prevent conflict. For Owen the ‘inescapable conclusion is that the Falklands war was an avoidable war and that the events of 1977 should have given us the knowledge and experience to have prevented the 1982 invasion’.111 In 1977 Owen was concerned that any withdrawal of the Royal Navy’s patrol ship HMS Endurance would signal weakness to the


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Argentinians and a lack of determination to defend British interests. As relations with Argentina deteriorated and intelligence pointed to a number of factors – including the growing militancy of the Argentine navy, frustration with London’s apparent stalling tactics; and the occupation of Southern Thule – contingency plans were adopted. It was believed that, if negotiations broke down, Buenos Aires may take more direct action. David Owen sought additional naval deployments to protect British shipping and the Falkland Islands. The Foreign Secretary advocated an SSN (nuclearpowered submarine) be dispatched to the area. Ministers agreed and in addition two frigates were deployed 1,000 miles out in the Atlantic. The deployment pattern was agreed ‘as it would not be visible, and therefore not provocative to the negotiations’.112 Disagreement over the deterrent value of this force has emerged in the Callaghan and Owen accounts. In Callaghan’s speech to the Commons in 1982 he described how naval forces were assembled in support of HMS Endurance ‘and that when this fact became known, without fuss and publicity a diplomatic solution followed’.113 In his autobiography Callaghan made less strident claims: We made no formal communication to Argentina of these precautionary moves, but I informed the Head of MI6 of our plans before the ships sailed and it is possible, as I hoped, some information reached the Argentinian armed forces.114

Owen disagrees with Callaghan and does not believe MI6 would have disclosed the naval deployment without instructions. For Owen, ‘our naval deployment was an insurance policy, it did not of itself deter’.115 Owen has stressed that he made ‘every effort to ensure that the operation was covert’.116 He did not believe that the Argentinians knew but has seen this as a ‘side issue that has often tended to draw attention away from the real significance of deploying a nuclear-powered submarine below the surface so as to be in a position to intervene if matters deteriorated’.117 The Franks Committee Report has recorded that the objective of the 1977 deployment was to ‘buttress the government’s negotiating position by deploying a force of sufficient strength, available if necessary, to convince the Argentines that military action by them would meet resistance’.118 As Owen has revealed, detailed rules of engagement were drawn up that empowered the submarine to open fire ‘if Argentine ships came within 50 miles of the Falkland Islands and were believed to have displayed hostile intent’.119 Franks concluded that such a force would not be able to deal with

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‘a determined Argentine attack, but it would be able to respond flexibly to limited acts of aggression’.120 It was deemed, as Callaghan has reported, ‘appropriate’ by the then chief of defence staff.121 While the Franks Report contrasts circumstances in 1977 and suggests that they were different from those leading up to the February talks in 1982, the Labour government did, nonetheless, take contingency measures, which the Conservatives failed to match. Labour did retain HMS Endurance, did discern its relationship with Argentina as deteriorating and did dispatch a naval force.


David Owen’s tenure as Foreign Secretary covered a period rich in policy challenges. The normal difficulties of developing and sustaining a coherent foreign policy were compounded by the absence of a majority in the House of Commons. Dependence on the Lib–Lab Pact and others in the Commons left the government in a vulnerable position. Divisions in the Labour Party over Europe and nuclear weapons further constrained policy-making. It is against this domestic context as well as the nature of particular issues in the external realm that Owen’s record should be judged. On European policy it was clear that the referendum had not resolved matters in the Labour Party. Owen was committed to Europe but was not a federalist. He endorsed Gaitskell’s view that Britain should not be ‘a province – a mere Texas or a California’.122 Owen sought to retain membership of the Community but also to seek reform. In practice, but not without difficulty, this together with a commitment to enlargement was to become policy. As we have seen the support of the Carter administration and Cy Vance in particular was integral to Labour’s strategy on southern Africa. It is to Owen’s credit, however, that he initiated a fresh approach and was prepared to fight within the British administration for a radical policy. He was opposed to racism, sought majority rule as the basis for settlements and was prepared to adopt sanctions to facilitate solutions. Owen’s policy was sustained despite opposition at home and in Africa. He regards his decision not to convene a premature Lancaster House conference a major success of his period in office.123 It demonstrated resolve, the capacity to stick with a policy and see it through in a consistent


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manner, even if it meant its objectives would not be immediately realised. Owen and Callaghan adopted a trans-Atlantic basis for British foreign policy. This was not only true in Africa but with regard to human rights, East–West relations in general and the Middle East. Owen saw the special relationship as important to Europe as well as to Britain, with NATO the key institution. He saw the working of the special relationship as dependent upon personal relations at senior executive levels. His own relationship with Cy Vance was to be particularly strong, making for an effective Anglo-American partnership. Working with Washington became fundamental to Britain’s diplomacy. The Carter administration’s promotion of human rights was matched by the Labour government’s. Owen’s commitment to human rights dated back to the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956, the repression of Czechoslovakia in 1968 and a long-standing opposition to apartheid.124 It became a priority area for his period in office but not the exclusive focus of policy. Owen recognised that the price for championing human rights is a ‘little inconsistency’ and later said ‘for a little read a lot’.125 The honesty of this analysis was underlined by the pull of realpolitik in Soviet relations and the problems of suspending arms sales. Inconsistency would concern the Labour left with regard for example to Britain’s relations with Iran but the overall principles of the approach found support in the party. Indeed, apart from the challenge of Europe, Owen’s initiatives did not risk party unity, a critical factor for a government without Commons majority. Though we should note divisions in Labour’s ranks on nuclear weapons clearly contributed to the curtailment of a more open debate on the future of the British deterrent. Looking back David Owen has identified three major successes of his tenure.126 The first was enlargement of the EC to Spain and Portugal in addition to Greece. The second was keeping the USA focused and broadly in line with British policy on Rhodesia, South Africa and Namibia. The third was raising the profile of human rights, in particular rejecting the Soviet argument that post-Helsinki the Baltic states were part of the Soviet Union and laying the foundation for greater freedom in Soviet-influenced countries in Eastern Europe. To this we should add a fourth: the determination to sustain a policy despite opposition and little likelihood of immediate success, which was exemplified in southern Africa.

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 NOTES

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

James Callaghan, Time and Chance (London: Collins, 1987), p. 448. David Owen, Time to Declare (London: Michael Joseph, 1991), p. 256. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 448. Marcia Falkender, Downing Street in Perspective (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1983), p. 234. Denis Healey, The Time of My Life (London: Penguin, 1990), p. 458. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 265. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., p. 246. Ibid., p. 248. Ibid., p. 262. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., p. 247. Peter Hennessy et al., Routine Punctuated by Orgies: The Central Policy Review Staff 1970–1983 (Glasgow: University of Strathclyde, 1985), p. 59. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 264. The United Kingdom’s Overseas Representation, 1978, Cmnd 7308, p. 11. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 266. Ibid., p. 265. Ibid., p. 261. Ibid., p. 262. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Ibid. Ibid. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 261. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Peter Hennessy, The Prime Minister: The Office and its Holders since 1945 (London: Penguin, 2001), p. 395. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 321. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Ibid. See Fred Halliday, The Making of the Second Cold War (London: Verso, 1989). Owen, Time to Declare, p. 188. Roy Hattersley, Who Goes Home? (London: Warner, 1998), p. 149. Alan Sked and Chris Cook, Post-war Britain (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1993), p. 305. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 245. Ibid., p. 246. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., p. 247. Ibid., p. 331. Ibid., p. 797. Ibid., p. 268. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 456. Owen, Time to Declare, pp. 275–6. Ibid., p. 367. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 493. Author’s correspondence with Lord Owen, 9 May 2001. Philip Stevens, Politics and the Pound (London: Macmillan, 1996), p. 6. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 331. Report of the Seventy-sixth Annual Conference of the Labour Party (Brighton, 1977), pp. 257–9. Roy Jenkins, A Life at the Centre (London: Macmillan, 1991) p. 491.

David Owen, 1977–79 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108.

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David Owen, Human Rights (London: Jonathan Cape, 1978). Ibid., p. 2. Ibid. Ibid., p. 16. Ibid., p. 17. Author’s correspondence with Lord Owen, 9 May 2001. Owen, Human Rights, p. 33. Ibid., p. 89. Ibid., p. 92. Ibid., p. 37. Ibid., p. 44. Ibid., p. 51. Ibid., p. 52. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 272. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., p. 291. Ibid., p. 292. Ibid., p. 286. Ibid. Ibid., p. 292. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. See Martin Bailey, Oilgate: The Sanctions Scandal (London: Coronet, Hodder & Stoughton, 1989). Ibid., p. 198. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 296. Bailey, Oilgate, p. 226. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 297. Ibid. Ibid., p. 301. Martin Meredith, The Past is Another Country: Rhodesia, UDI to Zimbabwe (London: Pan, 1980), p. 297. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 273. Meredith, The Past is Another Country, p. 296. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 283. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 315. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 531. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 316. Ibid., p. 798. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 448. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 324. Ibid. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 336. Ibid. Ibid., p. 337. Helmut Schmidt, ‘Alastair Buchan Memorial Lecture’, 28 October 1977, quoted in Guido Vigeveno, The Bomb and European Security (London: Hurst, 1983), p. 44. Callaghan, Time and Chance, pp. 541–51. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 380. Healey, The Time of my Life, p. 455. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 381. Ibid. Ibid., p. 382. Author’s correspondence with Lord Owen, 9 May 2001.

114 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126.

British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 370. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 343. Ibid., p. 361. Ibid., p. 360. House of Commons Debates, 30 March 1982, p. 94. Callaghan, Time and Chance, p. 375. Owen, Time to Declare, p. 350. House of Commons Debates, 25 January 1983, p. 418. Ibid. War in the Falklands 1982 (London: Stationery Office, 2001), p. 52. House of Commons Debates, 25 January 1983, p. 419. War in the Falklands 1982, p. 52. House of Commons Debates, 25 January 1983, p. 484. Author’s interview with Lord Owen, 16 May 2001. Ibid. Author’s correspondence with Lord Owen, 9 May 2001. Ibid. Ibid.

5

Lord Carrington: Foreign Secretary, 1979–821 Harry Bennett

Lord (Peter) Carrington’s tenure of the Foreign Office from 1979 to 1982 saw significant achievements in British foreign policy but they were to be entirely eclipsed in the public mind by the manner of Carrington’s departure from the Foreign Office. Carrington has not enjoyed the reputation that he perhaps deserves. To many he remains ‘a trimmer’ (second only to ‘appeaser’ as a term of political abuse), prepared to sacrifice British interests for the sake of the quick fix. Yet the adjustment of Britain’s foreign policy to its material resources and standing has been an ongoing task for the British Foreign Secretary since the end of the First World War. Rather than trimming too far, he was ultimately undone by a wider failure of the Thatcher administration over the future of the Falkland Islands to reconcile British interests and foreign policy with the defence policy of the government. The publication of his memoirs in 1988 did little to redress the balance as the noble lord pulled many of his punches, and preferred to attack his critics by not mentioning them rather than by engaging in a public slanging match. Throughout his career Carrington was the consummate politician constantly seeking to advance the interests of the Conservative Party.

CAREER

Born into a distinguished aristocratic family in 1919 Peter Carrington was educated at Eton before entering the Royal

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Military College, Sandhurst. An officer in the Grenadier Guards, inheriting his father’s title in 1938 at the age of 19, he saw service during the Second World War in the Guards Armoured Division. The experience of commanding and living with soldiers drawn from the working classes reinforced the Tory paternalism of his aristocratic upbringing. In 1946 he entered the House of Lords as a Conservative peer on the opposition benches. He was a good speaker, intelligent and competent: qualities that made him a hard man for the Conservative Party to ignore. In 1951 with Churchill’s return to Number 10 Downing Street he was appointed parliamentary secretary at the Ministry of Agriculture. He very quickly found himself embroiled in the controversy of the Crichel Down affair. In the public enquiry into the maladministration of the affair at the hands of the Ministry of Agriculture, Carrington escaped with mild rebuke while the minister was forced to resign and civil servants were heavily censured. Carrington offered his resignation but Churchill refused to accept it. Instead Carrington found himself appointed as parliamentary secretary to the Ministry of Defence. In 1956 at the age of 37 he moved on to become British High Commissioner in Australia. Three years later in October 1959 he returned to England as the new First Lord of the Admiralty. Carrington’s tenure at the Admiralty was disturbed in 1962 when a Russian spy was identified within his department. When the spy was unmasked, eventually being sentenced for spying in October 1962, the press reacted with fury. Carrington, along with Thomas Galbraith who had previously been Civil Lord of the Admiralty, were attacked for not unmasking the spy earlier. As Lord Hailsham would later recall, both ministers ‘were absolutely spotless and horribly maligned’.2 Throughout the case, despite calls for his resignation, Carrington gave a forthright defence of his position. As he told the House of Lords on 31 October 1962: ‘No blame can be attached to anybody for the existence in my Department of an individual who was willing to become a spy. The issue of blame, if there is to be blame, is whether he should have been caught sooner.’ In the ensuing public enquiry Carrington was exonerated and two of the journalists who had attacked him were jailed for failure to disclose the sources of their information. After another flirtation with political disaster Carrington’s career continued to progress and with the election of a Labour government in 1964 he became leader of the Conservatives in the House of Lords. This provided a useful platform for him to progress within the party: in 1970 he became Secretary of State for Defence, and in 1972 chairman of the

Lord Carrington, 1979–82

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Conservative Party. From January to February 1974 he was Secretary of State for Energy. With the fall of the Heath government he relinquished the chairmanship of the party. He had been one of the chief proponents of an early election and was identified as a ‘Heath man’.3 He had also been rather too dynamic and forceful a party chairman for some sections of the party.4 With the election of Margaret Thatcher in 1975 Carrington thought his career might well be over, but the iron lady warmed to him. Thatcher recognised his personal qualities and also his experience of government. On election night in 1979 Carrington was confident that he would be the next Foreign Secretary. The Conservatives were ahead in the polls and he was amply fitted for the job. His inclusion in the Cabinet was assured if Mrs Thatcher wished to see it representative of all the social and ideological strands within the Conservative Party. She also needed his powerful voice in the House of Lords. Although his appointment was expected it did not meet with universal approval. Philip Whitehead, writing in the New Statesman in September 1979, commented: ‘There are perhaps few better indicators of the steady decline of our politics that Carrington, amid the sleepwalkers, eccentrics and would-be ideologues of the Thatcher administration, bears the appearance to many people of a master-statesman.’5

CONTEXT

The diplomatic issues facing Britain in 1979 were varied and complex. Britain, because of its imperial history and membership of NATO, the European Economic Community and the United Nations, faced worldwide problems without the economic, military and political capacity to play a worldwide role. In the continuing search for a role in the international arena there remained considerable tension between those policy-makers, politicians and members of the public who saw Britain’s future as a leading power within the European Community and those who continued to hanker after the special relationship. There were points of common ground between the two camps: Britain was paying too much in the form of subsidy payments for its membership of the European Community, and the special relationship was necessary to present an effective international front against communist expansion in the continuing Cold War.

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The Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia in January, and the Chinese invasion of Vietnam in February 1979, had been a reminder of former fears about the expansionist nature of communist regimes. The Russian military build-up continued under the, at times, unpredictable rule of Leonid Brezhnev. The Carter administration in the USA looked increasingly unwilling to meet communist expansion with a forceful response, especially with the President facing re-election in November 1980. Fortunately, Carrington struck up an immediately good working relationship with Cyrus Vance, the US Secretary of State since 1977. American support, or at least acquiesence, in British foreign policy was also necessary if Britain was to make progress on a number of longstanding imperial problems. Gibraltar remained a difficult issue in the Anglo-Spanish relationship and Hong Kong created similar problems in Sino-British relations. The re-establishment of diplomatic relations between China and the USA in January 1979 meant that Britain possessed a friend who could act as intermediary over the future of Hong Kong. The problem of Hong Kong, however, was eclipsed by the continuing situation in Rhodesia. The illegal regime of Ian Smith continued to search for international respectability that would facilitate the granting of independence. The Salisbury government had held an election in April 1979 that was condemned in many quarters because the black leaders Joshua Nkomo and Robert Mugabe were able to play no part in it, even though they were now free from prison. The Rhodesian issue was particularly thorny for a Conservative Foreign Secretary, given the pro-white sympathies of a majority within the Conservative Party. Many on the right of the Conservative Party pressed Carrington to accept the result of the April election and to grant Rhodesia independence. The issue was debilitating because by comparison to issues such as Middle Eastern peace it was unimportant, but on an emotional and political level it demanded that considerable attention be given to it. The war in Rhodesia between government and anti-government forces produced human tragedy after human tragedy, leaving no family in Rhodesia unaffected. Because of the emotionally charged nature of the Rhodesian problem other issues received less attention than they deserved. In his memoirs Carrington confirmed that Rhodesia had had a ‘distracting effect’ on the conduct of British foreign policy.6 That effect helped to obscure that at various other points around the globe Britain faced issues that might flare into fire quite rapidly. In terms of British interests and global responsibilities such flash points might come


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low down on the Foreign Office’s list of priorities, but they might be rather higher on the diplomatic agenda for the local regimes involved. Beyond the specific issues facing Carrington in 1979 lay a much greater concern. Could the decline of Britain be arrested or reversed? A consensus existed between politicians, academics and others that Britain had been in steady decline since the end of the Second World War. The signs of economic decline were widespread and, for a majority of the British electorate, the labour disputes of the ‘winter of discontent’ represented national humiliation. Inevitably economic decline had international implications. Britain could no longer afford the armed forces necessary to execute the expansive foreign policy that had marked an earlier period. Many inside the Conservative Party, Carrington included, felt that foreign and defence policies had to march in step. It was dangerous for Britain’s international commitments to exceed military capabilities. Such a situation called for the two to be reconciled either by reducing commitments, or by increasing the capabilities of the armed forces. The economic policy of the Thatcher government, founded on tax cuts and a slimmed-down state sector, scarcely counted in favour of the latter. Thatcher wanted to make Britain great again and to restore Britannia to international significance, but in order to do this she considered that the country had to be transformed economically. However, she, along with a broad section of the Conservative Party, was emotionally unwilling to make the short-term sacrifices necessary to keep foreign and defence policies in harmony. Britain would continue to play a major international role at, or beyond, the limits of its defence capabilities. On this all-encompassing issue Thatcher and Carrington had differing attitudes.

PERSONAL STYLE

Facing such issues was a considerable challenge to any Foreign Secretary, but Lord Carrington had a number of personal strengths on which to draw. He was an intellectual by nature and had considerable experience as a minister and as a politician. He knew Whitehall and he knew the party. Carrington’s business background was another source of strength. As a director of Rio Tinto Zinc he had spent a considerable amount of time travelling around the world, coming into contact with many important figures in

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Asia and Africa. As Foreign Secretary he would continue to travel the world, being a great believer in seeing conditions on the ground, and meeting the significant diplomatic players, rather than relying on ambassadorial reports. In his control of the Foreign Office and conduct of diplomacy his aristocratic upbringing was a considerable strength. He was a gentleman, mindful of the lives of those with whom he came into contact. Personally he was very hard working, rising at 6 am to work through the day’s red boxes, yet he would not let this result in any display of bad temper that might colour his relationship with subordinates. Whatever his private thoughts, Carrington’s geniality remained constant. Despite his background Carrington was never pompous and his tendency towards mild self-deprecation meant that it was extremely difficult not to like him. As Bernard Ingham, who had worked under him at the Department of Energy, was to recall: ‘He was a joy to work for – a good humoured, slightly self-mocking general who, having agreed the approach, left his staff … to get on with it.’7 Carrington had the humility and the good sense to know that he was not always right on particular issues and was always prepared to recognise that fact in his dealing with people. He was also a pragmatist measuring the day’s work not in terms of great leaps forward but in terms of inching forward with particular problems. Yet within this pragmatism lay the guiding principle that even on the most difficult issue one really had to try to make a difference, and that at times maintaining the status quo was the best one could hope for. Carrington was a principled realist. Within Whitehall he was a known entity and the staff of the Foreign Office welcomed his appointment. They also rather liked his style as Foreign Secretary, and in his use of his own country house at Bledlow, rather than Chevening, the Foreign Secretary’s official country residence, he seemed to hark back to more patrician days. (When stories about government waste began to circulate in the press, Geoffrey Howe, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, helped assuage the situation with his use of Chevening during the process of planning the 1982 budget.) It was important that on the international stage Carrington acted as a foil to Mrs Thatcher: the pragmatist to her idealism; the Tory grandee to the grocer’s daughter from Grantham; the gentleman to the lady ready to give out a good hand-bagging. Carrington played a vital role in introducing Thatcher to the maledominated world stage, even down to giving advice on points of diplomatic protocol. One foreign leader asked Carrington how to address the Prime Minister, to which he replied: ‘“Prime Minister”


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the first three times, then no appellation for a while and finally “Margaret”.’8 On diplomatic issues there was a considerable closeness between Carrington and Thatcher, and in that sphere the Foreign Secretary possessed considerable ability to influence her thinking and conduct. The same was not, however, true in the sphere of domestic politics. Carrington was perceived as a Heath man and on economic issues he was part of the ‘wet’ camp. Along with Cabinet members Sir Ian Gilmour, Jim Prior and Peter Walker, Carrington in some quarters was seen as the enemy within to the Thatcherite revolution. Their approach towards the economy was essentially pragmatic while that of Thatcher and the ‘drys’ was almost dogmatic. As unemployment grew after 1979 the division between ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ became ever more sharply drawn. This had repercussions on the relationships, which had the capacity to effect the conduct of foreign policy. Nicholas Ridley, a ‘dry’ who would serve as a minister under Carrington at the Foreign Office, gave full vent to his distaste of the ‘wets’ including his master. In his memoirs he wrote: With experience of running large estates or large companies people like these had always managed to cushion their tenants and employees from the worst effects of a depression, and also to provide for them in sickness or old age over and above that which the State could do. They never could see that the Government too, unlike them, has to deal with inflation and to put pressure on industry to improve efficiency.9

Ridley and others blamed Carrington’s generation for failing to take hard choices over the economy back in the 1960s and early 1970s He also felt that Carrington ‘never felt confident in his own economic judgement’.10 With Ian Gilmour, as Lord Privy Seal, acting as a second-in-command at the Foreign Office there was some suspicion that Carrington was in control of an antiThatcherite bastion within Whitehall. Gilmour was more forceful than Carrington in expressing his opposition to government economic policy, and some had the impression that Gilmour in effect was speaking for them both. One possible side effect of the divisions in Cabinet was that Carrington displayed a marked lack of zeal for bringing Foreign Office questions before his ministerial colleagues.11 The power balance in the relationship between Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary has fluctuated considerably over the past 200 years, yet it has always been a vital determinant of the success or failure of British foreign policy. From 1979 to 1982 the relationship

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between Carrington and Thatcher saw great differences of opinion. At times both exhibited frustration with each other and their difficulties over economic policies led some to think that they were further apart than they actually were. Within Westminster rumours about the relationship between the two circulated on a regular basis. As the debate on government economic policy grew increasingly sharp, especially over the 1981 budget, Carrington was rumoured to state regularly: ‘She’ll be out by Christmas!’12 In late 1980 rumours of a Cabinet coup against Mrs Thatcher were circulating in Westminster. In one scenario Carrington would become Prime Minister of a ‘wet-look’ administration that might include Ted Heath.13 However, the smoke and heat of political combat hid a sound working relationship. Differences might occur between the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary but, as Peter Walker later remarked, Carrington ‘usually won her over’.14 He quickly realised that he could say anything to her in the course of a frank exchange of views and that she was invariably well briefed. The relationship was more than simply professional. As one diplomat wrote: ‘She was also sympathetic towards him personally – understanding [him] in a very human fashion … In talks with me, or rather in frequent asides, Carrington paid tribute to her courage. He told me that he liked her very much as a person. He had not always done so; and it had not been easy to begin with because after all he was a Heath-man. But he thought that she was very nice as a human being.’15 The differences between the two over economic policy were not allowed to reach a head because Carrington’s frequent overseas trips meant that he was often abroad at key moments of combat. Such was the nature of the relationship between Carrington and Thatcher that Geoffrey Howe late mused that on one diplomatic overnight flight they reminded him of ‘Dorothy Lamour and Bob Hope’.16

FOREIGN-POLICY ISSUES

Maintaining the status quo On a considerable number of issues Carrington could hope to make little progress other than maintaining the status quo. The Anglo-American alliance and the containment of Russia were maintained with a united front being presented against the Russian


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occupation of Afghanistan. In part the Anglo-American relationship was fostered by close personal trans-Atlantic relationships but also through Britain’s support for US policy in other areas. For example, the British played an important role in getting the European Community to impose economic sanctions on Iran in May 1980 over the continued detention of the US embassy staff in Tehran.17 The Americans also valued British involvement in the affairs of the Middle East. Britain continued to work for a settlement of the Palestinian issue, although British influence in the region could be disturbed by events outside the control of the government. The screening on British commercial television of ‘Death of a Princess’ on 9 April caused grave offence to the authorities in Saudi Arabia and a cooling of relations that even Carrington’s considerable charm could not prevent.18 Rhodesia/Zimbabwe The early phase of Carrington’s tenure of the Foreign Office was dominated by the issue of Rhodesia. Carrington wanted it settled for two reasons. First because of the intrinsic importance in human terms of the issues at stake, and second because Rhodesia obscured the horizons of British foreign policy. In the April 1979 elections a 64.45 per cent turnout had produced a victory for the African National Congress, and on 1 May Bishop Abel Muzorewa became Prime Minister. However, the administration remained dominated by whites. Black nationalists Joshua Nkomo and Robert Mugabe denounced it as a sham. Carrington refused to accept that the election had produced a truly satisfactory settlement of the issue, and said that he would carry on searching for a solution that would result in the widest possible recognition of an independent Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. Lord Harlech was swiftly dispatched to southern Africa to consult with the various parties in the dispute to see whether there was any chance of a settlement. Carrington was determined to pave the way for a conference to bring the various parties together into a settlement. Economic sanctions on Rhodesia were still in force, which created pressure on the government in Salisbury, but to bring pressure on Nkomo and Mugabe was a rather more difficult matter. Thus Carrington turned to the Commonwealth in which sat black African states neighbouring Rhodesia that acted as the sponsors of Mugabe and Nkomo. Kenneth Kaunda of Zambia was particularly keen for a settlement because the presence of Nkomo’s forces on Zambian soil was causing internal difficulties.

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On 1 August 1979 the Commonwealth conference opened in Lusaka and Carrington and Thatcher, who had reluctantly embraced the Rhodesian issue, secured for Britain the role of mediating in the situation. Two weeks later, on 14 August, the British government extended invitations to talks to Muzorewa and the Patriotic Front. They met at Lancaster House on 10 September, and by 21 December all the parties had reached an agreement. No timetable was established for the talks but the negotiations proceeded in the following order: agreeing on a constitution; transitional arrangements, new elections and then a ceasefire. In the Lancaster House talks Carrington acted as a mediator, only taking a lead when the negotiations got into difficulty. As the British Foreign Secretary, Carrington carried considerable power in his role as mediator. However, what mattered more was the mandate Britain had received to deal with the problem from the Commonwealth. The Patriotic Front could denounce the British but not the Commonwealth that comprised their political backers. In negotiating the settlement Carrington talked first to the Rhodesians and then to the leaders of the Patriotic Front who had insisted that they would not talk to the Rhodesian government. In this way Carrington was able to dominate the proceedings of the conference manipulating the different parties under the guise of mediation. Fresh elections were held 27–9 February and on 17 April Zimbabwean independence was formally sanctioned. Even so, the settlement was less than perfect. After the settlement black and white continued to live largely separate lives. The key issue of land had not been solved, which stored up trouble for the future. What was significant, however, was that the Rhodesian issue had been removed from the agenda of British politics. A burden of considerable weight had been lifted from the country’s diplomatic agenda. Carrington was hailed by both the press and his own Prime Minister for a remarkable achievement. The contemporary verdict has been shared by historians such as Paul Sharp: The Rhodesian settlement was, indeed, a triumph for Carrington aided by the Foreign Office. By a combination of persuasion, bluff and the appearance on occasions of ruthless indifference, he had managed to manipulate the fears and needs of all the parties involved to the point where he had convinced them that they dare not be left out of any agreement. As such it was a textbook case of classical diplomacy, indeed of British diplomacy, for the very paucity of the material resources committed to the policy – a governor, his staff, and a little money, in the best traditions of


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empire on the cheap – pointed clearly to its authorship. If an example is required of the way in which a foreign service can procure more influence for its country than its economic and military strength would seem to warrant, then it is hard to think of a better one than this.19

However, a broad section of the Conservative right was furious that Carrington had not done more to support the interests of the white minority in Rhodesia. They were convinced that it was in the interests of ‘our people’ to have recognised the Muzorewa government and the April elections. At the 1979 ‘Party conference, a huge meeting organised by the Monday Club displayed “Hang Carrington” banners. As he walked down the street people even shook fists at him.’20 For Carrington foreign policy was not carried out in a party political vacuum. To his opponents Carrington was just a short-term fixer willing to sell out long-term British interests for the sake of short-term gain. European Union His concern for the party political as well as the national interest also extended to his handling of the relationship between Britain and the European Union. Carrington, despite his time in Australia, firmly believed in the value of Britain’s membership of the European Union. He was not on the Euro-sceptic side of the Conservative Party. However, he and many pro-Europeans believed that Britain had joined the Community at too high a price. Britain paid far more to the Community (a net figure of £1,000 million was projected for 1980) than it received back in subsidy and other payments. Failure to reduce Britain’s payments to the European Union threatened to ignite anti-European, pro-empire, sentiment within the Conservative Party that was antagonised by the settlement of the Rhodesian issue. Moreover, Carrington feared that difficulties over payments to the EEC would leave Britain relegated to a lesser position in Europe as the French and Germans pressed ahead with closer ties. To some extent Carrington was a subordinate player in the diplomatic battle to reduce Britain’s payments to the EEC. Much of the discussion was carried out in the European Council, which was Margaret Thatcher’s arena. As Carrington noted in his memoirs, Thatcher ‘was no bad hand at conducting rows, and on several occasions … the Prime Minister made herself exceptionally unpopular, bluntly saying, “I want my money back”, language which sent shudders down many a continental spine’.21 Again, though, what was

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important was the combined effects of Thatcher’s Euro-sceptic hand-bagging and Carrington’s pro-European, aristocratic, soothings. Eventually the matter was left to the Foreign Ministers of the EEC nations to decide and, in June 1980, after a marathon meeting, ceilings on Britain’s payments were set at £370 million in 1980 and £440 million in 1981 producing a massive rebate for the British Exchequer. The foreign-policy implications of the negotiation of the rebate were important – it considerably eased tensions within the European Community. But more significant were the implications for domestic British politics. Full-scale hostilities in the Conservative Party between the pro- and antiEuropean factions were postponed and extra funds were available to the Exchequer as the economic downturn of the early 1980s accelerated. Carrington continued to work for closer European ties throughout his tenure of office, and indeed after it. The reestablishment of direct communications between Spain and Gibraltar in April 1980 was one further small step towards European harmony. As he told the House of Commons on 10 November 1981: ‘The Community is central not just to our wider political and economic interests but to all of us in our daily lives. This fact is reflected in the Government’s priorities in foreign policy.’22

1982

By the start of 1982 Carrington had confronted, with some success, most of the issues that had confronted him at the time of his appointment. Renegotiation of Britain’s grant to the European Economic Community and the settlement of the Rhodesian issue were major achievements, and Britain stood shoulder to shoulder with the USA against Russia in a special relationship that had found new life in the chemistry between Thatcher and Reagan. And yet by 5 April Carrington had resigned amid considerable criticism of him personally and the Foreign Office. The invasion of the Falkland Islands by Argentine forces on 2 April and the surrender of the British garrison are what prompted his resignation, but the politics of it were particularly intriguing. What produced his resignation was not the mishandling of foreign policy but the internal battles that raged within the Conservative Party before and after the Argentine invasion. This is a critical point in trying to assess Carrington’s record as Foreign Secretary, and his resignation


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continues to cast a lengthy shadow over the achievements of his tenure of the Foreign Office. In the public mind Carrington is still associated with an episode of British history that is best forgotten, and it is perhaps time that he was rehabilitated. The Falkland Islands By the end of 1981 negotiations over the Falkland Islands had reached an impasse. Sovereignty over the islands – discovered by the British in 1592, settled by the British, Spanish and French in the eighteenth century, uninhabited in the early nineteenth century – was claimed by both Britain and Argentina. During the early nineteenth century control of the islands passed backwards and forwards between the two countries until Britain established a settlement and de facto sovereignty. Attempts to resolve the sovereignty issue proved fruitless. But by the 1970s, as is revealed in Chapter 4 of this volume, the Argentine government was becoming increasingly restless. By early 1982 Carrington had tried to find different methods of resolving the issue, but the positions of the various parties were simply too entrenched. An attempt by Carrington to negotiate a leaseback arrangement for the Falklands, whereby Argentine sovereignty would be recognised but Britain allowed to lease the islands, had foundered on the opposition of the islanders and powerful voices in the Conservative Party. At the same time, with the Ministry of Defence looking to cut its budget by large cuts in the surface fleet of the Royal Navy, Britain seemed to be losing the capacity to influence events in the South Atlantic. Thus in early 1982 the Argentine military junta decided to use force to resolve the issue in Argentina’s favour. It was true that Carrington was momentarily busy with the Middle East, but with the failure of his efforts to resolve the Falklands problem he could do little more than continue to maintain the status quo. Although it was noted that the Argentine navy was making extensive preparations for sea there was every likelihood that the military junta was yet again engaged in sabre-rattling. In the absence of concrete intelligence he could scarcely make threats against Argentina not to invade. They might be preposterous and they might only inflame the situation. Military preparations, such as the sending of a nuclearpowered submarine to the South Atlantic might have had a deterrent effect but that responsibility rested with the Ministry of Defence. In addition it would take time for a nuclear submarine to arrive in the theatre of operations. With the absence of significant

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naval forces in the vicinity and with the inability to quickly reinforce the Falklands by air or sea, it was a potentially dangerous move to take steps that might lead the Argentine government into a precipitate move. When the invasion came it was a real shock, especially to the Cabinet where discussions about the Falklands ‘had not featured strongly’.23 On 8 April, after Carrington had resigned, Margaret Thatcher announced the setting up of an enquiry into the events leading to the Falklands debacle. The precise nature of the enquiry, its composition and terms of enquiry, was to be left open for a later date. As eventually finalised, the enquiry was to be conducted by a committee of privy counsellors chaired by Lord Franks. Its work began on 26 July and concluded five months later as Margaret Thatcher received its report. The report, which recognised that various factors had seriously limited Carrington’s room for manoeuvre over the Falklands, was released to the public on 18 January 1983. It largely absolved Carrington of blame, which many had assumed given his resignation. The Franks Committee concluded that ‘the invasion on 2 April 1982 could not have been foreseen’ and that ‘the British Government … had [had] to act within the constraints imposed by the wishes of the Falkland Islanders, which had a moral force of their own as well as the political support of an influential body of Parliamentary opinion’. This had meant that Carrington’s ‘room for policy manoeuvre was limited’.24 Resignation In the relief of victory in the South Atlantic and the triumphalist wave that followed it, carrying Thatcher to victory in the 1983 general election, the Franks Report made little impact on the public mind. Carrington’s resignation was, and still is, commonly seen as amounting to an admission of guilt on his part. What the public has not appreciated are the political and personal forces at work in his resignation. On 2 April the invasion of the Falklands was met with public uproar. The newspapers demanded the resignations of Carrington, Nott and Thatcher: there were calls for Parliament to be recalled. On 3 April Parliament held its first Saturday sitting since the Suez crisis of 1956. As the House of Commons sat in emergency session, the government faced a serious threat to its survival. British territory had been subject to invasion by a foreign power and British citizens faced an uncertain future in the hands of a military


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dictatorship internationally renowned for human-rights abuses. To the concerns generated by a faltering economy, rising unemployment and inner-city rioting had been added the anger of a nation outraged at what was widely perceived to have been government mismanagement of Great Britain’s diplomatic and military affairs. From the left wing of British politics came concerns about the future of the Falkland Islanders under the Galtieri dictatorship, and concerns that Margaret Thatcher might pursue a military adventure to take the public’s attention away from mounting domestic problems. From the right wing came outrage that the government had failed to protect British interests. Julian Amery, no doubt mindful of his father’s role in the Norway debate in 1940, argued: The third naval power in the world, and the second in NATO, has suffered a humiliating defeat. It is always painful in a state of war to criticise a Government, particularly a Government of one’s own friends, but the purpose of recrimination at a time like this is to prevent the repetition of error. On television yesterday my noble Friend the Foreign Secretary said that diplomacy was the only instrument that the Government had to hand. I fear that my noble Friend on this occasion, as on others, confuses diplomacy with foreign policy. Diplomacy is the day-to-day handling of conferences and international relations. Foreign policy involves having a clear aim and making sure that one has the means to carry out that aim.25

Amery was joined by Patrick Cormack (Conservative, Staffordshire South-West) who again singled out Lord Carrington for attack: Someone has blundered. I do not know who and I do not know how, but I have my suspicions, and they are directed inevitably – and regretfully – at both the Secretary of State for Defence and the Foreign Secretary. It was not right that the Foreign Secretary should have been absent from the United Kingdom during this week – a time when it was becoming increasingly and abundantly plain that we were on the brink of a grave international crisis.26

As well as the personal attacks on Carrington, who at one point was accused of ‘weasel words’ over the Falklands, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office was singled out for abuse by a number of backbenchers.27 Teddy Taylor, the Conservative member for Southend East, claimed: ‘The Foreign Office was not working for

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Britain.’28 Douglas Jay, the Labour member for Battersea North, picking up some of the echoes of the Second World War and the policies that led to it, argued: ‘The Foreign Office is a bit too much saturated with the spirit of appeasement. I hope that … the Foreign Office will now examine its conscience, if it has one.’29 The temper of the house was increasing even as the debate drew to a rather artificial close. John Nott, winding up the debate for the government, managed to sound both defeatist and entirely convinced that the government had followed the only policy possible in the circumstances. Nott’s speech was interrupted frequently, and was punctuated by cries of ‘resign’. While Carrington had carried the Lords with him, open revolt threatened on the Conservative back benches in the House of Commons. The debate in the Commons had concluded just as Conservative members were getting into their collective nationalistic stride. In an attempt to clear the atmosphere, and maintain a united party behind the government, a meeting of Conservative backbenchers was organised for that evening. Carrington and Nott were to be summoned before them. Whitelaw broke the news to Carrington: I told him that the mood of our back-benchers in the House of Commons was very bad and that they were out for blood. I felt that he must come, together with John Nott, to a Conservative back-bench meeting which had been summoned for that evening. He accepted my advice and said that I would endeavour to rally vocal support for him at the meeting.30

Lord Carrington’s memoirs draw a discrete veil over what happened next: ‘On Friday 2 April Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands. On Monday 5 April I surrendered to the Queen at Windsor my seals of office.’31 It is to other sources that one must turn for accounts of the meeting of Conservative backbenchers on the evening of 3 April. They too are veiled and somewhat confused. But their discretion and confusion tells its own story. Some of those present remembered the meeting as a gathering of the 1922 Committee; others, like Kenneth Baker, remember a meeting of the ‘party’s Defence Committee’.32 Many simply refer to a meeting of backbenchers. Peter Brooke, who was in the whips’ office from 1979 to 1983, provides the definitive answer to the nature of the meeting. He remembers a ‘joint meeting … of the backbench Foreign Affairs and Defence Committees of the Parliamentary Party … [which] was extremely well attended to an extent that it was effectively the 1922 Committee’.33 Despite their careful use of diplomatic language various memoirists still manage to convey


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the venomous attacks that were made on Carringon and Nott during the course of the meeting. As Baker relates: ‘the backbenchers made it very clear to them that they thought the whole episode was a shambles and a national disgrace’.34 Carrington in particular seemed completely surprised by the response of the backbenchers. As Cecil Parkinson was told: Peter Carrington had misjudged the mood of the meeting and had been savaged by a number of well known 1922 protagonists. Peter, having spent his political life in the more polite House of Lords, did not know how to cope with our own side being rude to him.35

The vehemence of the attack on Carrington probably owed little to his supposed misjudgement of the temper of the meeting. Certain backbenchers were determined to vent their spleen not just over the Falklands issue, but over the whole course of British foreign policy since 1979. Carrington had come into office with the reputation of ‘a trimmer’ – an appeaser who preferred to sacrifice British interests to avoid conflict. The Rhodesian settlement had confirmed the suspicions of some on the Conservative right that Carrington would not die in the last ditch to defend what remained of the empire. To the fears of those on the right were added suspicions that Carrington had ‘gone native’ and that he was a creature of the Foreign Office, itself the object of considerable suspicion in some quarters. Antagonism towards Carrington had bubbled quietly beneath the surface for some considerable time, although it had not been identified by the whips’ office as constituting a major problem, perhaps because the significance of many domestic issues propelled it into the background. However, the invasion of the Falklands ignited the suspicions that had been developing over a lengthy period. Carrington ‘was shattered’ by the hostility of so many Conservative backbenchers. The meeting had been rough but not without precedent in the history of the 1922 Committee. As Kenneth Clarke, MP and future Chancellor of the Exchequer, recalled: ‘As someone who had already had long experience of the 1922 Committee in previous years, I did not get the impression that it was particularly worse than a number of similar outbursts on various subjects that had occurred at that august body from time to time over the previous decade.’36 However, Carrington was a deeply honourable man who had perhaps been surprised that some of his own party could regard him as ‘out of touch with backbench opinion in the House of Commons’. The vehemence of the attack on him is difficult to judge from the surviving evidence,

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but the strength of opinion felt in some parts of the party was illustrated to me when one backbench Conservative MP chose to respond anonymously to my letter to him. Simply annotating my original letter he responded with the scrawled comment ‘Wet and trecherous [sic]’ to the question ‘How was Lord Carrington perceived by the right wing of the Conservative Party?’37 Such strength of feeling at the time probably convinced Carrington that he had to go. He wanted to resign that evening but was persuaded from doing so. William Whitelaw was probably the key player in convincing him to stay his hand. The consequences of his resignation at that moment were difficult to calculate and Whitelaw for one hoped that the festering boil of backbench discontent had been lanced. However, press reaction to the debate and its aftermath only added to the pressure on Carrington. Whitelaw was one of the first to appreciate that Carrington’s resignation was inevitable. A sacrifice would have to be made. It would help to bring the country together and Carrington wished to go: At Dorneywood on the Sunday I read the Press reports with dismay. In the afternoon Peter Carrington rang up and said that he would come over to see me. He arrived in the afternoon and we had long discussions, as befits old friends who had been through many political dramas together. I argued passionately against his proposal to resign, which still today I regard as a loss to the nation of an outstanding statesman and personally a delightful companion. I knew I was losing the argument but at least I persuaded him to go and talk to Alec Home before he finally decided.38

Whitelaw and the chief whip, Michael Jopling, managed to persuade Carrington to delay his decision to resign until he had seen the newspapers. When the Foreign Secretary saw them on Monday 5 April he set off to Windsor to hand over his seals of office. Reaction to Carrington’s resignation was mixed and there was a widespread feeling that the Foreign Secretary had acted both honourably and for the best interests of the Conservative Party. Ian Gilmour mused: ‘On the day after Carrington’s resignation, an NOP poll found that 60 per cent believed Mrs Thatcher was responsible for the invasion. She was certainly more so than he was.’39 The public considered that the blame for such a calamity went beyond a single minister and ministry. On the evening of 5 April Carrington went on the BBC’s ‘Panorama’ programme to explain his resignation. Carrington appeared to accept that he had been wrong to underestimate the Argentinians. Despite the general perception that an honourable man had taken an


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honourable course there were some who felt a certain satisfaction in his going; Westminster was alive with rumours about his resignation. Tony Benn was told that Carrington had resigned because he did not agree with government policy and that the primary concern of some sections of the Parliamentary Conservative Party was British investments in Argentina valued at £5 billion. Benn was sufficiently intrigued to question Norman St John Stevas about Carrington’s resignation to be told that the real reason was ‘that he couldn’t stand “that woman” a moment longer’.40 Press reaction also varied. The Times applauded Carrington’s noble action. At the same time it continued to regard him as the man who had bungled. In their eyes his resignation ‘by implication’ involved an acceptance of ‘at least partial responsibility’.41 In the diplomatic service there was consternation at the amount of criticism directed at the Foreign Office that had led to the resignation of Carrington and the rest of the ministerial team at the department. Sir Archibald Hamilton MP was not the only person to feel that ‘the resignation business was being somewhat overdone’.42 Others considered that the wrong man had resigned. Peter Viggers MP felt that the Ministry of Defence had been guilty of ‘sending the wrong signal to Argentina rather than the Foreign Office’.43 Sir Nicholas Henderson, the British ambassador to Washington, reflected on the cruelty of fate: Until a few days ago Peter had been almost universally accepted as the star of the government, as carrying more weight in Cabinet than anyone else and as an outstanding Foreign Secretary. Then whoops, within a few days, down in the pit of party … And all because of the Falklands – because he had not foreseen the totally irrational and irresponsible actions of the Argentine military junta.44

Carrington’s own musings on his resignation were unusually candid: It was not a sense of culpability that led me to resign – a subjective judgement of course … The logic of my resignation was different, and I had two principal reasons, one general and one more particular. The general reason was my sympathetic understanding that the whole of our country felt angry and humiliated. I felt the same myself. … The disgrace must be purged. The person to purge it should be the minister in charge. That was me. I was also aware that my membership of the House of Lords was at that moment an embarrassment to the Prime Minister, and a weakness … When there’s a real political crisis it is in the House of Commons that the

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 life and death of the Government is decided and I bitterly regretted that I could not face the House at Margaret Thatcher’s side. The more particular reason was my awareness that the Government was in for a hard time and that my presence would make it not easier but harder. … With John Nott, I had attended a fairly disagreeable meeting of the 1922 Committee and although nobody shouted for my resignation I knew that within the Conservative Party itself my remaining in office was not going to help the Prime Minister with her own supporters.45


In his reflections on his resignation, Carrington reveals precisely what lay at the heart of his foreign secretaryship, which colours any assessment of his achievement and legacy. Carrington was first and foremost a politician rather than a statesman. He had defended British interests across a range of issues from Rhodesia, British payments to the European Economic Community through to maintaining the trans-Atlantic alliance against communist expansion. Inevitably the achievements were less than permanent: the Rhodesian settlement would steadily come unpicked over the next 20 years and the trans-Atlantic alliance would weaken with the end of the Cold War. However, what really mattered was the impact of Carrington’s foreign secretaryship on domestic politics. Renegotiation of Britain’s payments to the European Community postponed internal party struggles over membership of the Community. His settlement of the Rhodesian issue largely removed it from the national and internal party agendas. He played an important influence in moderating the Thatcher revolution and, even though he disagreed with her, he was very loyal to the Prime Minister. When party political difficulties threatened over the invasion of the Falklands he sacrificed himself even though he was plainly less to blame than some others. His resignation burst the bubble of indignation within the party and the country as a whole. It allowed the government to organise an effective response to the Argentine invasion. In turn, the decision of this former chairman of the party facilitated Conservative victory in the 1983 general election, as support for the Conservative Party reached a high-water mark that would allow it to remain in office until 1997. Within the party there was a recognition that Carrington had acted both nobly and in the best interests of the


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party. Michael Ancram, a future chairman of the party, would note that resignation was ‘a sensible and pragmatic course which enhanced Peter Carrington’s reputation’.46 On policy grounds he deserved the accolades of his peers: ‘An outstanding Foreign Secretary’47 and ‘a first-rate Foreign Secretary’.48 As Foreign Secretary he had scarcely put a foot wrong. As a Conservative politician and fixer his actions had been absolutely flawless. NOTES 1. I am considerably in the debt of a large number of people who provided information and opinion for the writing of this chapter and I would like to express my thanks to the following: Rt Hon. Michael Ancram, QC, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Richard Body, MP; Rt Hon. Peter Brooke, MP; Lord Carrington; Rt Hon. Sir Sydney Chapman, MP; Rt Hon. Kenneth Clarke, QC, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Patrick Cormack, FSA, MP; Lord Cranborne; Rt Hon. Stephen Dorrell, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Peter Emery, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Archibald Hamilton, MP; Rt Hon. Michael Heseltine, CH, MP; Rt Hon. Douglas Hogg, QC, MP; Rt Hon. Tom King, CH, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Peter Lloyd, MP; Rt Hon. Michael Mates, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Geoffrey Johnson Smith, DL, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Peter Tapsell, MP; Rt Hon. Sir Teddy Taylor, MP; Rt Hon. Peter Viggers, MP; Sir Raymond Whitney, OBE, MP. I am also indebted to friends and colleagues such as Dr Jonathan Wood, Dr Nick Smart, Dr Kevin Jefferys, Dr Richard Williams and Dr Robert Hole. 2. Lord Hailsham, A Sparrow’s Flight: The Memoirs of Lord Hailsham of Marylebone (London: Fontana, 1995), p. 332. For the Vassall affair, see Public Record Office Documents TS 58; ADM 1 28028; ADM 116 6385; BD 52 1 9; CAB 21 6076; DEFE 13 261. 3. See James Prior, A Balance of Power (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1986), p. 91. 4. See Anthony Seldon and Stuart Ball, Conservative Century: The Conservative Party since 1900 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 176ff. 5. Philip Whitehead, ‘The Character of a Trimmer’, New Statesman, 14 September 1979, pp. 366–7. 6. Lord Carrington, Reflect on Things Past: The Memoirs of Lord Carrington (London: Collins, 1988), p. 287. 7. Bernard Ingham, Kill the Messenger (London: Harper Collins, 1991), pp. 133–4. 8. Nicholas Henderson, Mandarin: The Diaries of an Ambassador 1969–1982 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1994), p. 269. 9. Nicholas Ridley, My Style of Government (London: Hutchinson, 1992), p. 173. 10. Ibid., p. 175. 11. Peter Hennessy, Cabinet (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), p. 101. 12. John Ranelagh, Thatcher’s People: An Insider’s Account of Politics, the Power and the Personalities (London: Fontana, 1991), p. 157. 13. Benn Diary entry for 24 August 1980 in Ruth Winstone (ed.), Tony Benn: The End of an Era – Diaries 1980–90 (London: Arrow, 1992), p. 25. In private correspondence the Rt Hon. Ted Heath confirmed that there was nothing to this rumour, which was quite preposterous given the difficulties that Carrington would have faced in leading a government from the House of Lords. 14. Peter Walker, Staying Power (London: Bloomsbury, 1991), p. 232. 15. Henderson, Mandarin, p. 316. 16. Geoffrey Howe, Conflict of Loyalty (London: Pan Books, 1995), p. 137. 17. See speech by Carrington, House of Lords Debates, 19 May 1980, cols. 551–3. 18. House of Lords Debates, 24 April 1980, cols. 889–91. 19. Paul Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy: The Revival of British Foreign Policy (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999), p. 41. 20. Andrew Davies, We, the Nation: The Conservative Party and the Pursuit of Power (London, Little, Brown, 1996), p. 360.

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21. Carrington, Reflect on Things Past, p. 319. 22. House of Lords Debates, 10 November 1981, col. 107. 23. Norman Fowler, Ministers Decide: A Personal Memoir of the Thatcher Years (London: Chapmans, 1991), p. 155. 24. Lord Franks, The Franks Report: Falkland Islands Review (London: Pimlico, 1983), p. 89. 25. Julian Amery, House of Commons Debates, 3 April 1982, cols. 647–8. 26. Patrick Cormack, House of Commons Debates, 3 April 1982, col. 652. 27. See for example: Bernard Braine, House of Commons Debates, 3 April 1982, col. 660. 28. Teddy Taylor, House of Commons Debates, 3 April 1982, col. 653. 29. Douglas Jay, House of Commons debates, 3 April 1982, col. 658. 30. William Whitelaw, The Whitelaw Memoirs (London: Headline, 1990), pp. 265–6. 31. Carrington, Reflect on Things Past, p. 368. 32. Kenneth Baker, The Turbulent Years: My Life in Politics (London: Faber & Faber, 1993), p. 68. 33. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Peter Brooke, MP, 20 June 2000. 34. Baker, The Turbulent Years, p. 68. 35. Cecil Parkinson, Right at the Centre (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1992), p. 191. 36. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Kenneth Clarke, MP, QC, 3 July 2000. 37. Anonymous. 38. Whitelaw, The Whitelaw Memoirs, pp. 266–7. 39. Ian Gilmour, Whatever Happened to the Tories: The Conservative Party since 1945 (London: Fourth Estate, 1997), p. 317. 40. Winstone, Tony Benn: The End of An Era, pp. 205–6. 41. The Times, 6 April 1982, p. 2. 42. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Sir Archibald Hamilton, MP, 21 June 2000. 43. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Peter Viggers, MP, 26 June 2000. 44. Henderson, Mandarin, p. 450. 45. Carrington, Reflect on Things Past, pp. 370–1. 46. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Michael Ancram, QC, MP, 20 June 2000. 47. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Michael Mates, MP, 20 June 2000. 48. Private correspondence with Rt Hon. Sir Peter Tapsell, MP, 19 June 2000.

6

Francis Pym: Foreign Secretary, 1982–83 Mark Stuart

CAREER

Francis Leslie Pym was born in Penpergwm, near Abergavenny, in Wales on 13 February 1922, the son of a landowner who became Conservative MP for Monmouth in 1942. Leslie Ruthven Pym became a whip, but his period in the House of Commons was brief: he was defeated in the Labour landslide of 1945. Francis was educated at Eton and Magdalene College, Cambridge. During the Second World War, he was awarded the Military Cross, having served in north Africa and Italy as a captain in the 9th Lancers. After the war, he became general manager for Lewis’s in Birmingham and Liverpool, before taking over the running of a small business in Hereford, where he became a councillor in 1958. Having unsuccessfully contested the Labour stronghold of Rhondda West in 1959, he was elected member of Parliament for Cambridgeshire in March 1961, where he served until 1983, when his seat, as a result of boundary changes, became Cambridgeshire South-East. In 1987, Pym retired from the House of Commons, and was subsequently elevated to the peerage as Baron Pym in the County of Bedfordshire. In 1962, Pym became parliamentary private secretary to Reginald Maudling, then Chancellor of the Exchequer. His talents were recognised when he was made an assistant government whip in the same year. His career as a whip progressed steadily during Harold Wilson’s first two administrations: opposition whip from 1964 to 1967, rising to deputy chief whip for the opposition, serving under William Whitelaw, a post he held until

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the 1970 general election, when Heath rewarded his service with the post of chief whip. It was in the whips’ office that Pym established his reputation as a House of Commons man. According to Norton, he adopted neither the disciplinarian approach of predecessors like Captain Margesson (from 1931 to 1940) nor the friendly approach of chief whips such as William Whitelaw (from 1964 to 1970), but operated through a combination of ‘charm and persistence’.1 He maintained good relationships with most backbenchers, including prominent dissenters, placing great emphasis on personal relationships between members and whips.2 Campbell believes that Pym prevented Heath from demanding an even greater level of loyalty from his backbenchers that would have resulted in a higher level of dissent.3 During the European Communities Bill, he was widely credited, first, with delaying a vote on the terms of entry in July 1971 when the government might have lost, and, second, with persuading a deeply reluctant Edward Heath to allow a free vote on the terms of entry on 28 October 1971. The free vote undoubtedly persuaded more Labour MPs – 69 in all – to defy their own party’s three-line whip, than if the government side had been whipped.4 A comfortable majority of 112 was thereby achieved.5 However, Heath, himself a former chief whip, tended to discount Pym’s advice, unless it was backed by senior ministers.6 In December 1973, Pym succeeded William Whitelaw as Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. He tried to keep alive the power-sharing executive newly created by the Sunningdale Agreement, but served only 12 weeks in the post before Heath called a general election in February 1974.7 After Heath’s defeat, Pym was made opposition spokesperson jointly on Northern Ireland and agriculture, a job he continued under Mrs Thatcher, although he had to temporarily give up his portfolio on health grounds. He returned to the Conservative front bench in January 1976, when he took on the whole of the agriculture, fisheries and food portfolio. Shortly afterwards, he was made Conservative spokesman on House of Commons affairs and devolution in March of that year. He adopted a more pro-devolutionist line than Mrs Thatcher, trying to make Harold Wilson’s devolution plans ‘workable’.8 Despite these early differences over policy, Pym recalled that Mrs Thatcher was an extremely good leader of the opposition and an excellent Minister of Education.9 In 1978, Mrs Thatcher appointed Pym spokesman on foreign and Commonwealth affairs when John Davies, after a disastrous Conservative Party conference performance, was discovered to

Francis Pym, 1982–83

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have been suffering from a brain tumour.10 During the 1979 general election campaign, Labour opponents savaged Pym on the BBC’s ‘Panorama’ programme. So shaken was he by the experience that, on leaving the studio, he asked the chief Tory publicity adviser, Gordon Reece, whether he had just lost the election.11 After Mrs Thatcher’s election victory in May 1979, Pym was denied the foreign secretaryship, and instead was made Secretary of State for Defence. There, he proved to be a resolute defender of Britain’s independent nuclear deterrent, ordering Trident as a replacement to the Polaris missile system.12 Although the Conservatives had pledged in 1979, in accordance with NATO policy, to increase defence spending by 3 per cent a year, in 1980 Mrs Thatcher demanded £500 million in savings from the overall size of the defence budget. Pym mounted a rearguard action to reduce the size of the savings from £500 million to £200 million, and would certainly have resigned in mid-November 1980 had he not got his way.13 But Mrs Thatcher took her revenge six weeks later – replacing Pym as Defence Secretary with the more prudent and cost-cutting mind of John Nott.14 Pym was sidelined as Leader of the House of Commons – initially as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and Paymaster-General – and, from September 1981, as Lord President of the Council, where his role included the overall responsibility for the coordination and presentation of government policy.

PERSONAL STYLE

Even before he became Foreign Secretary, Pym’s tendency to gloomy, disarming honesty got him into trouble with the Prime Minister on several occasions. At a speech to the Allied Brewery Trades Association in February 1982, for example, he claimed that Britain was experiencing a second, painful industrial revolution and warned against ‘an early return to full or nearly full employment, or an early improvement in living standards generally’.15 His main sin in the eyes of Mrs Thatcher was that he approved the press release issued by Conservative Central Office of extracts of his speech that made little of the good news and much of the bad.16 It was little wonder that the Conservative right had viewed his appointment to direct the government’s publicity machine as ‘akin to making Cassandra the PR girl for Troy’.17

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Pym’s outburst of realism was based on a belief that the electorate appreciated plain speaking, and that it was foolish for the government, in a period of economic recession, to claim too much credit for the tough measures that it was pursuing. He took the view that the Conservative Party would suffer at the hands of the electorate if people perceived that the government was being insensitive in the face of long-term high unemployment. In his view, the oil price hikes of 1979 had ‘changed both the politics and the economics of what was sensible to attempt’.18 As such, his criticisms were much more as a party politician, a job at which he excelled, rather than as an economic strategist, a role at which he did not. After the 1981 budget, he protested alongside James Prior, the Secretary of State for Employment, about the lack of Cabinet discussion over the Treasury’s economic plans. However, he was always too gentlemanly to pick an open fight with the Prime Minister. Covert criticism was preferred over open rebellion in Cabinet.19 Rather than engaging in vigorous argument with her, he brooded: ‘Francis doesn’t argue back’, said one observer, ‘he just goes pink.’20 Pym became one of the most prominent ‘wets’, espousing the Disraelian view of politics, characterised by the term ‘one nation Conservatism’: anathema to Mrs Thatcher. At the time, she characterised his views on industrial policy as ‘the kind of neocorporatist incantation which signified total rejection of the economic strategy’.21 Moreover, Pym was seen by the Prime Minister as a political rival to be viewed with the utmost suspicion. She regarded him as ‘the quintessential old style Tory: a country gentleman and a soldier, a good tactician, but no strategist’.22 He exemplified everything that she wanted to get rid of in the Conservative Party. He was heard to remark privately of her, ‘The trouble is we’ve got a corporal at the top, not a cavalry officer.’ When Mrs Thatcher heard the comment, her reply exposed the class differences between them: ‘Francis is just a snob.’23 She was also exasperated by his private indecision. On one occasion, she demanded of Pym, ‘Will you make up your mind, or will Clive [Whitmore, principal private secretary] and I have to make it up for you?’24 Following the Argentine invasion of the Falkland Islands on 2 April 1982, Peter Carrington resigned as Foreign Secretary, as did Humphrey Atkins, the Deputy Foreign Secretary and Richard Luce, the Minister of State. Mrs Thatcher appointed Pym as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, not out of choice, but out of necessity. Unsure whether she would survive the crisis, she


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ignored her gut instincts in favour of Julian Amery,25 and took the advice of the whips that she needed someone of political experience in the post, having lost someone of the stature of Peter Carrington. Pym was seen as the man to reunite the Conservative Party.26 Moreover, he was the only experienced senior politician without a vital portfolio who could be moved from his job without causing a potentially destabilising Cabinet reshuffle.27 Early on, Pym relied heavily on Douglas Hurd, effectively his number two at the Foreign Office.28 Hurd was the main point of continuity and, given Pym’s lack of experience in foreign affairs, and his early preoccupation with the Falklands, Hurd’s responsibilities grew in size and importance in this period. Even after the Falklands, he became Deputy Foreign Secretary in all but name.29 Hurd found Pym lacked the self-assurance of Peter Carrington and frequently noted in his diary Pym’s tendency to be morose about everything.30 In his memoirs, Nigel Lawson describes him as ‘quite the gloomiest politician I have ever met’.31

THE FALKLANDS CRISIS

Pym was part of the small War Cabinet, known as OD (SA), alongside John Nott, William Whitelaw and Cecil Parkinson.32 Mrs Thatcher rapidly lost confidence in her Foreign Secretary’s ability to hold his ground in the negotiations with Argentina being conducted via Alexander Haig, the US Secretary of State. In his memoirs, Haig recalled the growing tension between Pym and Thatcher. During one discussion, Pym remarked, ‘Maybe we should ask the Falklanders how they feel about the war.’ Mrs Thatcher replied testily, ‘Aggressors classically try to intimidate those against whom they aggress, saying things far worse than the aggression itself could happen.’33 On 21 April, Pym stumbled in the House of Commons when, during a reply to Dick Douglas, a Labour backbencher, he ruled out the use of force so long as negotiations were in play.34 His remarks were interpreted as ruling out an attack on the island of South Georgia, which the Argentinians had also captured. Pym was forced to make a supplementary statement a few moments later to correct his words and to state that the use of force could not be ruled out.35 Pym’s early mistake added to the Prime Minister’s suspicion, along with much of the Tory right, that the

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Foreign Office was overly enthusiastic in pursuing a diplomatic resolution to the conflict. On 23 April, a US peace plan was agreed in principle between Pym and Alexander Haig, the US Secretary of State. The plan called for the withdrawal of Argentinian forces from the islands and the halting of the task force steaming towards the South Atlantic. After this phase, the Americans would supervise joint control of the islands, and negotiations would start on the islands’ future status, with the wishes of the islanders to be guaranteed for five years. However, Mrs Thatcher later revealed in her memoirs that she believed the Haig proposals to be ‘totally unacceptable’, and that she was ‘at loggerheads’ with Pym over the issue, adding, ‘Did Francis realise how much he had signed away?’36 Haig’s plan was put to a meeting of the War Cabinet, where Pym urged acceptance, but the Thatcher–Nott view prevailed.37 It is clear that the Prime Minister would have resigned had the War Cabinet accepted the Haig draft.38 In any event, the Argentinians rejected the plan. With the failure of the first Haig initiative, Britain launched a series of air strikes on the airport at Port Stanley. On 2 May, the British nuclear-powered submarine Conquerer sank the Argentinian battle cruiser General Belgrano well outside the British-imposed exclusion zone, provoking a diplomatic incident. The United Nations Secretary-General Sr Javier Perez de Cuellar and representatives of several European Community countries expressed concern at the loss of life, especially the Spanish government, which warned that further military action would be a ‘grave historical error’.39 On 4 May, Pym praised the actions of the British forces while expressing deep regret at the Argentinian casualties.40 Later that same day, an Exocet missile fired from an Argentinian Super Etendard aircraft sank HMS Sheffield. At this point in the hostilities, Pym argued in the War Cabinet that it would be damaging to reject a joint American–Peruvian peace plan. The new plan, under the aegis of President Belaunde of Peru, involved the complete withdrawal of Argentine forces from the Falkland Islands, matched by the withdrawal of British forces from the South Atlantic, supervised by representatives from a small group of countries acceptable to both sides. These representatives would undertake an interim administration of the islands in consultation with islanders’ representatives, and facilitate a negotiated settlement on the islands’ future status, although the two sides would still be able to ‘acknowledge the difference that exists between them over the status of the islands’.41


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Finally, the exclusion zone around the Falklands would be suspended and economic sanctions against Argentina lifted. The plan was effectively another draft proposal from the Americans, who were putting intense pressure on Britain to agree to a deal.42 Again, the Prime Minister was disappointed in Pym for continuing ‘to pursue a weaker line than I did’.43 Pym told the House of Commons on 7 May that a ceasefire had to be firmly linked to the beginning of an Argentinian withdrawal from the islands.44 The conflict escalated later that day when the British exclusion zone was extended to a line 12 miles from the Argentinian coast. Despite the arrival of the task force in the area, Pym defended his continued search for a negotiated settlement in the House of Commons on 13 May. During the adjournment debate, Enoch Powell indirectly invited Pym to resign in order to ‘maintain the unity of the Government’.45 The former Prime Minister, Edward Heath came to the defence of Pym, advising the Foreign Secretary not to be swayed by cries of ‘sell-out’,46 but several other Conservative backbenchers gave Pym a torrid time. This belligerent mood spread into the 1922 Committee meeting later that day, when Julian Amery was among around 40 right-wing Conservatives warning against withdrawal of the task force without achieving Britain’s objectives.47 Pym’s subsequent remarks on the ‘Weekend World’ programme that, in the end, no matter what casualties were involved, negotiations would have to take place with the Argentinian junta, angered Conservative MPs. Egged on by Enoch Powell, the Prime Minister became increasingly suspicious of the Foreign Office, which she regarded as spineless and appeasing. At the same time, her self-confidence was greatly boosted by the Falklands victory, meaning that she was much more willing to interfere in foreign affairs than the tentative Prime Minister who had appointed Carrington in 1979. This new confidence in foreign affairs was illustrated by her appointment of her own foreign-policy adviser, Sir Anthony Parsons, whom she greatly admired for his handling of the Falklands crisis in New York as Britain’s permanent representative at the United Nations.48 Such a post had not existed before. The irony is that Parsons was a Foreign Office man, but in the words of Mrs Thatcher, ‘I don’t consider you to be one of them.’49 Fortunately, Parsons’s considerable diplomatic skill reduced the number of major bust-ups with Number 10. According to Young, he ‘interpreted the Foreign Office to the Prime Minister rather than communicating her demands to them’.50 However, from the

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end of the Falklands War, until his dismissal in June 1983, the relationship between Pym and Thatcher rapidly deteriorated.

PYM’S WORLDVIEW

In the early months of his foreign secretaryship, Pym had been so busy with the Falklands crisis that he did not have the opportunity to enunciate his world vision for British foreign policy. In the year that followed, he closely followed the long-term Conservative view of Britain’s role in the world that had been pursued since Harold Macmillan: favouring free trade over protectionism, maintaining a good relationship with the USA, adopting a robust stance in the face of the Soviet Union, pursuing a gradual policy of closer relations with the EEC, and favouring the Palestinians slightly more than the Israelis in the Middle East conflict. It was essentially a pragmatic approach, approved by the Foreign Office. The west Siberian gas pipeline dispute The special relationship experienced one of its periodic fallingsout when the EEC disagreed openly with the USA in a dispute over the Soviet Union’s decision to build the west Siberian gas pipeline. On 16 June 1982, the Reagan administration announced a package of measures designed to punish the Soviets for the imposition of martial law in Poland a year earlier. The Americans imposed a ban on the supply of high-technology equipment not only by American companies, but also by their foreign subsidiaries and to foreign firms manufacturing American-products under licence or using American components. The ban was made without consulting EEC governments. Throughout the dispute, Pym took the view that the Community’s case would be infinitely stronger if the members acted with one voice.51 All EEC countries believed that the USA had no right to extend its legislation beyond the borders of its own country. It was also significant that on this issue, Mrs Thatcher, despite her gut Atlanticism, thought that the USA had been wrong to prevent existing European contracts from being fulfilled.52 In a key speech to the Foreign Policy Association in New York on 27 September 1982, Pym tried to distinguish between the defence and trade relationships with the Soviet Union, calling for


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the establishment of a framework of trading between East and West. Assuming the role of peacemaker, he tried to arrange a meeting between the ‘Big Four’ – Britain, West Germany, Italy and France – and George Shultz, the new US Secretary of State, to settle the dispute, but came up against French resistance. The French government wished to preserve its traditional policy of offering cheap credit to other countries, including the Soviet Union, as part of its overall trading policy. In November 1982, the EEC stance was vindicated when the USA lifted the sanctions. East–West relations Despite accusations of being too flexible and ready to compromise, Pym espoused robust, mainstream Conservative views over defence.53 He steadfastly refused to include Britain’s strategic nuclear deterrent in the negotiations that were going on in Geneva between the Soviets and the Americans over intermediate-range nuclear weapons, and strongly supported NATO’s decision to station Pershing 2 and Cruise missiles in western Europe. He also rejected the Soviet advocacy of a joint ‘no first use’ declaration on nuclear weapons, believing it would weaken Western deterrence. However, he later regretted the lack of progress on arms-control talks. After his dismissal, he revealed that he had unsuccessfully urged President Reagan to hold a summit meeting with the newly installed Soviet leader, Yuri Andropov, on the death of President Brezhnev in November 1982.54 In a sense, the Howe–Thatcher policy of ‘opening up to the East’ (see Chapter 7) began with Pym. Howe acknowledges that his predecessor held similar views on East–West relations,55 while Young credits him with arranging a post-election seminar designed to review the future of East–West relations.56 Relations with the EEC Pym believed that Britain’s membership of the EEC was ‘an essential complement to the Atlantic Alliance’.57 He saw in Europe an opportunity to remove barriers to trade and liberalise services, and supported the establishment of an Internal Market Council during the German presidency, which was the genesis for the formation of the European single market. However, Pym’s short period as Foreign Secretary was clouded by the continuing dispute with the Community over Britain’s budgetary contributions. In May 1982, Pym negotiated a makeshift

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one-year budget contributions deal with the EEC, extending the formula worked out two years before by which Britain received a rebate of at least two-thirds of its total payments. The Foreign Office did not wish to be seen as inflexible at a time when it was canvassing for support from other EEC countries for sanctions against Argentina. (On 24 May, seven of the ten member states of the EEC agreed to continue indefinitely on a voluntary basis the economic sanctions, including a one-month ban on all imports from Argentina that had been imposed on a Community-wide basis on 16 April.)58 An extension of the 1980 budgetary agreement had been agreed, but the stopgap deal was only achieved by setting aside the Luxembourg Compromise of 1966. In other words, the normal unanimity procedure in the Council of Ministers was disregarded, and majority voting used instead at the relevant agriculture council on 18 May. Speaking in the House of Commons on 26 May, Pym stated that he believed the 1982 budget settlement to be acceptable, bearing in mind that the rebates in the two previous years had worked out higher than expected. However, he regarded the unexpectedly high rebates of 1980 and 1981 as historical accidents, and that it would be wrong for the other EEC countries to reduce the level of rebates in 1982 and beyond. During the debate on the European Community, Pym voiced his disapproval of the abandonment of the unanimity principle at the Council of Agriculture Ministers meeting on 18 May, calling it ‘a major departure’ from the way in which Community business had been conducted previously. In his view, it was an example of the Community at its worst, in contrast with the solidarity that the Community had showed over the Falklands.59 The short-term nature of the 1982 deal reflected a failure to agree a new, long-term deal, both on the budget, and on farm prices, leaving Geoffrey Howe to clinch a more lasting agreement at the Fontainebleau European Council in June 1984. During 1982 and 1983, the main day-to-day preoccupation on European affairs was the proposed enlargement of the European Community to encompass Spain and Portugal. The major obstacle in the negotiations was the question of Spanish restrictions on the border with Gibraltar. Pym insisted at meetings of foreign ministers during 1982 that, before Spain joined, it would have to lift these restrictions. Talks between the two countries were twice postponed during the course of 1982 because of Spanish insensitivities over the Falklands.60 Despite these obstacles, Britain saw the political benefits of bolstering democracy in both the Iberian countries after


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they had emerged from a period of fascist dictatorships. The biggest potential prize of Spanish accession to the EEC, however, was to make it more likely that its people would vote in favour of joining NATO’s political structure. The Middle East The British government officially supported the principles of the EEC Venice Declaration of June 1980, which backed Palestinian rights to self-determination, while recognising Israel’s right to exist. However, Mrs Thatcher’s pro-Israeli stance often caused problems with the Foreign Office. Given the large number of Jewish people in her constituency, the Foreign Office had to contend with what became known as ‘the Finchley factor’. Francis Pym and Douglas Hurd spent a great deal of time persuading the Prime Minister to let Hurd meet with the head of the Palestinian Liberation Organisation’s (PLO) political department, Farouk Kaddoumi, ostensibly the PLO’s Foreign Minister-in-waiting. In a move to reassure Mrs Thatcher, Hurd saw Kaddoumi in July 1982 as part of a wider Arab League delegation led by the Prime Minister of Bahrain. Hurd described the meeting with Kaddoumi in his diaries as ‘a shift in policy, only dragged out of a reluctant Prime Minister’.61 The advances made over enhancing the rights of Palestinians were greatly compromised by the Israeli invasion of southern Lebanon on 7 June 1982. On that day, Douglas Hurd noted in his diary, ‘He [Pym] is as usual, very gloomy about everything, especially the Anglo-American relationship.’62 Britain responded by supporting the EEC’s communiqués and the United Nations Security Council resolutions condemning the Israeli invasion, and later deployed troops as part of the multinational force comprising British, French, Dutch and US military personnel. In October 1983, after Pym’s departure from the Foreign Office, a suicide bomber killed 170 US and French troops leading to the withdrawal of the whole operation.

DISMISSAL

At the first Conservative press conference of the 1983 general election campaign, Pym again succumbed to his tendency to make realistic, but gaffe-prone remarks that irritated the Prime Minister. On this occasion, he implied that the future of the Falklands might

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be negotiated with Argentina if it renounced the use of force to settle the dispute. Mrs Thatcher interrupted Pym to make it clear that, while Britain would negotiate on commercial and diplomatic links, the issue of sovereignty was not negotiable.63 Margaret Thatcher finally dismissed Pym after the June 1983 general election for commenting on BBC’s ‘Question Time’ that ‘landslides on the whole don’t produce successful governments’.64 Although he qualified the remark with a cautious rider that a majority between 50 and 100 would be about right, the damage had been done. As Mrs Thatcher bluntly put it, she began her reshuffle ‘by dropping one would-be pilot whose sense of direction had on several occasions proved faulty’.65 Pym later recalled that his meeting with Mrs Thatcher on the evening of Friday 10 June was brief and to the point: ‘Francis’, she said, ‘I want a new Foreign Secretary.’66 In the run-up to the election, she had leaked against him, putting it about that he might become the Speaker of the House of Commons. On dismissing Pym, she pressed him to accept the position of Speaker, but such an offer was not in the Prime Minister’s gift (as she well knew): MPs were, and are, jealous of their rights in this matter. Mrs Thatcher had used her election victory not only to crush the opposition, but also to neuter someone whom she regarded as a threat to her leadership. But, with the benefit of hindsight and in view of Pym’s incompetence, the Prime Minister seems to have been overreacting to the threat posed by her Foreign Secretary. After his dismissal, Pym gave a series of speeches attacking Mrs Thatcher’s inflexible leadership style, and criticised the dangerously high level of unemployment that he believed was ‘a threat to national unity and social cohesion’.67 In May 1985, he formed a ginger group called Conservative Centre Forward, the aim of which was to ensure ‘that the flag of traditional Conservatism is kept flying … so that one day a standard bearer can pick it up and put it back at the centre of affairs, where it belongs’.68 However, after a flurry of coverage lasting about a week, the organisation sank without a trace. Pym also participated in a number of Conservative backbench rebellions, opposing the abolition of the Greater London Council (GLC), rate-capping and cuts in the overseas aid budget introduced by his successor, Geoffrey Howe. Although his criticism of the policies and style of the Prime Minister became more vocal and less coded than when he had been a Cabinet minister – crystallising in his treatise, The Politics of Consent – Pym’s gentlemanly character and lack of ruthlessness prevented him from rising above the status of an


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ineffectual irritant to Mrs Thatcher. Once she had dismissed him from Cabinet, Pym was relegated to a life of comparative political obscurity, where he remained. As with all the ‘wets’, it was remarkable that, while they all felt they had a God-given right to govern and thought her policies were damaging to the social cohesion of the British nation, none emerged in the early Thatcher period to mount a serious challenge.


Cautious, pragmatic and a typical establishment figure hailing from the pre-Thatcher mainstream of the Conservative Party, Pym largely succeeded in keeping the basic thrust of British foreign policy along the lines pursued by successive post-war Conservative governments, despite sharp differences with Number 10. However, Pym lacked the self-assurance of a Peter Carrington or a Douglas Hurd. Neither was he able to charm Mrs Thatcher in the way that Carrington did. Despite their many differences, Mrs Thatcher had not felt threatened by Carrington because he was a hereditary peer who had no desire to become leader. Pym most definitely did. But, like Hurd, Pym was far too gentlemanly to challenge seriously for the Conservative leadership. His high intelligence led him to reject seeing politics in clear black-and-white terms; there were shades of grey like the suits he wore. But his natural honesty, mixed with a realism bordering on the gloomy, showed itself in far too many ill-judged public remarks, for which he paid dearly. Francis Pym’s short tenure in the Foreign Office was not only due to his tendency to make gloomy gaffes, but also to Mrs Thatcher’s desire to remove him as a threat to her leadership, to replace him with people who thought like her; and it resulted from her growing tendency, especially after the Falklands War, to interfere in the conduct of foreign policy. More fundamentally, Pym was dismissed because he and the Prime Minister disagreed on almost everything: ‘on the direction of policy, in our approach to government and indeed about life in general’.69

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 NOTES

1. Julian Critchley, ‘The Unknown Whip’, Illustrated London News, October 1971, p. 27, quoted in Philip Norton, Conservative Dissidents: Dissent within the Parliamentary Conservative Party 1970–74 (London: Temple Smith, 1978), p. 169. 2. Ibid., p. 170. 3. John Campbell, Edward Heath: A Biography (London: Jonathan Cape, 1993), pp. 401 and 503. 4. William Whitelaw, The Whitelaw Memoirs (London: Aurum Press, 1989), p. 74; Campbell, Edward Heath, p. 515. 5. Norton, Conservative Dissidents, p. 70. 6. Norton, Conservative Dissidents, pp. 174 and 222; Campbell, Edward Heath, p. 514. 7. In May 1974, the Sunningdale Agreement collapsed because of a Protestant workers’ strike. Both William Whitelaw and Pym were opposed to the calling of an early general election from a Northern Ireland perspective, believing that it would undermine the agreement because Brian Faulkner’s pro-Sunningdale Unionists would be replaced by diehards at the election. Whitelaw, Memoirs, p. 121; Campbell, Edward Heath, p. 579. 8. Margaret Thatcher, The Path to Power (London: HarperCollins, 1995), p. 326. 9. Hugo Young, One of Us: A Biography of Margaret Thatcher (London: Pan Books, revised paperback edn, 1993), p. 101; Campbell, Edward Heath, p. 386. 10. John Davies died later that year. 11. The Times Portrait, ‘Why Pym’s No. 1 on the Hit List’, The Times, 27 May 1983. 12. Although Britain subsequently shifted to the Trident II missile system. 13. Kenneth Harris, Thatcher (London: Fontana paperback edn, 1989), p. 157; Young, One of Us, pp. 210–11. 14. Even had the savings of £500 million been implemented, the government would still have met its 3 per cent commitment to NATO. Indeed, in every year between 1979 and 1985 that promise was kept. John Nott’s proposed defence review failed to be implemented after the outbreak of the Falklands War. 15. The Times, 2 February 1982. 16. In 1981, Pym had succeeded in re-establishing the ‘liaison committee’, through which Conservative Central Office and ministers were supposed to coordinate the government’s message: Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, 2nd edn (London: HarperCollins paperback, 1995), p. 149. 17. Peter Stothard, ‘Pym’s Game: The Stakes are Raised’, The Times, 3 February 1982. 18. Young, One of Us, p. 267. 19. Harris, Thatcher, pp. 148–9; Young, One of Us, p. 267. 20. The Times Portrait, ‘Why Pym’s No. 1 on the Hit List’, The Times, 27 May 1983. 21. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 150. 22. Ibid., p. 187. 23. Young, One of Us, p. 331. 24. Young, One of Us, p. 165. 25. Alan Clark, Diaries (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1993), p. 97. 26. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 187. 27. Geoffrey Howe, Conflict of Loyalty (London: Macmillan, 1994), pp. 246–7; Harris, Thatcher, p. 180; Young, One of Us, p. 266. 28. Douglas Hurd was in the number two spot ahead of fellow Ministers of State, Lord Belstead, Cranley Onslow and Neil Marten (and Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State, Malcolm Rifkind) because, with the exception of Marten at Overseas Development, he was the only minister left after the ministerial resignations on the outbreak of the hostilities in the Falklands. 29. Even though Mrs Thatcher saw no need for him to be in the Cabinet, as Humphrey Atkins had been, because of Peter Carrington being in the House of Lords. On the reshuffle therefore, the Cabinet’s size fell from 23 to 22. 30. Mark Stuart, Douglas Hurd: The Public Servant (Edinburgh: Mainstream, 1998), p. 117. 31. Nigel Lawson, The View from No. 11: Memoirs of a Tory Radical, 2nd edn (London: Corgi Books, 1993), p. 425. See also Kenneth Baker, The Turbulent Years: My Life in Politics (London: Faber & Faber, 1993), p. 59.


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32. Paymaster-General and chairman of the Conservative Party from 1981 to 1983. 33. Alexander Haig, Caveat (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1984), p. 280. Geoffrey Howe also later commented on Mrs Thatcher’s despair during their Sunday evening chats at Pym’s ‘intrinsically hopeless’ attempts to secure a settlement with the Argentinians: Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 246–7. 34. House of Commons Debates, 21 April 1982, col. 278. 35. House of Commons Debates, 21 April 1982, col. 280. 36. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, pp. 206–7. 37. John Nott suggested that no comment should be made on the Haig draft until the US Secretary of State had first put it to the Argentinians. 38. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 207. 39. Keesing’s Contemporary Archives, p. 31711. 40. House of Commons Debates, 4 May 1982, col. 19. 41. Keesing’s Contemporary Archives, p. 31711. 42. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 217. 43. Ibid., p. 220. 44. House of Commons Debates, 7 May 1982, col. 395. 45. House of Commons Debates, 13 May 1982, col. 968. 46. House of Commons Debates, 13 May 1982, col. 978. 47. The Times, 14 May 1982. 48. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, pp. 182, 218, 232. 49. Young, One of Us, p. 380. 50. Ibid. 51. House of Commons Debates, 20 October 1982, col. 351. 52. House of Commons Debates, 1 July 1982, cols. 1043–4. A British company, John Brown Engineering, was heavily affected by the ban, having been contracted to provide pump equipment for the gas pipeline project: Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 253. 53. See Francis Pym, ‘Defence and Disarmament’, The Politics of Consent (London: Sphere Books, 1985), ch. 4. 54. The Times, 17 January 1984. 55. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 319. 56. Young, One of Us, p. 390. 57. Francis Pym, ‘The EEC must be our Future’, The Times, 10 January 1983. 58. Ireland and Italy refused to continue with the sanctions, but agreed not to allow their countries to be used to circumvent the embargo, while the Danish government reserved its position pending legislation in its national parliament: Keesing’s Contemporary Archives, p. 31713. 59. House of Commons Debates, 28 May 1982, cols. 936–43. 60. Keesing’s Contemporary Archives, p. 31833. 61. 8 July 1982. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, 17 December 1996. (On Diary Readings, see Stuart, Douglas Hurd.) 62. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, 17 December 1996. 63. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, pp. 293–4. 64. Ibid., p. 294. 65. Ibid., p. 306. 66. Francis Pym, Introduction to 2nd edn, The Politics of Consent, p. ix. 67. Francis Pym, ‘Jobs: The Case for Compassion’, The Times, 1 December 1983; see also Francis Pym, ‘Miners: Now for the Human Touch’, The Times, 19 September 1984. 68. Pym, The Politics of Consent, p. xi. 69. Thatcher, Downing Street Years, p. 306.

7

Geoffrey Howe: Foreign Secretary, 1983–89 David Seawright

CAREER

Whether one admires or abhors the ‘Thatcher years’ there is no denying their centrality to any analysis of contemporary British politics, particularly that of foreign policy. Likewise, one cannot gainsay the pivotal role of Geoffrey Howe in this putative Thatcherite revolution. Howe was her ‘right-hand man’ as Chancellor of the Exchequer, 1979–83 and the longest serving Foreign Secretary, from 1983 to 1989, since Ernest Bevin in the immediate post-war years. He then went on to serve as Lord President and Leader of the House (Deputy Prime Minister) until 1 November 1990, but by that time Mrs Thatcher had him firmly located ‘on her immediate left’.1 Unfortunately, posterity may recall Geoffrey Howe more for his role in the eventual demise of Mrs Thatcher, particularly for his devastating resignation speech on 13 November 1990, than for any notable achievement at the Foreign Office or even at the Exchequer. However, this chapter sets out to examine and assess not only the personality and style of Howe as Foreign Secretary but more importantly the contemporary foreign-policy issues that he faced when in office. We begin by examining Howe’s formative background: it will be shown that his early life is very relevant in any explanation of his personality, style and what may be termed his ‘classical liberal’ approach to foreign affairs. The formative influences on Geoffrey Howe, even his childhood, are important in understanding his eventual approach to foreign relations. Indeed, in his memoirs he asks the question:

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‘Why should this English-speaking, London-living, Winchesterand Cambridge-educated and apparently uncymric Conservative trouble to trace his roots back to a grimy Welsh township …?’2 But his roots in this Cymric climate helped shape a view of national identity, a view which underpinned his approach to European integration and his opinion that sovereignty need not be inimical to supranationalist, overlapping and multidimensional structures of partnership and participation. He states, ‘if I am asked my nationality, I should often, if not always, reply not “British” but “Welsh”. When I speak of my identity, my sense of belonging, of my cultural community, I claim not one but two nationalities, British and Welsh. Very often in Cardiff, I am proud to be British, fed up with the parochialism of the Welsh. But get me to Paddington, and I am proud to be Welsh and fed up with the patronising attitudes of the English.’3 For Howe, holding this dual, or even multi-, position on national identity showed that parochial nationalism as a policy stance was shallow and deficient, while supranational organisations need not undermine the ‘identity’ of the individual. While commenting on the proposed trades union ban at Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ) Howe could use such sentiments to suggest that Thatcher’s parochial nationalism led to ‘an inability to appreciate, still less accommodate, somebody else’s patriotism’. He went on: A great patriot herself, with an enormous instinctive loyalty, she found it hard to respect or sympathize with the sense of loyalty of others, or even with the idea of a wider or different loyalty for herself. Even Welshness, I sometimes felt, she regarded as somehow beyond some unspoken pale – still more Irishness. It was the perception of this kind of instinct, I believe, that led to the progressive disenchantment of the Scottish people with her leadership, and, in the end, to her inability to reconcile the idea of European Union with the concept of national patriotism.4

Howe was born in Aberavon, Wales, in 1926 and the first stamp on his nascent Welshness was a strong non-conformist legacy with Presbyterianism and Calvinistic Methodism being found on his maternal and paternal sides respectively. This non-conformist background included the almost obligatory association with Liberalism, with his grandfather and great uncle serving on Glamorgan County Council for the Liberal Party; as Howe points out ‘Wales in those days was almost a one-party state.’5 His mother was the avowed Conservative in the family but, while training for the Signals Regiment at the end of the war in Exeter, Howe

Geoffrey Howe, 1983–89

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supported the Liberal candidate for that seat at the 1945 election. Although he cannot recall the reason for this allegiance, he said that with only 12 Liberal MPs getting elected the result ‘was not calculated to boost a young man’s confidence in the future of the party’.6 The ‘British’ half of Howe’s duality of identity was shaped very firmly by his educational experiences at such elitist institutions as Winchester and Cambridge. Indeed, for those analysts looking for evidence that policy-making is predicated upon the educational and social homogeneity of elites,7 Howe’s memoirs offer some valuable evidence. This work is littered with references to such ‘old boy networks’ assuming competence, efficiency and rectitude by virtue of association to Winchester, Oxbridge or the ‘silk’ profession. For example, when referring to dealings with the Iraqi dictator, Saddam Hussein, he poses the question: ‘What on earth would William of Wykeham [‘manners makyth man’] have thought of such a villain being so fêted by three representatives of the Wykehamist tradition’;8 three of Thatcher’s ministers no less. Moreover, at Winchester, along with fellow student Robert Sheaf, he was to develop a lifelong interest and affection for the ‘distributist’ ideas of G. K. Chesterton.9 Chesterton was very much a Liberal by inheritance and as such the ‘Chesterbelloc’ political doctrine, inter alia, ‘constituted a potent form of Liberal anticollectivism … a hostility to the contemporary growth in the power of the state and expressed instead the cause of the free individual’.10 Once again, we find a connection with liberalism and liberal ideas playing a significant role in that early formative period.11 While still a law student at Cambridge in the early 1950s he outlined his pro-Europeanism in an exchange of ideas with Robert Sheaf over the 1950 Schuman Plan. Howe thought the argument that Britain could stand on its own feet unduly optimistic; thus, active British leadership in some form of European union was essential politically. This was the ‘commitment’ that Howe took with him into his political career, and the opportunity to act on this commitment presented itself in Heath’s administration of 1970–74. He was as enthusiastic as Heath for early entry into Europe and played a vital role as Solicitor-General in helping to pilot the European Communities Bill through Parliament. With such staunch views on the European issue it may have been salutary for Thatcher to have actually given it ‘much thought at the time’.12 Nevertheless, as a committed classical liberal on fiscal and monetary policy Thatcher was at ease appointing him to the

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Treasury when taking office in 1979. Here he was to gain a feel for international summitry through such meetings as the IMF and G7, international meetings that would be the life-blood of his stay at the Foreign Office. For some decades now academics have commentated on the blurring of the boundaries between the foreign and domestic spheres, but Howe was probably the first Chancellor who had to deal with a qualitative rise in the number of such international meetings which bridged and straddled these spheres in an interdependent world.13 Interestingly, during the Falklands conflict Mrs Thatcher heeded the advice of Harold Macmillan and kept the Treasury at arm’s length from the war, so as not to have financial concerns undermine its full prosecution. One may surmise that Howe felt aggrieved at being excluded from the important decisions on this issue but ironically this was a period when Thatcher and Howe were probably closest, utilising the connecting door between Numbers 10 and 11 Downing Street to have cosy fireside chats on most topics.14

PERSONAL STYLE

The phlegmatic, almost soporific style of Geoffrey Howe is now legendary. His character is that of a lawyer who revels in the minutiae of documents; not one liable to ‘light up’ a room on entry. He is said to have the ability to ‘make dullness an art form’.15 Indeed, in their biography of Howe, Hillman and Clarke view such a style as having distinct advantages for a Foreign Secretary, as the lack of drama that may soothe people to sleep can also defuse over-emotional and potentially dangerous situations.16 Of course, his colleagues could also utilise such talents for the more prosaic situations of low politics. Ken Clarke gives a rather humorous example of this when describing the ‘problems’ of Cabinet government under Thatcher: The problem was how to keep cabinet going because the press would begin to get scornful if we walked out an hour after starting the only full meeting of the week. The result was that Geoffrey Howe was always encouraged to give an extremely long account of the current state of play in foreign affairs. Sometimes it would take the first half to three-quarters of an hour. My problem was that Geoffrey does speak in a very low voice and the cabinet room is quite large. Given that I started right at the end of the cabinet table, he was virtually inaudible. David Young, who sat next to me,


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explained that it didn’t matter. This was a matter of using up time, otherwise the cabinet would end too quickly.17

It is clear that Thatcher possessed an ambivalent attitude towards Howe from the earliest days, from becoming leader of the party in 1975. She praised his economic policies and was particularly laudatory of his achievements when in the office of Chancellor, where he ‘never flinched’ in challenging the Keynesian corporatist orthodoxy of that time. In her estimation he was a fine Chancellor who was a ‘tower of strength’, in stark contrast to the damp colleagues and even to some of the ‘fair-weather monetarists’ of her first Cabinet. Yet, she seriously considered Keith Joseph for the position of shadow Chancellor in 1975.18 Of greater import was the fact that Howe was not her first choice for the post of Foreign Secretary in 1983 either; this was earmarked for Cecil Parkinson. She believed that Parkinson was much more in tune with her own thoughts on foreign policy – ‘that Britain’s interests must come first in foreign policy’. In retrospect she expressed doubts over Howe’s suitability for the post: Geoffrey was, indeed, very good at the business of negotiation of a text line by line, for which his training as a lawyer and his experience at the Treasury fitted him. He was a perfect right-hand man for the European Councils I attended. But he fell under the spell of the Foreign Office where compromise and negotiation were ends in themselves. This magnified his faults and smothered his virtues. In his new department he fell into the habits which the Foreign Office seems to cultivate – a reluctance to subordinate tactics to the national interest … To the extent that Geoffrey did have a cause to guide him in foreign affairs it was one on which we were far apart, though I did not give this much thought at the time.19

Howe believed this simplistic view of the Foreign Office to be rather puerile but he does concede that, if Parkinson had become Foreign Secretary, ‘British foreign policy, towards Europe in particular, might have been pressed much earlier and more decisively in the wrong direction’.20 Of course, Europe is one of the dominant and most divisive issues of modern British politics21 and this was the fulcrum around which other foreign-policy disagreements between Howe and Thatcher crystallised. Yet, as we shall see, divisions ran much deeper and were more fundamental between the two than just those of European policy. If Thatcher and Howe became so far apart on foreign policy and if the relationship was so marred on this issue by dissension and discord then it is certainly quite legitimate for us to ask why? Why

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did a relationship that had included cosy fireside chats end in irreparable estrangement; a split that began in the mid-1980s? Why did Thatcher keep Geoffrey Howe in this office after their dissension was so evident? Why did Howe voluntarily remain in place for so long? There are certainly no clear and simple answers to such conundrums but this chapter offers an insight into the tempestuous relationship and an explanation of why there was a fundamental division in foreign policy between the two. First, in short, Geoffrey Howe was very much more in the mould of a classical liberal and as such was an economic and fiscal ‘soulmate’ of Thatcher. Freedom of choice for the individual in a free-enterprise market economy was an early guiding political principle. He boasts that his early pamphlets, for example Lifeblood of Liberty, 1954, chimed with the views found later in the Institute of Economic Affairs (IEA), founded in 1957; and thus his economic liberalism was very much a core commitment. Indeed, Howe attended meetings of the famous ‘liberal’ Mont Pèlerin Society.22 Moreover, he points out that it was he who cautiously recommended Thatcher to the IEA in 1969, some time before the advent of what we call Thatcherism.23 But that is where Mrs Thatcher’s classical liberalism stops. On foreign policy she was very much the ‘combative Tory’ while Geoffrey Howe retained a fundamental ‘idealist liberal’ approach to such issues.24 Whereas Thatcher was a Tory whose visceral instincts were ‘my country right or wrong’, Howe’s instinctive thought process or Weltanschauung was firmly located within the liberal idealist paradigm. It may be stretching it too far to claim, as Thatcher did, that compromise and negotiation were ends in themselves for Howe but there is no doubt, in the words of Hillman and Clarke, that the key to his ‘approach to foreign affairs lies in dialogue and contact. It is a value in itself, he believes, for understanding and confidence building’.25 Second, their differences on the European issue and foreign policy per se were exacerbated by their diametrically opposed positions on the Atlanticist–European divide within the Conservative Party. As we shall see, Mrs Thatcher’s firmly held conviction that the special relationship with the USA was the first tenet of Conservative foreign policy was equally matched by Howe’s, just as strongly held, conviction that it should be one of European Union. He was in that sense much more like Heath. Such was the strength of this conviction for Howe that it led him to support the collectivist, state interventionist candidate, Michael Heseltine, against Thatcher’s leadership in 1990, in face of a lifetime’s fight against such ‘wet’ ideas in the Conservative Party. This


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conviction is quite evident in one instance where Howe states: ‘how far are we, will we in the future be, wise to base our security on a transatlantic or on a European foundation? … There was always a distinction between Margaret’s instinctive reaction to these questions and my own. Yet the difference was never, as far as I was concerned, an absolute one.’26 Maybe not, but as we shall see it was very much towards the absolute end of any spectrum; and, more importantly, this ‘West–West’ divide was to increasingly colour a competing discourse, a discourse remarkable between a Prime Minister and her Foreign Secretary. We see this remarkable approach, or more specifically approaches, to foreign policy by Howe and Thatcher set out below in different vistas of their foreign policy. In other words ‘the long series of events’ in major foreign-policy areas are critically examined and underpin the claim that a Liberal–combative Tory divide, in conjunction with an Atlanticist–European divide, fundamentally shaped the foreign-policy approach and style of Geoffrey Howe. This approach would end finally in bitter recriminations between himself and Thatcher, and would eventually overshadow not only Howe’s tenure at the Foreign Office but his time in Thatcher’s government as a whole.

CONTEXT AND POLICIES

The West–West vista John Dickie, when describing the actual physical characteristics of the Foreign Office, mentions the five huge murals by Sir Sigismund Goetze completed in 1919. These depict Britannia in various labours, but one in particular – with imagery of handsacross-the-sea that reach out to that great ‘republic of liberty’, America – symbolises the long-standing special relationship between the United Kingdom and the USA.27 With such a theme in mind Mrs Thatcher offered five tenets of Conservative foreign policy, the first of these principles being collective security; security, by not only recognising the American ‘hegemon’ but by enthusiastically welcoming it, along with Britain’s special place beside this hegemonic superpower. Of course, she stated that such ‘American leadership’ would be resented by other powers and by emerging powers, not to mention hypersensitive Europeans, but the special relationship should never be allowed to cool to near freezing

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point.28 Aughey points out that this has been a recurring theme of British foreign policy and, in particular, official Conservative policy has consistently supported the value of the special relationship and the unique quality of the connection and its importance for Britain’s role in the world.29 However, Geoffrey Howe’s view, in line with Heath’s, did not accept this first tenet. Howe states, when setting out his foreign-policy agenda: ‘One perennial item was the management of the UK’s position within the Western alliance – the balance between our special (I tried never to use the word) relationship with the United States and our place in the European Community. I had long regarded this last as the key to all our wider relationships.’30 Events for Howe, almost immediately on taking office in 1983, merely reinforced for him his alternative viewpoint. He faced a baptism of fire with the US invasion of Grenada, in conjunction with the developments inside GCHQ over unionisation, along with heated exchanges over the demand for a British rebate from the European budget and the shooting down of the South Korean passenger KAL007 flight by the Soviets. Howe personally, and on behalf of the government, felt humiliated by events in Grenada. He believed Britain to be a mere pawn in the middle of a US interdepartmental power struggle, between the Pentagon and the State Department. But, whatever the underlying explanation for the US invasion, he suggests that both he and Thatcher were dumbfounded at such a decision: ‘What on earth were we to make of a relationship, special or otherwise, in which a message requesting the benefit of our advice was so quickly succeeded by another which made it brutally clear that that advice was being treated as of no consequence whatsoever?’31 Although an ex-British colony, Grenada was conspicuously within the American sphere of interest and thus the USA was extremely sensitive to Cuban involvement in this area. As reports circulated about the coup, which saw the death of the Marxist leader Maurice Bishop, Howe informed the Commons that he knew of no intention by the Americans to intervene, and the fact that he felt misled by the Americans on this left a bitter aftertaste.32 Indeed, the very night the decision to invade was taken, Monday 24 October 1983, he had addressed the American Bankers’ Association, to whom he intimated just how struck he was ‘by the extraordinary closeness of the relationship between our two countries’.33 Either such sentiments were the sometimes necessary disingenuous platitudes of diplomatic speeches or indeed that aftertaste was in fact a defining moment in his worldview, particularly on West–West relations. We should therefore be wary


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of the retrospective justification of memoirs which by their very nature offer us a coherence to thought which was most probably lacking, or at least less defined, at the time. Whatever the timing of Howe’s circumspection on the relationship with the USA there is no doubting its continuity and its hardening in the aftermath of Grenada. Thatcher, of course, took the contrasting line that short-term difficulties should not be allowed to undermine the long-term alliance, and for her Grenada was explained away as an overreaction to the American disaster in Lebanon, when 242 US servicemen lost their lives. Although US intervention in Lebanon was a failure against terrorism, she retrospectively viewed their intervention in Grenada as a success with the restoration of democracy for the people of Grenada.34 An American dimension was also present in what at first sight may appear a quintessentially domestic problem, the role of unions at GCHQ. This was not only in the sense that a polygraph lie detector had been introduced to this establishment in the wake of the Geoffrey Prime case. Prime, a linguist, had been spying for the Soviet Union and was embarrassingly convicted on the eve of the 1983 general election. In January 1984 a policy was introduced to ban trade unions at GCHQ and over 90 per cent of the workforce had accepted the loss of union rights in the cause of national security. But there was a committed minority who would not accept the £1,000 on offer to forego their union rights; the enduring saga of the perceived persecution of this minority degenerated into such a debacle that Howe was nearly forced to resign over it. Howe wanted a compromise that would allow for union membership, ‘the card in the pocket solution’, which would also protect against any withdrawal of labour or disruption by the unions, but Thatcher would have none of it. It was strongly suggested that the whole affair was in some way due to US pressure because the Americans had lost confidence in the poor performance of GCHQ’s intelligence-gathering role. Rightly, the Americans were worried about intelligence and the damage to this that industrial conflict could rend, but Howe categorically states that the UK needed no urging from the USA on this matter.35 However, the government knew it had a reputation to restore, with Afghanistan and Poland being just two examples of where GCHQ fell far short of what was expected in this area, and the Foreign Secretary could not deny this vital intelligence partnership with the USA.36 But the Foreign Secretary could demur from the American perceived need for a Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI). To Thatcher’s chagrin Howe consistently raised objections and created difficulties

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over the issue of ‘star wars’. When addressing the US Congress in February 1985, Thatcher took the opportunity to give strong public support for SDI but regarded private candour to be the quid pro quo of this support; in private she raised reservations about SDI. However, she was of the opinion that this candour could only be best employed by the absence of her Foreign Secretary Howe and Defence Secretary Heseltine; in any future private dealings with Washington both these ministers would be left out of the loop,37 particularly after Charles Powell became, in effect, her ‘national security adviser’. In fact, Howe was more inclined to ally any ‘independent nuclear deterrent’ with the French. One month later Howe took the opportunity of a speech to the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI) to make the private reservations public. His basic argument was that the Americans were in danger of stimulating a new arms race rather than curbing it or enhancing deterrence. To add insult to injury for Thatcher the Foreign Office rated his speech a striking and pathfinding contribution to the debate while right-wing Americans were supposedly infuriated by it. Indeed, Richard Perle merely thought it proved an old axiom of geometry that length was no substitute for depth. Three weeks after the RUSI speech Howe was startled to find that Radio Prague had broadcast the text of the speech in full and he positively revelled in the idea that he was seen on both sides of the Iron Curtain as an independent participant in the East–West debate.38 Of course this idea of Howe as an independent participant sat very uneasily with Thatcher’s view on the special relationship, with the USA as Britain’s most loyal ally. Indeed, in Howe’s first year as Foreign Secretary he attended an intimate ceremony where the Queen conferred an honorary knighthood on Caspar Weinberger, the US Defence Secretary, for the ‘quite exceptional services he had rendered to promote the safety of British soldiers, sailors and airmen during the Falklands conflict’.39 The East–West vista It would be stretching the point too far to declare Geoffrey Howe the last Cold War Foreign Secretary but there is no doubt that he was the incumbent, and an influential player for the government, when the substantive thaw took place. Although, as late as 1987, he was not expecting the Soviets to dismantle their system40 he did indeed help smooth the path to better relations between the USSR and the UK. Howe played a part in the important East–West dialogue leading up to the Iron Curtain’s eventual demise and he


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must be credited for his consistent and tenacious advocacy of human rights when dealing with the East. In his dealings with the Soviet authorities Howe had a distinct advantage with his access to the intelligence secrets supplied by Oleg Gordievski, the KGB’s number two at the USSR embassy in London. From the information gleaned from this source, Howe was initially struck by the fact that the Soviets actually believed their own rhetoric; it was not merely propaganda that they knew to be false. He argues that the West’s rhetoric, particularly in the first years of the Reagan and Thatcher administrations, was counterproductive and merely reinforced the siege mentality of the Soviets. He gives, as an explicit example of this, the Soviet reaction to the rhetoric in the wake of the shooting down of the Korean airliner KAL 007 in September 1983. ‘It took the Soviets several days to be sure that their blundering was the cause of this tragedy. But blundering it was. Yet within hours the American authorities, at almost every level, were proclaiming it a piece of deliberately calculated, cold-blooded Soviet wickedness. The principal effect of this simplistic overreaction came near to convincing Moscow, Andropov included, that the whole incident had somehow been contrived, as a cunning trap, by the CIA.’41 But this understanding of Soviet fears did not in the least attenuate his robust defence of liberal democratic values and human rights. The old Soviet state, one may even say the ‘evil empire’, was symbolised by Foreign Minister Gromyko’s 27 years in that position. For Howe, Gromyko epitomised the unyielding and intractable side of Soviet diplomacy. Howe doggedly raised human-rights concerns with him, but on many occasions Gromyko pointedly ignored them or dismissed them out of hand. On a third occasion within a matter of months in 1984, at the New York General Assembly in September of that year, Howe ‘raised the same human-rights names with him as we left the table to take our coffee when no one else was within earshot. His reply was just as prompt and even more brutal: “Sakharov”, he said, taking up one of my names apparently at random, “Sakharov. That is Russian for sugar. No thank you. I don’t take sugar with my coffee.” He was grinning dismissively. As far as he was concerned that was it.’42 This forceful and principled commitment to human rights was a constant in Howe’s relations with Eastern Europe. So much so in fact that he was prepared to ruffle the feathers of the communist authorities on his visits behind the Iron Curtain, to the extent of engaging in machinations with dissidents. After having consulted with East German Protestants and a Czech cardinal he socialised

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with his Czechoslovak hosts in March 1985, singing in a tavern, while his Foreign Office officials kept a secret rendezvous with the dissidents of Charter 77 to discuss abuses of human rights. A few nights later he was to attend the grave of Father Jerzy Popieluszko in Poland, a moving ceremony that was viewed as a calculated snub to the authorities and a symbolic act of freedom. As Hillman and Clarke put it: Le Monde summed up his trip as affecting the case for human rights in ‘a spectacular fashion’. Meanwhile the London Times’ main leader column declared that it was the first time a British Foreign Secretary, let alone a European foreign minister, had made it abundantly clear that any serious improvement in arms control and economic development with the Soviet bloc depended fundamentally on advances in human freedoms within that system.43

The intractable and unyielding Soviet façade was about to experience a qualitative change with the deaths in quick succession of the old Soviet stalwarts, Andropov and Chernenko. And the British were to play a vital part in identifying the future leader of the new era and establishing contact with him. Working on information from the Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau and intelligence from Gordievski, Gorbachev, as the most promising candidate, was invited to Britain on the ingenious pretext that the Conservative House of Commons foreign affairs party committee had invited him: this was because of Gorbachev’s position as chairman of the Supreme Soviet’s foreign affairs committee. Howe had strongly intimated that Gorbachev could meet the Prime Minister if he were to accept the invitation. Contact was duly made and in December 1984 it was quickly established that Gorbachev was ‘a man to do business with’; ‘four hours of conversation that changed the shape of our world’.44 When Chernenko finally passed away the British now had a head start in a communicative channel to the new Soviet leader. When Eduard Shevardnadze replaced Gromyko, the outlook for UK–Soviet relations was considerably rosier. There were of course the frequent occasions when friction would arise over security matters, like the time when Gordievski was found to be a British spy and was smuggled out of the Soviet Union in July 1985 with the inevitable tit-for-tat expulsions that followed. But, all in all, the new Soviet leadership was more responsive to arguments on human rights and more willing to do business on arms, which led directly to the historic Gorbachev–Reagan agreement on the substantial reduction of strategic nuclear weapons in December 1987. And moreover,


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along with the perceptible melting of the ice in East–West relations, the prospect for a better and safer future was firmly put in place. An African punchball Both Thatcher and Howe took Gordievski’s reports about his Soviet masters extremely seriously. Howe stresses that each found opportunities to warn allies and friends of the genuineness of Soviet fears. One of these opportunities was the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) in November 1983 in New Delhi. Tanzania’s Julius Nyerere made an emphatic point that it was when the powerful were frightened that the world really felt nervous; he gave a Swahili proverb about the grass suffering when the elephants fight. Thatcher joined in to express the sentiments that any hope of influencing others was only likely through the medium of contact. Howe adds: ‘It was a useful coalescing of ideas, for which the Commonwealth offered unique opportunities. What a pity it is, I mused then and thereafter, that American leaders have no opportunity to enjoy such relaxed exchanges.’45 Later events were to prove anything but relaxed and added to the tensions between the Prime Minister and her Foreign Secretary. The rift between Britain and her Commonwealth partners over further sanctions towards South Africa was matched in intensity by the rift between Howe and Thatcher themselves on the issue. Howe believed that Thatcher’s absolutist views on such issues undermined the British position. She failed, in his eyes, to understand or empathise with such groups as black people in Soweto, Palestinians in the Gaza strip and nationalists in the Bogside. It was wrong to negatively colour one’s view of these groups because of terrorist campaigns, as Thatcher, in his eyes, had done.46 He was of the opinion that this militated against Thatcher reading the strident signals now emanating from their Commonwealth colleagues. An example of this was the press conference held by Thatcher after some form of consensus had been reached at the CHOGM in Bermuda in October 1985. It was agreed not to extend sanctions in any fundamental way until a group of Commonwealth eminent persons had conducted an investigative and mediatory mission to South Africa and reported back. But Thatcher, in the press conference immediately after the summit, with the provocative imagery of her thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart, stated she had moved ‘only a little bit’. For Howe, ‘with four little words she had at one and the same time humiliated three dozen heads

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of government, devalued the policy on which they had just agreed – and demeaned herself’.47 But Howe did not directly challenge her as he sat alongside her facing the press or indeed on the way back from Bermuda or even later back home in Britain. Time and tiredness seemed to be the retrospective justification for no challenge.48 Indeed, Mrs Thatcher subsequently tried to persuade Howe to become one of those ‘eminent persons’, and she readily admits to being a touch insensitive in suggesting that she could cope with both their jobs while he was in Africa as an eminent person.49 But in June 1985 at the European Council in the Hague, it was agreed, notwithstanding his extreme reluctance, to send Howe, as a sort of lone eminent person to Africa to press for reform. His reluctance was more than justified, as he was to face a barrage of abuse and hostility from both black and white politicians alike. Howe’s character, it has been suggested, is ideally suited for such thankless tasks. Hillman and Clarke describe him as a ‘wellbalanced buoy, which remains upright whatever the height, strength and power of the waves’.50 And he was certainly buffeted by the waves of indignation he faced in Africa, especially from Zambia’s President Kaunda who lectured him in front of the television cameras as if he were ‘a petty thief before a pompous magistrate’.51 He faced a similar humiliation, thankfully in private, from Botha of South Africa. Where others would have walked out in face of such provocation Howe’s character led him to stick with it whatever the battering and usually his style was more towards ‘soothing people to sleep’ in such volatile situations. This liberal idealist viewpoint is markedly clear in a post-diplomatic session press conference held in Pretoria: ‘I represent not just twelve governments [Britain had the European presidency at the time], but values that have been forged in the fires of two world wars: reconciliation, not conflict; consent, not coercion; justice and freedom, not domination … All I can say to every side is that talking can solve many problems however difficult, and violence few.’52 Indeed, Paul Sharp utilised Howe’s phrase to stress the British approach at the time, that South Africa would reform, sooner rather than later, because it was confronted by ‘the overwhelming weight of commonsense’ and not because it was faced by threats.53 But such an approach and style did not always impress his leader. Thatcher did not easily accept concession as a diplomatic strategy. Even over the ‘successful’ negotiations on Hong Kong, Thatcher baulked at the advice from Howe and the Foreign


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Office that she should ‘concede early in the talks that British administration would not continue’.54 Ming vase relations One notable success for Howe as Foreign Secretary was his benchmark agreement with China over the future of Hong Kong post-1997 when the vast bulk of the colonial territory was to revert to Chinese control. Indeed, while later commenting on this, he seemed particularly struck by Deng Xiaoping’s apt aphorism of ‘one country, two systems’ as a final summary of the arrangements: ‘It is astonishing how the key to a negotiation can be found in four words like that – one country, China, two systems, communism and capitalism. Once you are taught the value of a four word slogan of that kind you find yourself using the same technique on far too many occasions.’55 Hong Kong, for Howe, was one more of those colonial problems that was left over from history. When Howe took office in 1983 the 1997 deadline, when the colony would revert back to Chinese control, was looming large on the horizon. And there was not much to bargain with. Britain had just 8 per cent of the colony in perpetuity but water and other supplies could so easily be cut off by the Chinese to this part of the territory. This, then, was the hand that Howe had been dealt and was expected to negotiate with in his dealings with the Chinese. It may be suggested that Howe’s character, personality and skills were entirely suited for this sort of negotiation, where there was no real alternative on offer. In 1984 he informed the people of Hong Kong that there could be no realistic possibility of continued British administration after 1997. But he first had to convince Thatcher herself of the realities of the situation. Howe states that his team did prepare with massive thoroughness and care for the forensic approach needed for such negotiations with the Chinese. To diminish the confrontational atmosphere implicit in this forensic approach he ‘designed a series of metaphors which might serve to range us all on the same side’. He further stated: In my opening talk with Wu [Foreign Minister], for example, I likened Hong Kong to a Ming vase – an object of priceless value, which we were engaged in handing over just like the baton in a relay race. If we were not to risk the disaster of dropping the vase, we simply had to get our thinking in line with each other. So at the first banquet I asked Wu the age of a particularly striking candelabra on the table. ‘Not more than three hundred years old’, he answered.

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 I proclaimed my delight with the style of this reply. ‘If you had been American’, I said, ‘you would certainly have said it was “Well over two hundred and fifty years old” – but each of us, from a greater national maturity, can afford a little historical understatement.’56

The negotiations with the Chinese throughout 1984 were extremely arduous and progress was painstakingly slow. His meetings with the Chinese leader, Deng Xiaoping, were fraught with that ‘forensic atmosphere’ and Howe had the House of Commons as well as Hong Kong legislature to report back to on any initiatives raised or any progress that developed. The solution of course was to be based on the Chinese idea of ‘one country, two systems’; the final agreement was a joint declaration announced by Howe in October 1984: and the deal was signed by Thatcher in December 1984: ‘We have agreed … the framework and key issues of an agreement which will preserve Hong Kong’s unique economic system and way of life … Hong Kong’s economic and social systems, its distinctive way of life and its position as a financial and industrial centre will be secured.’57 Deng, it should be noted, had a much different view of the status of certain nations, like the USA, in the international pecking order: ‘He [Deng] was full of enthusiasm for the Joint Declaration. Continued investment into Hong Kong would continue, he said, since the Americans and Japanese governments had assured him of that – “so there’s no need to bother about all the other less important countries, Indians and people like that”.’58 The joint declaration was seen as Howe’s greatest achievement as Foreign Secretary,59 ideally suited to his mastery for detail and painstaking approach. As Andrew McEwen of The Times cleverly put it: ‘Geoffrey Howe is the slow drip of water on stone that eventually breaks through.’60 Of course, we should note that this was one vista where the tenacious battler for human rights, doggedly raising such issues with the Soviets, was relatively absent. The realist and pragmatist displaced the liberal idealist in this instance. Howe was well aware of the concerns and fears of the Hong Kong people who, he believed, viewed him as the architect of their more fearful future. This pragmatism is quite evident in his comments on the subsequent events since the joint declaration: Inevitably they have been overshadowed by the deeply symbolic clash in Tiananmen Square. For many people, in China as well as outside, that has been seen as proof positive of the ruthlessness with which a quarter of the human race will always be denied real political reform. For many others, perhaps more in China itself than


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elsewhere, it has been seen as a deeply regrettable, but perhaps unavoidable, hazard of preserving the stability that is essential, if economic (and so political) progress for that quarter of the human race is to match that of the rest of mankind.61

The European vista If the Hong Kong settlement was to be considered his greatest achievement then the lack of a comprehensive settlement over Gibraltar was considered by Howe to be the marked failure of his tenure at the Foreign Office.62 He could not conceive why two ancient European states such as Spain and Britain could not reach agreement on Gibraltar. After all, for Howe the European Community should have banished such atavistic territorial claims to the historical rubbish tip where any pure idea of the concept of sovereignty had long been dumped.63 Although agreement was reached in February 1984 on reopening the border between Gibraltar and Spain and for there to be further discussions on sovereignty after Spain was a fully integrated member of the European Community, it is nevertheless instructive that this was the issue which pained Howe so much for him to rank it his clearest failure. The European/Atlanticist divide in international outlook was at its clearest in the Howe/Thatcher approaches to the issue of European Union. He readily admits that they would both have different instinctive responses to a European or an American bugle-call, while she believed that his ‘misty Europeanism, along with his liberal views, gave her government no end of trouble’.64 This, then, was the policy divide that created the greatest disharmony in the later Thatcher governments. However, not long after becoming Foreign Secretary, Howe, in tandem with Thatcher, was to take part in the acrimonious negotiations to obtain a British rebate from the European budget contributions. Britain had been paying over the odds for years because of its position vis-à-vis the Common Agricultural Policy and the fact that it also traded widely outside the Community, which generated greater contributions to this customs union. At the Fontainebleau summit in June 1984 Thatcher managed to obtain a 66 per cent refund but she was at first not content to settle for anything less than 70 per cent. Although Thatcher viewed Howe’s exertions on this issue as praiseworthy, even then she had her doubts about his resolve. At a Foreign Ministers’ meeting the figure of 50–60 per cent was discussed and she said of Howe: ‘How Geoffrey, who had been splendidly staunch in the negotiations so far, had

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allowed the Foreign Ministers to reach such a conclusion I could not understand.’65 The following year in the lead up to, and at, the Milan summit of 1985 relations between the two on Europe were to sour considerably, and this was the basis on which all future antagonisms took shape. In short, Howe thought Thatcher’s combative approach to European negotiations was totally wrongheaded, but she would not accept anything that to her smacked of dreamy federalism. All Thatcher wanted was practical cooperation without the need for Inter-Governmental Conferences (IGC) or treaty reforms, particularly if it meant opening up the market to greater competition. But to get that greater market competition in the Single European Act of 1986 Britain did indeed have to face future IGCs and treaty reforms. This was the time, she says, when she began to question both ‘the fair dealing and good faith in discussions between the heads of governments and with the European Commission’.66 Interestingly, Nigel Lawson dismisses such retrospective justification by Thatcher in his review of Thatcher’s latest work Statecraft: Thatcher refers to ‘an ugly streak of anti-Americanism’ in much European rhetoric. A fair point, but no excuse for the regrettable streak of anti-Europeanism – in particular anti-German and antiFrench sentiment – which disfigure this book and notably the key chapter on Europe, the EU and Britain’s relationship with it. This is perhaps partly because she feels guilty for having, as Prime Minister in 1985, signed up to the Single European Act, the first substantial amendment to the Rome Treaty, with its commitment to economic and monetary union. She now claims she was misled and betrayed, but this is unconvincing. As Chancellor at the time, I warned her in writing not to agree to an Act which contained anything about EMU, but she chose not to take my advice.67

The mid-1980s saw the moment when Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister took up fundamentally different viewpoints and divergent paths on the crucial question of Europe. Although Howe accepted that in order to carry the free-market case, Britain faced social and environmental concerns that were not foreseeable or even legitimate by virtue of the Single European Act,68 he nevertheless accepted such a culture as communautaire. He did wonder why EU business always had to be ‘at break neck speed’ particularly when other business, from previous meetings, had not been concluded. It was ‘one damn thing after another’ on a ‘remorselessly moving carpet’.69 But again he was perfectly at ease with this continuing ratchet of European integration, while


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Thatcher most definitely was not. She maintains: ‘His willingness to compromise reflected partly his temperament, partly the Foreign Office’s déformation professionelle … And the more the Community moved in a centralised direction the more influential the Foreign Office became in Whitehall. Inevitably, perhaps, Geoffrey had a slightly more accommodating view of federalism than I did.’70 For his part, Howe never tired of reiterating Britain’s commitment to Europe as irreversible and of espousing the idea that Britain was engaged in helping to ‘build the common European identity to which we all aspire’.71 From around 1985 onwards Thatcher was to continually ‘joust’ with her Foreign Secretary and Chancellor of the Exchequer (Lawson) over the European Monetary System (EMS), the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) and the idea of a single currency through European monetary union (EMU). But the jousting was complicated by the fact that there was no simple division among the three protagonists on these questions, which is clear from Lawson’s remarks outlined above. Indeed there was a three-way split on the idea of a European monetary process. Lawson and Thatcher were against the single currency idea, while Howe and Lawson accepted the ERM but Howe alone of the three was amenable to the single currency. However, Howe, supported by Lawson, argued that accepting stage one of the Delors Plan72 for monetary union (that is, showing good faith by joining the ERM) could ward off any necessary link to full blown EMU. But Thatcher had no trust in this approach; in fact, she increasingly circumvented the Foreign Office and relied on her advisers and Number 10 officials, particularly Alan Walters and Charles Powell, for advice and guidance on such issues. This approach led to the distinctly sceptical speech which was delivered in Bruges in September 1988 and which did so much to ‘deeply dismay’ her Foreign Secretary. Relations were to get worse, if one can actually conceive of that, Thatcher feeling that Howe was conspiring against her and using Lawson in the process. Thatcher believed Howe to be an extremely ambitious man, notwithstanding his gentle and quiet persona, who had a passionate ambition to reach the top of the greasy pole by displacing her.73 Events leading up to the Madrid European Council on the 26 June 1989 eventually brought the festering relations to a head and would lead to the sacking of Howe from the Foreign Office one month later in July and the eventual downfall of all of them. Of course, the heated debate concerned their respective positions on ERM and EMU and two meetings between the Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary and Chancellor on 20 and 25 June 1989,

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just before the Madrid summit, were crucial to such a denouement. However, Stephens points out that, rather than Howe and Lawson working in concert against Thatcher on the issue of ERM entry, it was more often than not the case that they ploughed their own furrows.74 But the run up to the Madrid summit was in fact an exception when, in a series of private meetings between the Foreign Secretary and Chancellor, the idea of a joint paper to shape the government’s position on ERM at Madrid was aired.75 Stephens states: ‘Lawson recalled subsequently that Howe was the moving force in the Madrid démarche. The Whitehall record, however, shows that it was the chancellor who formally made the first move. He instructed Timothy Lankester, the Treasury official responsible for monetary affairs, to start work on a memorandum.’76 When this Madrid memorandum was discussed at the first of the fateful meetings on 20 June, Thatcher was dismissive of the pressure emanating from both her Chancellor and Foreign Secretary for membership of the ERM. Indeed, Howe believed that she took far greater notice of the advice she received from her advisers (including Alan Walters and Brian Griffiths) the previous evening.77 At the next meeting on 25 June, virtually hours before Howe and Thatcher left for Madrid, Nigel Lawson and Geoffrey Howe then backed their commitment to ERM entry with a declaration of intent to resign. With such a threat hanging over her Thatcher was indeed more emollient in her dealings at Madrid, in effect agreeing to ERM entry. But later she made great play over the omission of a start date for such an enterprise, which questioned the whole idea of the time for joining ever being ‘right or ripe’.78 Indeed, Howe’s own comments on this are instructive in highlighting the relevant power base of each office: As subsequent history made clear, Nigel’s resignation alone would not have sufficed. It would have been taken, as four years later indeed it was, in Margaret’s stride. Had two or three of us come together to threaten the same course, we could perhaps have carried the matter forward. But even that method, after careful and perfectly proper preparation of the kind that Nigel and I gave it in 1989, was capable, as events again showed, of being out-manoeuvred.79


From the above examination of Geoffrey Howe’s time at the Foreign Office, it is clearly evident that there was a competing discourse


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between a Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister. This relationship between Thatcher and Howe was quite remarkable not least because it is generally held that a close relationship and good understanding is needed between a Prime Minister and a Foreign Secretary to enable the Foreign Secretary to pursue a firm and coherent policy.80 But this was certainly not the case between Howe and Thatcher. Thatcher was to increasingly rely on her own advisers, for example Powell and Walters, as she formed the opinion that Howe was too readily prepared for compromise, with a strong inference that he would not put British interests first. Howe himself accepted that their relationship had degenerated into two competing camps. When speaking of, what for him was his greatest foreign-policy achievement, the settlement for Hong Kong, he outlined his response to Deng’s apt four-word aphorism of ‘one country, two systems’ by offering one of his own ‘one game, two teams’. He accepted that there was much value in this four-word slogan to describe his time in the Foreign Office in Thatcher’s governments.81 Ironically, then, when Howe was Foreign Secretary a slogan of ‘one government, two foreign policies’ was a particular apt description of the increasing bitter relations between himself and Thatcher. This philosophical clash of competing views and approaches between the Prime Minister and her Foreign Secretary over policy began in the mid-1980s. It smouldered on throughout his incumbency with the final manifestation of bitterness so evident in the resignation speech, which delineated his reasons for leaving her government in 1990 – reasons that were very much anchored in foreign-policy disputes, particularly on issues of Europe and the relationship with the USA. Indeed, this chapter started with a reference to the putative Thatcher revolution but it may be postulated that the Foreign Office was a governmental redoubt against such a revolution, in the sense that it may well have been the last bastion of Heath’s influence, since, ironically, Foreign Secretaries Howe, Carrington, Pym and Hurd were all ‘Heath men’ of a sort. In fact, Sharp states: ‘What is clear, however, is that throughout her tenure, Thatcher never established firm control of the practical execution of British foreign policy. To begin with, of course, she did not care to and was content to leave the Foreign Office to itself and those in the Conservative Party who were least in sympathy with her.’82 Practical considerations of space necessitated the omission of many other vistas that could have been examined. But whatever the long series of events under examination we would have found

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a similar clash of worldview, be it the bombing of Libya in April 1986, to face down terrorism, or even the Westland crisis faced by Thatcher in 1986. Even though the Westland board had wanted the American partnership option Howe’s heart was still with Michael Heseltine whose eleventh-hour search for a European solution he very much supported. Indeed, he seemed cock-a-hoop that Heseltine had previously triumphed over the purchase of a European fighter aircraft rather than an Anglo-American one, or an all British one, which Thatcher wanted.83 This of course could all be explained by the actions of a deeply ambitious man with eyes upon the one last push to reach the top of the greasy pole. Indeed, Howe suggests that the greater volume of solo travel was part of the problem of their thinking drifting apart but admits to fits of pique when travelling as her number two. ‘Certainly I was never too happy to be travelling as Margaret’s number two – not least, I suppose, because of her unquenchable tendency to play second fiddle as well as first. But like other Foreign Ministers, not to mention my own predecessors, I feared that separate summitry on her part might lead to divergence on key questions.’84 Like most politicians, of course, he was ambitious, particularly being so close to that ultimate goal, but there was also a fundamental ideological clash to consider. Both were very close economically as classical liberals but Howe was very much the liberal idealist who looked to Europe first and foremost, as a supranationalist solution for finding a role for Britain in the world. Indeed, if we accept Paul Sharp’s distinction between foreignpolicy interests and diplomacy, then it is quite evident that Howe could be categorised more as the diplomat than the assertive minister in pursuit of British interests.85 Howe’s views on the relationship (remember he never liked to use the term special) with the USA he believed to be a ‘good de-poodlification’ exercise,86 as he did not like Thatcher’s administrations to be viewed as Reagan’s poodle. But he never seemed to take stock or see the need for a ‘good de-poodlification’ vis-à-vis Europe. Moreover, Howe’s memoirs are replete with approbation for his actions from the left-of-centre press, while more often than not the opprobrium emanates from the natural Tory newspapers. He never seems to see the relevance in this either. Attlee is quoted as using the proverb ‘if you have a good dog don’t bark yourself’ and expressing his opinion that in Mr Bevin he had an exceptionally good dog.87 Mrs Thatcher no doubt was of the opinion that she did not have a good dog, thus her need to bark herself.


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NOTES 1. Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (London: HarperCollins, 1993), p. 757. 2. Geoffrey Howe, Conflict of Loyalty (London: Macmillan, 1994), p. 3. 3. Geoffrey Howe,‘Sovereignty, Democracy and Human Rights’, Political Quarterly, 66, 3 (1995), pp. 127 and 137. 4. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 348. Thatcher was in fact reported in the Sunday Telegraph (19 November 2000) as having said – tongue only half in cheek – that her downfall ‘was entirely the result of a Welsh conspiracy, hatched by those sons of the valleys, Michael Heseltine, Geoffrey Howe and Tristan-Garrel Jones’. ‘You can’t trust the Welsh’ she added. 5. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 4. 6. Ibid., p. 14. 7. Avi Shlaim, Peter Jones and Keith Sainsbury, British Foreign Secretaries since 1945 (Newton Abbot: David & Charles, 1977), p. 23. 8. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 323. 9. Ibid., p. 11. Howe reiterated that he had this ‘life long attachment’ to such ideas when interviewed at the House of Lords, 12 March 2001. 10. W. H. Greenleaf, The British Political Tradition, vol. II: The Ideological Heritage (London: Routledge, 1983), p. 89. 11. In the House of Lords interview, 12 March 2001, it should be noted that Lord Howe thought this was true ‘up to a point’, although he stressed that the diversity of his formative experiences could draw one away from that conclusion also and that he would rather stress this diversity, a mélange or a ‘thousand different streams of thought’, which, for him, was the very important aspect of such formative experiences. 12. See Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 309 and footnote 18 below. 13. See William Wallace, Foreign Policy and the Political Process (London: Macmillan, 1971) and Steve Smith, ‘Foreign and Defence Policy’, in Patrick Dunleavy et al., Developments in British Politics 3 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1991). 14. Interview with Lord Howe, House of Lords, 12 March 2001, and see Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 246 and 393–4. 15. John Dickie, The Boys on the Bongo Bus: The Media and Travelling Diplomacy (Luton: University of Luton Press, 1997), p. 71. 16. J. Hillman and P. Clarke, Geoffrey Howe: A Quiet Revolutionary (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1988), p. 163. 17. John Barnes, ‘Clarke on Cabinet Government’, LSE Magazine, Winter 1999, p. 10. 18. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 26. 19. Ibid., p. 309. 20. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 296. See Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 310, where she explains that the revelations of Cecil Parkinson’s affair with his former secretary, Sara Keays, made it ‘immediately obvious [she] could not send Cecil to the Foreign Office’. 21. See David Baker and David Seawright, Britain For and Against Europe: British Politics and the Question of European Integration (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998). 22. Richard Cockett, Thinking the Unthinkable (London: HarperCollins, 1994), ch. 3. 23. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 30. 24. See Philip Norton and Arthur Aughey, Conservatives and Conservatism (London: Temple Smith, 1981), ch. 2 passim, for such Tory and Whiggery strands in Conservative thought. See also Paul Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy: The Revival of British Foreign Policy (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), introduction passim, about Mrs Thatcher’s ‘economic liberalism’ and ‘political nationalism’. 25. Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, p. 180. 26. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 387. 27. John Dickie, Inside the Foreign Office (London: Chapmans, 1992), p. 9. 28. Margaret Thatcher, The Path to Power (London: HarperCollins, 1995), pp. 518 and 469. 29. Arthur Aughey, ‘The Party and Foreign Policy’, in Philip Norton (ed.), The Conservative Party (London: Prentice Hall/Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1996), p. 201. 30. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 308.

180 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63.

64. 65. 66. 67. 68.


Ibid., p. 329. Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, p. 153. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 329. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 334. The last civil service strike was in March 1981 and lasted for five months. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, ch. 23 passim. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 469. See Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, ch. 17 passim; Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, ch. 26 passim; and Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, ch. 16 passim, for a full account of these events. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 323. Lecture given at Chatham House in London, quoted in Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, p. 179. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 350. Ibid., p. 352. Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, pp. 1–2. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 358. Ibid., pp. 350–1. Ibid., p. 477. Ibid., p. 483. Ibid., p. 484. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 518. Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, p. 152. Dickie, Boys on the Bongo Bus, p. 149. Hillman and Clarke, Geoffrey Howe, pp. 163–4. Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy, p. 230. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 489. It should be noted that Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 366, declares that, as he was not installed in the Foreign Office until June 1983, thus it would have been hard for him to have offered advice to her to ‘concede’. But if one reads Thatcher one sees that it is possible she was referring to the summer of that year, up to September 1983. In any case it is the sentiments that are of importance here. Hillman and Clarke, Geoffery Howe, p. 156. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 370. Ibid., p. 378. Ibid., p. 377. This was readily accepted by Lord Howe at an interview in the House of Lords, 12 March 2001. Dickie, Boys on the Bongo Bus, p. 159. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 382. Interview with Lord Howe, House of Lords, 12 March 2001. Howe held this to be true for the concept of parliamentary sovereignty also: ‘The most important effect of the European Community on Britain in the last two decades has been, I believe, to call into question the reality, if not the myth, of parliamentary sovereignty. … As significant, from the point of view of the House of Commons, has been the effect of the EC in broadening our notion of sovereignty, so that it can no longer simply be seen as synonymous with parliamentary power’; see G. Howe, Britain and the European Community: A Twenty-year Balance Sheet (London: Tory Reform Group, 1994), p. 5. However, it should be pointed out that on two vital occasions, 1972 and 1992, the Conservative Party relied on the ‘pure’ concept of parliamentary sovereignty, utilising the support of Labour rebels in order to get the European Communities Accession Bill and the European Amendment (Maastricht) Bill into law. It was thought to be too great a risk to rely on the sovereignty of the people, through a referendum, on these occasions. See Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 397 and Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, pp. 309–10. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 543. Ibid., p. 551. Nigel Lawson, ‘Vigorous, Inimitable, at Times Absurd’, Sunday Telegraph, 5 May 2002, p. 12. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 457–8.

Geoffrey Howe, 1983–89 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87.

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Ibid., p. 533. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 550. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 404. The Delors committee was one of a group of central bank heads, set up to enquire into EMU as a result of the Hanover European Council in June 1988 and chaired by the Commission President himself. Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, p. 712. Philip Stephens, Politics and the Pound: The Tories, the Economy and Europe (London: Macmillan, 1997), p. 113. Ibid., p. 114. Ibid., pp. 114–15. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 579. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, chs 38 and 39 passim and Thatcher, The Downing Street Years, ch. 24 passim. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, pp. 450–1. See Chapter 1 in this volume. Interview with Lord Howe in the House of Lords, 12 March 2001. Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy, p. 241. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, ch. 31 passim. Ibid., p. 394. See Sharp, Thatcher’s Diplomacy, pp. 238–46. Howe, Conflict of Loyalty, p. 543. Shlaim et al., British Foreign Secretaries since 1945, p. 29.

8

John Major: Foreign Secretary, July–October 1989 Damian Thwaites

John Major’s period as Foreign Secretary was notable both for the unexpectedness of his appointment, and its brevity. In post at the FCO for just 94 days, Major was the shortest-serving Foreign Secretary of the post-war era. He followed the career path of three Foreign Secretaries who have gone on to become Prime Minister in the post-war period: Harold Macmillan, Alec Douglas-Home1 and James Callaghan. Major’s three-month period interregnum as Foreign Secretary witnessed the beginning of tumultuous decline that led to the fall of Mrs Thatcher. In November 1990, barely a year after leaving the FCO, John Major became Prime Minister.

CAREER

John Major’s elevation to the post of Foreign Secretary was arguably one of the least anticipated Cabinet appointments in British politics. His meteoric rise is on a par with Selwyn Lloyd, who was a junior Cabinet minister, and David Owen, who succeeded to the job from outside the Cabinet. The distinguishing feature of John Major’s political career, however, is the remarkable rapidity of its progression. Inside a decade, he graduated from the back benches to the highest Cabinet posts. John Major entered Parliament in 1979 for the rock-solid Conservative seat of Huntingdon. A member of the ‘wet’-inclined blue-chip dining group in the Conservative Party, Major associated with, inter alia, Chris Patten. His position in the party would not

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automatically suggest his isolation by Mrs Thatcher as a candidate ripe, or ready, for promotion to the government ranks. Yet, in 1981, less than two years after he became a member of Parliament, Mrs Thatcher gave him his first opportunity on the government ladder, as a whip. Critical, it seems, in Mrs Thatcher’s decision to mark out Major for great heights was a contretemps between the Prime Minister and her assistant whip over a minor matter of party discipline at a Number 10 function in June 1985. Major’s apparent readiness to engage in vigorous argument made up her mind to promote him hastily. Major himself later presciently remarked, ‘not for the first or the last time, Margaret Thatcher had surprised me’.2 From this point, John Major’s subsequent rise through the junior ranks of government was uncontroversial and almost imperceptible, albeit jumping from Parliamentary UnderSecretary to Minister of State at the Department for Social Security (DSS) in two years. His reward came with appointment to the Cabinet in 1987 as Chief Secretary to the Treasury, number two to Chancellor, Nigel Lawson. Major’s ministerial profile, however, lacked experience of the FCO. Domestic political context John Major’s appointment as Foreign Secretary on 25 July 1989 was sensational, although Tristan Garel-Jones,3 deputy chief whip, apparently forewarned Major that the Foreign Office would at least be a possibility in the impending Cabinet reshuffle.4 Mrs Thatcher’s apparent readiness to catapult John Major into the front rank of her government, coupled with the dissension that characterised the relationship between her and her two most senior Cabinet colleagues, provided the real career opening for John Major. The schism over the European question that set her apart from Nigel Lawson and Sir Geoffrey Howe was palpable, and ultimately unsustainable. As Chapter 7 demonstrates, Mrs Thatcher’s decision to replace Sir Geoffrey Howe as an act of revenge for the Lawson–Howe axis at the 1989 Madrid European Council was personally wounding to him. He had contemplated resignation at that time from the Cabinet altogether, but stayed in the post of Deputy Prime Minister.5 Having dispensed with Howe, and with Nigel Lawson still at the Treasury, Mrs Thatcher needed to fill a vacuum at the FCO. In discussing the appointment with her, Major opined that either Douglas Hurd, a former diplomat, or Nigel Lawson, who coveted the post, would be more suitable candidates. Dismissing such

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suggestions without comment, the Prime Minister stated ‘I want someone there who thinks as I do.’6 She displayed a reflexive froideur towards the Foreign Office, if not particular individuals, such as Charles Powell, her foreign affairs private secretary, and Sir David Hannay, UK permanent representative to the European Union. In her view, Sir Geoffrey Howe had to go because he was imbued with a sense of a Foreign Office ethos she abhorred. Thus, the motivation and opportunity for Major’s appointment as Foreign Secretary arose from the tangled web of domestic politics. According to her plan, Mrs Thatcher had privately anointed Major as her successor; her protégé would demonstrate his public credentials, first as Foreign Secretary, then as Chancellor of the Exchequer after the election.7 Despite Mrs Thatcher’s plans for him, Major later revealed that he would have liked to remain at the Treasury.8 Nor, as Major would later reveal, did his wife Norma wish to see him as Foreign Secretary because of the entertaining and travel commitments.9 The key relationship in need of repair, therefore, was between Number 10 and the FCO. To this end, one of Major’s early moves was to reconnect a mutually antipathetic relationship. Major scotched what he – and Mrs Thatcher – regarded as selective Foreign Office briefing.10 However, there were several occasions (discussed below) on which Major’s pronouncements fostered suspicion and earned rebuke from Number 10 – on the Falklands, South Africa and Europe. As one observer pointed out at the time, Mrs Thatcher’s unpopularity in the party following the enforced departure of Sir Geoffrey Howe from the FCO, coupled with the scarce likelihood of a further reshuffle before another general election, would advantage Major vis-à-vis Mrs Thatcher.11 However, the personal relationship between Mrs Thatcher and her protégé became lukewarm. Major resented the charge that he would be her supine operative as Foreign Secretary. He reportedly disliked travelling abroad with her.12 According to one source, on returning to the FCO after his first full day – and a long meeting with Mrs Thatcher – he quipped, ‘I’m back and I can take the lead and collar off.’13 Major was determined to make his own impression as Foreign Secretary. He achieved a less charged working relationship between Number 10 and the Foreign Office, but the significance of domestic politics was quite apparent to Major, before accepting the job, he had told Mrs Thatcher, ‘people will assume I’m just there to carry out your bidding’.14 This cast a shadow over his tenure as Foreign Secretary.

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British Foreign Secretaries since 1974 PERSONAL STYLE

A plaintive remark to Douglas Hurd reveals the depth of John Major’s anxiety about assuming the role of Foreign Secretary: ‘There’s a world full of 150 countries, always exploding into bits and pieces, there are boxes full of stuff about places I have never heard of. And I am expected to make decisions about that!’15 After Major’s meeting with the PM, when he was appointed Foreign Secretary, Charles Powell comically quizzed him in the corridor on the capital of Colombia.16 Although the new Foreign Secretary’s ‘Bogotà’ response exuded confidence, Major was conscious of his lack of foreign-policy background. He found the transition between the Treasury and the Foreign Office quite difficult, inclining towards a deductive process of decision-making as opposed to the rather more instinctive feel that characterised Foreign Office mandarins. Apparently, Major used to list the pros and cons of each decision before taking it, as he had done at the DSS.17 Initially, he made heavy weather of balancing conflicting pressures of adequate briefing and the immediacy of a decision. Major himself says, ‘what I did not like was being asked to approve documents twenty times a day without having the time to digest them and consider their impact on policy’.18 As a result, officials found themselves working longer hours for John Major than they had for his predecessor, at least at first. The number of bilateral meetings with ambassadors and high commissions significantly reduced, from more than a dozen under Sir Geoffrey Howe to three or four.19 As Sir Patrick Wright, his PUS reported, ‘however hard we tried to spare him, he had come into a job which has on average something like twelve or fourteen overlapping diary items, all requiring a degree of briefing, and many requiring quick decisions’.20 Major also found the Foreign Office more hierarchical than the Treasury, and later noted that he found the thematic nature of FCO briefings less easy to absorb than economic papers at the Treasury.21 He subsequently opined that while FCO ‘professionalism was impressive, it seemed to me that even trivial matters were sent to the foreign secretary for his decision, or simply to keep him informed’.22 Major’s strategy, therefore, was to devolve responsibility to his ministerial subordinates, in particular William Waldegrave on the Middle East, Francis Maude on Europe, and Lynda Chalker on sub-Saharan Africa; all except Waldegrave had been given FCO ministerial appointments at the same time Major himself became Foreign Secretary.23 If slightly uncomfortable with the working

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practices and rhythm of the FCO, Major did not warm to some of its more grandiose accompaniments. He eschewed the grandeur of the Foreign Secretary’s traditional office in favour of a side room,24 and even lived in a Foreign Office flat for a time before moving into Carlton Gardens.25 Furthermore, he was not entirely at home with the social niceties of diplomatic life, later remarking that the only thing he liked less than banquets were G7 summits.26 None of these reservations detracted from his grasp of policy – particularly enhanced by intense cramming during a retreat to Tristan Garel-Jones’s Spanish hacienda during the summer parliamentary recess;27 or the rapport he naturally built up with his officials – in particular with Stephen Wall, his private secretary (PS); Wall would later become foreign affairs PS in Number 10, then UK permanent representative to the EU at Major’s behest. Major also lauds his PUS, Sir Patrick Wright, who ‘went out of his way to be helpful’.28 Furthermore, officials greatly appreciated his role as departmental ambassador in the September expenditure round. As one official observed, ‘as Chief Secretary he had written the Treasury’s bottom line. Then he came to the FCO and he negotiated the Treasury right down to their bottom line. He was extremely popular in the Office for that.’29 Most strikingly, he displayed a disarming personal touch that exceeded all diplomatic politesse. On leaving the British ambassador’s Washington residence on one occasion, the Foreign Secretary requested that all members of staff be assembled for him to thank them;30 on another, he made a special point of expressing his condolences to the US ambassador Raymond Seitz on a recent bereavement.31 Thus, even if unaccustomed to his particular personal style, officials found him a congenial Foreign Secretary. Major himself later expressed his conviction that he could master the job.


On arrival at the FCO, a panoply of issues filled John Major’s in-tray: British hostages, Terry Waite, John McCarthy and Jackie Mann, remained in captivity in the Middle East; decisions were required on whether to resume diplomatic relations with Iran and Syria; the Berlin Wall would collapse causing a state of flux in East–West relations; strategic decisions loomed on the Delors Report on EMU and nuclear weapons. In addition, relations with Argentina over Falklands’ sovereignty, South Africa and the handover of Hong

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Kong all occupied Major’s time considerably. In fact, the breadth of the issues Major faced on becoming Foreign Secretary reflected the cocktail of concerns to which the incumbent attends. Major himself ‘did not arrive at the Foreign Office with any pre-conceived, or even instinctive positions on foreign policy’.32 According to one observer, Major ‘bounced into the job with the enthusiasm of a college graduate’.33 John Major’s first decision was a recommendation on the sale of Hawk jets to Iraq – on day one of his appointment. Along with Mrs Thatcher, Major disapproved of the sale; his preferences prevailed in Cabinet since ‘my recommendation was clear, and the Prime Minister’s support was absolute’.34 Less than a week into his new job, a 20-nation conference on the future of Cambodia loomed in Paris. Major faced two testing encounters in this context. Of greatest importance to the UK was a meeting with US Secretary of State James Baker concerning Anglo-US discord on Vietnamese refugee policy. At the meeting, Baker expressed trenchant criticism of a British proposal for forced repatriation on landing in Hong Kong, pursuant to the ambiguity of a UN resolution. Major capitalised on the directness of Anglo-US relations in his dealings with Baker and, although their first encounter was ‘inconclusive, we ended the meeting better informed about each other’s reservations, but neither of us had changed his policy’.35 Baker and Major would lock horns again over the European Broadcasting Directive.36 Major had also inherited another outstanding engagement from Sir Geoffrey Howe’s diary – a meeting with Chinese Foreign Minister Qian Qichen. As the first such meeting since the Tiananmen Square massacre, press and human-rights critics eyed the prospect of the meeting suspiciously and damningly. The Foreign Secretary, however, perceptively appreciated that the handover of Hong Kong to China, agreed by Mrs Thatcher in 1984, would happen with or without British consent. Thus, he concluded that an antagonistic attitude would not augur well for Hong Kong and later reflected on ‘the extent to which governments must sometimes do good by stealth’.37 In the autumn, conference season beckoned – internationally and domestically. John Major attended the UN General Assembly (UNGA) in September 1990. This was an opportunity not just for multilateral diplomacy, including a set-piece speech entitled, ‘From Cold War to Global Warming’, it was also a chance for bilateral contacts. On the bilateral side, Major had an inconsequential meeting with President Bush at the White House; Major had probed the British ambassador, Sir Antony Acland, on the conduct and substance of their meeting, but it ‘never

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really took off’, according to one official present.38 He also held a bilateral with his Argentinian counterpart, Domingo Cavallo. One of Major’s early decisions was to authorise the UK permanent representative to the UN, Sir Crispin Tickell, to open talks with Argentina in Madrid on the future of the Falklands. However, Major departed from the standard form of words on the Falklands, and earned a rebuke – duly ignored – from Charles Powell.39 The Foreign Secretary also met Iraqi Foreign Minister Tariq Aziz in a bid to secure the release of a Briton held in an Iraqi jail; Aziz tried to use their meeting – to no avail – to get Major’s judicial intervention in the case of a convicted Iraqi in the UK.40 A more light-hearted instance, however, saw the Foreign Secretary hold an inadvertent meeting with the Ethiopian permanent representative. The intended meeting was with the Egyptian permanent representative, but a Foreign Offiice official had misread the diplomatic directory, and arranged a meeting with the Ethiopian envoy! This was a bewildering experience for the latter, particularly given that bilateral relations with Ethiopia were ‘decidedly chilly at the time’.41 Europe would consume Major’s tenure as Prime Minister; as Foreign Secretary, he made his debut on the European scene. Sir David Hannay, UK permanent representative to the EU, rapidly concluded that ‘ if Mrs Thatcher had appointed him in order to get somebody to do a hatchet job on the European Community, she had made a mistake’.42 Major’s first summit was at Chequers with Mrs Thatcher, receiving his French counterpart, Roland Dumas, and President François Mitterrand. Although Major later described his talks with Dumas on the EMU and the social charter as ‘a sideshow’, he readily recognised these were ‘not immediate matters for decision’.43 He noted with displeasure, however, that ‘confrontation between Britain and France was avoided by a mutual expression of disapproval of the Germans’.44 Although not responsible for any major démarche on European policy, Major’s attitude was non-dogmatic and non-confrontational. Indeed, Mrs Thatcher was displeased by his approbation of ‘a stronger, more united Western Europe’45 at UNGA, in stark contrast to the marked Euroscepticism of her Bruges speech in September 1988.46 His moderate viewpoint was aired at the Conservative Party conference in Blackpool in October 1989 at which he said, ‘a clear eyed look at Britain’s national interest shows beyond doubt that we have benefited from Community membership’.47 The most notable foreign-policy issue facing John Major during his tenure was not Europe, however, but South Africa. The discord

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between the UK – personified by Mrs Thatcher’s approach to sanctions, or ‘measures’ as she preferred to call them – and the Commonwealth reached its height as the Kuala Lumpur Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting (CHOGM) approached. According to Robert Atkins,48 who accompanied Major on his Spanish holiday, the Foreign Secretary was particularly seized by references to Macmillan’s views on South Africa, in Alistair Horne’s recently published second volume on Harold Macmillan;49 Major said he wanted to make a strong personal statement reflecting his personal revulsion to apartheid, realising that the thirtieth anniversary of Macmillan’s ‘winds of change’ speech was due in February 1990.50 Although, as Major told a CHOGM press briefing, he was ‘more interested in feeding black bellies inside South Africa, than satisfying white liberal consciences outside it’,51 he adopted a less strident tone than Mrs Thatcher on the matter of sanctions in the Commonwealth. The rumpus regarding the imposition of sanctions cast a pall over the Kuala Lumpur CHOGM. The UK walked a tightrope of enmity with the Commonwealth on the subject, and Mrs Thatcher had already incurred the wrath of her counterparts by selectively quoting leading anti-apartheid campaigner Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s criticism of sanctions.52 Commonwealth leaders set about the thorny prospect of reaching agreement on a communiqué on 20 October. Major himself described the meeting as ‘sixteen hours of verbal hand-to-hand combat’.53 His agenda was two-pronged: ‘to keep out prejudicial wording proposed by others, and to retain the British view in the communiqué against opposition from every other foreign minister’.54 The role of Australian Foreign Minister Gareth Evans appeared to be particularly inflammatory. On one occasion, when Major queried the title of the section ‘Southern Africa – the Way Forward’, Evans retorted, ‘Oh, I suppose you want to call it “Southern Africa – the Way Backwards”’.55 Indeed, in an off-the-cuff remark, Major exclaimed that Evans belonged to ‘the Les Patterson school of diplomacy’,56 which was duly reported back in Australia. Nonetheless, Major felt that the agreed statement, hammered out in the early hours of 21 October, was satisfactory. However, he states in his autobiography that it was only later that he learned of Mrs Thatcher’s reservations about the text, which did not include a statement that the sanctions were not intended to be punitive.57 The difference of emphasis between Mrs Thatcher and her Foreign Secretary that subsequently appeared with the issuing of a separate British communiqué seemed to contradict and rebuff

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Major. Major himself later stated that he had no problem with issuing a separate communiqué, but maintains that Charles Powell did not divulge the full contents of the draft to him.58 This was the only instance on which Number 10 publicly humiliated Major, who hastily had to issue the communiqué as a joint statement between himself and Mrs Thatcher, thus repudiating the Foreign Minister’s text. The PM’s press secretary Bernard Ingham proceeded with a rushed press briefing based on Powell’s letter reporting that Mrs Thatcher did not much like the Foreign Minister’s text. The media seized on the apparent rift between the Prime Minister and her Foreign Secretary as ‘manna from heaven’,59 according to Major.


Mrs Thatcher summoned John Major to see her on his return from Malaysia. He assumed this might be a rebuke for the déroulement of the CHOGM. He was wrong. Behind the Speaker’s chair, Mrs Thatcher confided news that was even more sensational than his appointment as Foreign Secretary. She told Major: ‘Nigel is going to resign and I might want you as Chancellor.’60 Mrs Thatcher had intended to keep John Major as Foreign Secretary for three years.61 In fact, she moved him back to the Treasury after three months. He impressed his view on her that his replacement should be Douglas Hurd, though it seems that she had already settled on Hurd as the obvious choice at the Foreign Office.62 How should we judge Major’s brief period as Foreign Secretary? To be sure, Major had little more than an aperçu of foreign policy as Foreign Secretary, but we can draw some conclusions from his tenure. First, the case of Major clearly shows that the post of Foreign Secretary does not always go to an experienced foreignpolicy hand; in fact, Mrs Thatcher’s choice was intended to be the reverse, given her suspicions of the Foreign Office. Moreover, the domestic political calculus of her choice was paramount: Mrs Thatcher had picked out John Major as her eventual successor. Offering him the two highest offices of state in turn were the most obvious political vehicles to advance this stratagem. Second, although Mrs Thatcher perceived Major would be a loyal operative as Foreign Secretary, the brief record of his handling of foreign-policy issues actually reflects his concern to mark out his own territory in the job. Moreover, Major did not despise the

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Foreign Office, as Mrs Thatcher evidently did, nor did he come with preconceived ideas about British foreign policy that she might have liked him to pursue. We need only look to his contributions not just on Europe, but also the Falklands and South Africa, to support this conclusion. Thus, the Major example shows that the Foreign Secretary does not act automatically – or necessarily – as the dutiful executant of prime ministerial wishes. Third, Major’s personal style at the Foreign Office was distinctive. His nearest equivalent, perhaps, was Bevin. Like Bevin, Major came to enjoy the Foreign Office, even if he was neither au fait, nor enamoured with all its characteristics or the aura of the place. Major did find his transfer from the Treasury a steep learning curve, but this reflects little more than the fact that new incumbents often come to the job familiar with domestic policy; unfamiliarity of foreign-policy terrain is not exceptional to Major. Furthermore, it hardly translated negatively on the international stage. Moreover, Major’s personal style shows that Foreign Office mandarins display a good deal of souplesse in acclimatising to new incumbents. John Major played a bit-part in the foreign-policy scene as Foreign Secretary, yet his achievements are discernible. At Kuala Lumpur, Gareth Evans had remarked to Major that ‘he had come here with the right script, but was at the wrong bloody play’.63 As Foreign Secretary, John Major had become one of the dramatis personae in Mrs Thatcher’s final act, a player in the caprice of domestic politics of her last year as Prime Minister. As Foreign Secretary, not only was John Major at the right play – at the right time – he did not actually read from the script his Svengali had given him.

NOTES 1. Alec Douglas Home, served as Foreign Secretary twice: once under Macmillan, and again under Heath between 1970 and 1974. 2. John Major, John Major: The Autobiography (London: HarperCollins, 2000). 3. Tristan Garel-Jones would later serve as FCO Minister of State (Europe) during Major’s premiership. 4. Major, Autobiography, p. 111. 5. Anthony Seldon, Major: A Political Life (London: Phoenix, 1997). 6. Major, Autobiography, p. 112. 7. Cited in interview with Francis Maude in Seldon, Major, p. 87. 8. Major, Autobiography, p. 111. 9. Ibid., p. 111. 10. Major, Autobiography, p. 116. 11. The Times, 1 August 1989. 12. Cited in Seldon, Major, p. 96.

John Major, 1989 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63.

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Ibid., p. 87. Major, Autobiography, p. 112. Interview with Douglas Hurd, cited in Seldon, Major, p. 88. Cited in Major, Autobiography, p. 113. Cited in Seldon, Major, p. 94. Major, Autobiography, p. 116. Seldon, Major, p. 90. Interview with Lord (Patrick) Wright, cited in Seldon, Major, p. 90. Major, Autobiography, p. 116. Ibid., p. 115. Ibid., pp. 115-16. Seldon, Major, p. 89. Seldon, Major, p. 90. Major did not wish to pressurise Sir Geoffrey and Lady Howe from vacating Carlton Gardens, the Foreign Secretary’s official residence: Major, Autobiography, p. 115. Major, Autobiography, p. 117. Cf. ibid., pp. 120-1; Seldon, Major, pp. 91-2. Ibid., p. 115. Interview with Anthony Seldon, cited in Seldon, Major, p. 89. Ibid., p. 93. Ibid., p. 94. Ibid., p. 94. Independent, 1 August 1989. Major, Autobiography, p. 117. Major, Autobiography, p. 119. Seldon, Major, p. 91. Major, Autobiography, p. 120. Cited in Seldon, Major, p. 94. Ibid., p. 94. Major, Autobiography, p. 123. Ibid., p. 124. Hannay, cited in Seldon, Major, p. 98. Major, Autobiography, p. 121. Ibid., p. 122. Seldon, Major, p. 95. Ibid., p. 93. Speech to the Conservative Party conference, Blackpool, 12 October 1989. A Conservative MP. Alistair Horne, Macmillan 1957-86 (London: Macmillan, 1989). Seldon, Major, p. 92. Major, Autobiography, p. 127. Ibid., p. 127. Ibid., p. 126. Ibid., pp. 125-6; Seldon, Major, pp. 96-8. Major, Autobiography, p. 126. Ibid., p.126. Ibid., p. 127. Ibid., p. 127. Ibid., p. 128. For examples, cf. Guardian, 23 October 1989; The Times, 22 October 1989. Major, Autobiography, p. 130. Seldon, Major, p. 87. It should be noted that, at the July 1989 reshuffle, Mrs Thatcher had been prepared to offer Sir Geoffrey Howe the post of Home Secretary – Hurd’s job at the time – without informing Hurd beforehand. Evans, cited in Major, Autobiography, p. 126.

9

Douglas Hurd: Foreign Secretary, 1989–95 Mark Stuart

CAREER

After selecting the inexperienced John Major in July 1989, Margaret Thatcher’s appointment of Douglas Hurd as Foreign Secretary that October was generally approved of in King Charles Street. Officials were welcoming one of their own into their midst: an old Etonian, educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and, moreover, someone with a career background in diplomacy. Douglas Hurd trained as a Foreign Office diplomat, serving in China from 1954 to 1956, before being posted to New York in the middle of the Suez crisis to work for four years in the United Nations under Sir Pierson Dixon, Britain’s ambassador to the United Nations. In 1960, Hurd returned to London to work as private secretary for ‘Derick’ Hoyer-Millar (who became Lord Inchyra in 1961), and his successor Harold (later Lord) Caccia. There followed an uninspiring time as first secretary in Rome, where Hurd began writing a series of novels with his diplomatic colleague (and Private Eye co-founder), Andrew Osmond.1 By 1966, Hurd felt it was time for a change of career, and a speculative letter to Edward Heath was one of several that he fired off to prospective employers. Heath replied, and Hurd succeeded John MacGregor2 in August 1968 as head of Heath’s private office. Hurd produced a memoir of his six years with Heath in An End to Promises in which he highlighted the tendency in politics for both trivial and important issues to jostle for a minister’s limited time. Hurd retained this view of politics right through his ministerial career, and felt, in his patrician way, that these realities were not

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sufficiently understood by the electorate. When he had retired from front bench politics, he wrote another novel, The Shape of Ice, to illustrate in similar vein.3 Hurd views himself as a High Tory rather than a Whig. The business of government has to proceed, scrutinised – but not stymied – by Parliament, press and public opinion.4 No firm ideology underpins his beliefs. He is a pragmatic liberal Conservative with strong establishment instincts. But his experiences with Heath convinced him that intervention in industry could not be made to work and that harsher measures would be needed to combat inflation and the trade unions, meaning, in the words of his book, An End to Promises. Hurd was wrong in his prediction that these harsh measures would require a national government. Instead, a strong leader emerged. But the book helps to explain why Hurd came to accept much of the Thatcherite agenda. Having become an MP in February 1974 and served as Mrs Thatcher’s spokesman for European affairs for three years, Hurd was not altogether surprised when he was appointed Minister of State at the Foreign Office in May 1979. At the Foreign Office, Hurd worked under Peter Carrington in the Lords and Sir Ian Gilmour (Lord Privy Seal) in the House of Commons. Much of this time was spent visiting the Middle East, most notably patching up relations with the Saudis after the ‘Death of a Princess’ television programme in 1980.5 Hurd got to know the leaders of the Gulf states very well. They in turn admired him as a perfect English gentleman, in a region where manners, deference and diplomatic protocol still matter. Their unreformed political systems inclined towards stability, so that most of the foreign ministers whom Hurd met as Minister of State were still in office when he became Foreign Secretary in 1989. Hurd was one of only two Foreign Office ministers of state or upwards to survive the Cabinet reshuffle after the Argentine invasion of the Falklands (see Chapter 6).6 However, he drew more from the style of Peter Carrington than from his successor, Francis Pym. As a result of the 1982 reshuffle, Hurd was promoted to Deputy Foreign Secretary in all but name, gaining responsibility for the European Community. Hurd was (and is) solidly pro-European without being federalist in outlook. He was consistent in his support for free trade; as Foreign Secretary in 1993 he robustly backed Commissioner Leon Brittan against the French in securing the Uruguay round of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT). And as early as 1981 he began formulating his own ideas on European political

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cooperation (EPC), seeking ways of improving the effectiveness of a common rather than a single European foreign policy.7 Having its roots in Peter Carrington’s foreign secretaryship, Hurd’s common foreign policy would become a consistent theme of his own foreign secretaryship, culminating in the foreign-affairs ‘pillar’ secured at Maastricht in 1991. Hurd was supremely comfortable being Minister of State at the Foreign Office. He knew the terrain, and used the time gradually to build up a stock of respect on both sides of the House of Commons. It became his trademark to deal calmly and in a non-partisan way with foreign-affairs questions and ministerial statements, as though wearied by it all. Stephen Lamport, his private secretary from 1981 to 1983, characterises Hurd as possessing an ‘air of detached confidence’.8 Above all, Hurd’s sharp and ordered mind meant that he was able to cut through detail, quickly identifying the essence of a problem. Hurd’s confident ministerial persona was temporarily dented when Mrs Thatcher appointed him Minister of State at the Home Office in June 1983. Hurd was not suited to the legal content of the department, disliking the excessive detail liked by his younger boss, the Home Secretary Leon Brittan. There were even rumours that Hurd became an idle Minister of State, which, if true, bore no relation to his self-discipline and impressive work rate as a Cabinet minister. Hurd finally made it to Cabinet in September 1984, when he was appointed Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. There, he showed his qualities of toughness, dealing robustly with the ever-present security guards, calmly with the annual marching season in July 1985, and becoming a good delegator. He entrusted responsibilities to his two Under-Secretaries of State, Chris Patten and Nicholas Scott. Hurd was a Unionist with a small ‘u’, with fairly orthodox views on the course of constitutional talks. While he supported the right of the Republic to be consulted in the affairs of the North, he was not in favour of joint authority. In his view, any future peace agreement would combine a limited Irish dimension with an assembly along the lines of the Sunningdale Agreement of 1973. After the Brighton bombing of 1984, Mrs Thatcher became more, not less persuaded of the cooperation with the Republic in order to combat terrorism. However, she was not averse to making over-the-top remarks, both in public and private. Out of earshot at the Anglo-Irish weekend summit of 18–19 November 1984, she resurrected one of her more bizarre ideas, namely repartition: the concept that the border could be

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redrawn and the nationalists repatriated to the Republic. Given Mrs Thatcher’s often uneasy relationship with her Foreign Secretary, Geoffrey Howe, Hurd played an important role in persuading her to sign up to the Anglo-Irish Agreement of November 1985. There followed four gruelling years at Queen Anne’s Gate, during which Hurd became widely recognised as a listening Home Secretary who was never better than when dealing with a crisis in a department that is especially vulnerable to the unexpected. In December 1987, he likened this elegantly to the poet Horace’s description of a ‘thunderbolt hurled from the clear sky’.9 While not relishing crises, in the manner of a Michael Heseltine he handled them astutely, particularly the prison riots in the spring of 1986. If anything, as a former diplomat and an establishment Tory, he was too respectful of the views of those working in the system – the officials, the judges, the police officers, the prison and probation officers. There was, however, always an authoritarian streak just beneath the surface, especially in immigration policy. Despite these authoritarian tendencies, Hurd showed a capacity for liberal reform in criminal-justice policy, and was willing to be cautiously radical in cases where it could be shown that existing laws had fallen into disrepair or disrepute. But much of the Criminal Justice Act 1991, which Hurd helped to shape, had to be substantially altered by Kenneth Clarke.10 Throughout his period at the Home Office, Hurd gave speeches bemoaning the dangers of producing too much legislation, and yet he presided over a glut of legislation, much of which – especially the Public Order Act 1986 – curbed the rights of the individual. Mrs Thatcher rarely interfered in the day-to-day running of the Home Office. Like most Prime Ministers, she never visited a prison. Like most Home Secretaries, Hurd was a Cabinet minister ‘out on his own’. However, she disagreed with him over capital punishment, leading to awkward moments at successive Conservative Party conferences where she clapped pro-hanging speakers, but with her hands below the platform so as not to embarrass Hurd. The only two topics about which she interfered were broadcasting and official secrets. Hurd ceded ground to Mrs Thatcher over broadcasting, ending in the flawed Broadcasting Act 1990. He lacked a large enough following on the Conservative back benches to allow him to use the authority of his office to stand up to Mrs Thatcher. Instead, he tried to tone down her views and soften her contradictions, leading to instances – such as the broadcasting ban on the IRA in 1989 – where he regretted the outcome,


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describing it in his diary as ‘a poor decision’.11 He was not supine with Mrs Thatcher, but there were limits to how far he could push her. This was shown in the area of official secrets, where Hurd was forced to accommodate the Prime Minister’s growing obsession with secrecy. Hurd’s later measures as Foreign Secretary, including the early release of Cabinet documents and the Intelligence Services Act 1994, give a more accurate picture of his true instincts on the subject. Throughout his ministerial career Hurd adopted very few original policy positions. However, there was one notable exception at the Home Office. Hurd perhaps moved too slowly in reviewing the cases of the Maguire Seven, the Birmingham Six and the Guildford Four.12 He pored over the cases like a civil servant, setting to one side his role as a politician. But he showed great imagination in his evidence before Sir John May’s inquiry into the Maguire case,13 which eventually became merged into the Royal Commission into Miscarriages of Justice.14 This commission’s report was decisive in removing the power of the Home Secretary to decide whether to refer miscarriages of justice cases to the Court of Appeal, and, from April 1997, transferring these powers to the Criminal Cases Review Commission.

PERSONAL STYLE

On his arrival at the Foreign Office in October 1989, Hurd quickly let it be known his dislike of jargon. An internal Foreign Office video was prepared on the subject. Hurd even redrafted letters written by junior civil servants, cutting them down to a single page. Certain words such as ‘currently’ and ‘appropriate’ were especially frowned upon. Hurd deplored sentences packed with abstract nouns. Why did a crisis need to be described as a ‘crisis situation’ or a decision as a ‘key strategic decision’? He also liked to point out that the phrase ‘The House that Jack Built’ should actually be called, ‘The House Which Jack Built’. There was no such thing as a typical working day for Hurd because around 100 days a year were spent abroad on foreign visits. Besides the many summits and regular meetings of international organisations such as the Council of Ministers, Hurd tried to fit in three to four long trips each year in early January, at Easter, the end of July and during September. He kept in good health by engaging in a spot of tourism on foreign trips, and by routinely exercising.

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However, when in London, there was a discernible pattern to Hurd’s working day.15 It would usually start at around 7.30 am in Carlton Gardens when Hurd would read the morning telegrams and press cuttings while his young children, Philip and Jessica, played round about him. He would then meet with his private office and press team to discuss briefly the business of the day. There would follow a series of weekly meetings either with the Prime Minister, the Defence Secretary or the permanent under-secretary of state. Before lunch, there might be a series of Cabinet committee meetings, as well as full Cabinet on a Thursday. There might also be time for meetings with British ambassadors. Scattered throughout Monday to Wednesday was a series of policy meetings. Hurd was an action-orientated Foreign Secretary, who as the chairman of a meeting liked to receive updates from civil servants, and bring the proceedings to a neat conclusion. Acutely aware of the conflicting time pressures on him, he became almost brutally efficient, partly thanks to his excellent private office team, in managing his time extremely well. Hurd would usually have a working lunch – he and John Major frowned upon sandwich lunches – preferring the comfort of the Beefsteak Club, where he would often entertain a journalist. Unlike John Major, Hurd maintained good links with most of the political correspondents and journalists throughout his Cabinet career. In July 1989, Hurd had the nous to let it immediately be known to journalists that he was relaxed about Mrs Thatcher offering Geoffrey Howe his job as Home Secretary. After lunch, he would usually take a brisk walk in Hyde Park with his principal private secretary, before the meetings resumed, including several chats with foreign dignitaries. Fortunately for officials, Hurd was a self-disciplined minister who always did his homework in the evenings. Because meetings dominated his day and dinner engagements the early evening, the only time he could tackle paperwork was after 10.30 at night. He would not allow himself to over-indulge in food or alcohol at dinner, and made a point of ‘getting on with it’ (a favourite phrase), tackling one ministerial red box per night. His diplomatic experience enabled him to sift through piles of papers and telegrams. He stuck fairly rigidly to a ‘bed by one o’clock’ rule. In contrast, Geoffrey Howe was renowned for casting a QC’s eye over every last detail, and would often not get to bed until 2 am. Hurd was always suspected by the right of the Conservative Party as being somehow soft on economic policy and Europe


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because of his prior association with Edward Heath and his former diplomatic career. Before appointing him Foreign Secretary, Mrs Thatcher said, ‘Now you won’t let these Europeans get on top of you, will you now Douglas?’16 Possibly for this reason, he made a conscious effort to operate at arm’s length from civil servants, playing very much the role of the politician, rather than the civil servant, in an effort not to be seen as a stool-pigeon of the Foreign Office. It was an effort in which he never entirely succeeded. Neither was Hurd entirely able to shake off his Heathite past. But, while he was most definitely not ‘One of Us’, Mrs Thatcher admired his competence, professionalism, his loyalty and his toughness. In turn, Douglas Hurd admired what Mrs Thatcher had achieved by sheer force of will, in defeating the unions, but he increasingly disliked her bludgeoning style, especially with her European colleagues. The Prime Minister had mostly refrained from interfering in the day-to-day running of the Home Office, arranging only monthly meetings with Hurd. These monthly meetings were replaced at the Foreign Office with weekly bilaterals, often twice a week. On his arrival, Hurd made sure that no Foreign Office official contacted Number 10 except through the permanent under-secretary. Despite the potential for tensions, relations between Hurd and the Prime Minister’s private secretary, Charles Powell, were good. Hurd summed up his relationship with Mrs Thatcher at the time as ‘loyal and co-operative, but not subservient’.17

CONTEMPORARY FOREIGN-POLICY PROBLEMS UNDER THATCHER, OCTOBER 1989–NOVEMBER 1990

German reunification Hurd’s main disagreement with Mrs Thatcher in their year working together (October 1989–November 1990) was over German reunification. She believed that somehow, with the help of the French and the Russians, it could be stopped. In her view, the resurgence of German power was a danger to the stability of Europe. Douglas Hurd saw it differently. German reunification was what West Germany and NATO had been seeking for over 40 years. His motto was, ‘Don’t stand unnecessarily in the path of an avalanche.’18 Having a flexibly minded Foreign Secretary was

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probably an asset in the aftermath of the fall of the Berlin Wall, rather than having one with a rigid set of beliefs. Relations between Chancellor Kohl and Margaret Thatcher became so bad that Hurd became a kind of emissary between the two. Hurd was left to mend fences with the Germans after the Nicholas Ridley affair in July 1990. At first, Hurd thought Ridley’s comments in The Spectator that European integration was ‘a German racket designed to take over the whole of Europe’ ‘read like drunken ramblings, but weren’t’.19 Then came Mrs Thatcher’s seminar on Germany with a group of historians at Chequers, during which German characteristics such as egotism, angst and a sense of superiority were aired. Much of Hurd’s time in his year with Mrs Thatcher was left patching things up with the Germans. The Middle East Hurd’s lowest moment in the early part of his foreign secretaryship came on a carefully planned trip to Israel in October 1990. During a meeting with members of the Israeli Knesset, Hurd was accused of having said that he was opposed to the creation of a Palestinian state. This was inaccurate (he had said he did not particularly favour a Palestinian state), but a member of the Knesset leaked the story to the Israeli press. The damage was done. The following day, Hurd was humiliated as the Palestinian delegation refused to see him. His only other scheduled meeting with David Levy, the Israeli Foreign Minister, went badly because no one in his Foreign Office entourage spoke Hebrew (in contrast to the large number of Arabic speakers), forcing Hurd to converse with Levy in French. Europe Although Hurd disliked the Prime Minister’s style, he would have carried on supporting Mrs Thatcher, provided she had stuck to the agreed policy on Europe. However, her belligerent tactics with her European partners were used once too often. Her nemesis came at the first Rome summit at the end of October 1990. Hurd agrees with Mrs Thatcher’s interpretation of events that the Italians, holding the European presidency at the time, sprung a surprise on the British in Rome by pressing for and getting a fixed date for stage two of the Delors Plan for European monetary union (EMU).20 A few days earlier, Hurd had met Chancellor Kohl and


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was given no advance warning that the Germans intended to press forward with stage two until the Inter-Governmental Council that December. Against this, the British embassy in Rome was receiving signals that the Italians were going to make a move.21 Perhaps the Italians sprung a surprise to revive a lacklustre presidency, and Kohl, who had not been planning anything, decided to jump on board. In any event, the result was incandescent rage from Mrs Thatcher, not so much during the summit, but at the press conference afterwards and, of course, subsequently in the House of Commons with her famous, ‘No, No, No’ remarks.

THE CONSERVATIVE LEADERSHIP CONTEST, NOVEMBER 1990

On 13 November, Geoffrey Howe’s vitriolic resignation speech led to Michael Heseltine’s decision to stand for the leadership of the Conservative Party against Mrs Thatcher. Fatally wounded on the first ballot, she was forced to resign. In the second ballot, Hurd polled only 56 votes, finishing a poor third behind John Major and Michael Heseltine. Early on, Hurd’s campaign was neutralised by the more streetwise Major camp, who depicted him as an Etonian aristocrat with little experience of economics. Hurd complained that the Conservative Party was ‘not some demented Marxist outfit’.22 Clearly, Hurd was not upper class, although his odd voice, dress and demeanour made him appear so. But he over-egged the pudding by making out that he was a farmer’s son from a modest background. Yes, he had had to plant potatoes as a boy; yes, his father rented his farm rather than owning it; but it was a 500-acre farm, and Anthony Hurd had gone on to become the agricultural correspondent of The Times, a Tory member of Parliament, and a peer of the realm.23 Hurd was also too gentlemanly in the conduct of his campaign. When asked by a supporter if perhaps he should install more phone lines in his office, Hurd’s reply was said to have been, what did he need with another one?24 One insider has commented that ‘“campaign” is too pugilistic to describe what was not a very distinguished effort’.25 In reality, Hurd had little popular appeal with the electorate. Both Peter Carrington and Nigel Lawson, two of Hurd’s closest political friends, backed Michael Heseltine for this very reason.26 The irony was that Hurd loved electioneering, but campaigned in the old-fashioned way, tackling hecklers in

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village halls and knocking on doorsteps. In November 1990, Hurd failed to pass, in Hugo Young’s words, the ‘saloon bar test’, the requirement since Harold Wilson that a modern Prime Minister should have popular appeal.27 From Hurd’s viewpoint, the leadership contest was significant for two reasons. First, the Conservative right deluded itself into believing that John Major was ‘Son of Thatcher’. Their collective disappointment, particularly over Europe, would create huge problems for the unity of the second Major administration after April 1992. Second, on a personal level, the nature of the contest put Hurd on close terms with the new Prime Minister, and he put the full weight of his authority behind John Major’s premiership.

CONTEMPORARY FOREIGN-POLICY PROBLEMS DURING THE FIRST MAJOR ADMINISTRATION, NOVEMBER 1990–APRIL 1992

The Middle East Major’s premiership seemed to begin well with a solid performance in the Gulf War. In contrast to the later Bosnian conflict, Hurd found the Gulf crisis a relatively straightforward matter. The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August 1990 was a clear case of aggression that had to be reversed. The two main decisions – to defend Saudi Arabia, and to use force to oust Saddam Hussein from Kuwait – had been made by Mrs Thatcher and the War Cabinet (of which Hurd was a member, together with John Wakeham, the Energy Secretary, and Tom King, the Defence Secretary), before John Major became Prime Minister. Hurd’s two main aims, before, during and after the Gulf War, were to preserve two coalitions: one domestically in the House of Commons, preserving the bipartisan consensus, and one internationally in keeping together the Allied coalition. His domestic task was greatly eased by the close cooperation of Gerald Kaufman, Hurd’s opposite number. Motions for debate were arranged in advance between the two front benches.28 Most debates occurred on the adjournment. Criticism was confined to pacifists on the Labour left, and Edward Heath, who tried to revive his role as an international statesman over the issue of hostages held in Iraq.29 On 28 November 1990, as part of his strategy of strengthening the Allied coalition, Hurd announced that he was restoring


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diplomatic relations with Syria with immediate effect. Relations had been severed since the Hindawi affair, the attempt to blow up an El-Al airliner at Heathrow in 1986. Mrs Thatcher had resisted attempts by the European Community to unfreeze grants and loans to Syria. But, by December 1990, Damascus was ranged against Saddam. In Hurd’s view, it was not a question of conferring legitimacy on President Assad’s regime, but it was ‘a hard-headed calculation in British interests that diplomatic relations should be resumed’.30 Previously that September, diplomatic relations with Iran had also been restored. During his foreign secretaryship, Geoffrey Howe had tried to improve relations with Tehran, but these were set back by the fatwa issued by the Ayatollah Khomeini against the novelist Salman Rushdie because of his book The Satanic Verses. Hurd’s policy towards Iran was a shade more flexible than Howe’s, but Hurd could afford to be for two reasons. First, whereas Mrs Thatcher’s opposition had stymied Geoffrey Howe, Hurd no longer had such an obstacle to overcome. Second, Iran, like Syria, was now on the side of the Allies pitted against Saddam Hussein. In short, whereas Geoffrey Howe’s hands had been tied diplomatically, Hurd’s had been set free. All Foreign Secretaries experience policy issues over which they strive for years without apparent success, only to see their successors preside over the eventual breakthrough. Throughout the Gulf War, Hurd was anxious to ensure that European, particularly French and Russian, diplomatic initiatives to avoid war should not have the effect of blunting the message that Saddam had to withdraw unconditionally from Kuwait. Hurd’s priority throughout the foreign secretaryship was to preserve the Atlantic Alliance. He later claimed that it was by a fluke that he was in Washington when George Bush called a halt to the bombing of Saddam’s forces near the town of Basra.31 In fact, Hurd was in the middle of a long-planned visit to Portugal the night before. Hearing rumours of a US cessation of hostilities, he made his apologies to the Portuguese. True to his Atlanticist leanings, he hastily boarded an aeroplane with his principal private secretary, Richard Gozney, taking advantage of the time difference, and arrived in Washington DC the following morning. As a trusted ally, he was then invited to be in on the decision to stop the killing. It was the highlight of Hurd’s foreign secretaryship and, for Hurd, it was the right decision. Hurd has remained of the view that the Allied coalition should not become embroiled in the future government of Iraq, while Mrs Thatcher still believes that Saddam Hussein should have been toppled from power.

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The Allied coalition only had a mandate to expel Iraq from Kuwait, not to take over the government of Iraq. Going further into Iraq would have broken up the international coalition and would have led to a dismembered Iraq leading to regional instability. Not only was there no government-in-waiting in Iraq in 1990, Iran, Turkey and Syria would all have sought to carve up the country between them unless the West made an indefinite commitment to the region. More recently, George W. Bush’s attempts to garner international support for another attack on Iraq have not been successful, save receiving backing from Tony Blair, and even the British Prime Minister stresses the need to win over international opinion. Maastricht On the European stage, John Major’s government also seemed to be in the ascendancy. From a British Conservative point of view, much was gained by signing the Maastricht Treaty. An earlier Dutch draft, federalist in outlook, had been decisively rejected by ten of the 12 Foreign Ministers at a meeting on 30 September 1991.32 The government had gained opt-outs on the social chapter and the single currency (key Conservative negotiating aims), while Hurd secured an intergovernmental approach to home affairs, foreign and security policy – the so-called three pillars – meaning that in these areas, countries would proceed by agreement rather than by rigid majority voting, which Hurd disliked. For the first time, the principle of subsidiarity had been enshrined in the Treaty. This British negotiating achievement seemed to chime with Hurd’s now famous remark in Brussels a month earlier about ‘the apparent wish of the Commission to insist on inserting itself in the nooks and crannies of everyday life’.33 In addition, the Court of Auditors was made an institution of the European Community, strengthening its ability to tackle fraud, another British aim. In short, it was in the British Conservative interest to sign up to Maastricht because it enshrined intergovernmentalism. But Hurd believes that Major’s mistake was to say that Maastricht was ‘game, set and match’ for Britain, because the message was more complicated than that. By allowing other countries to proceed on the social chapter and the single currency, Britain was winning allies at the European table and would be in a stronger position to put forward the British agenda of enlargement, free markets and deregulation. While Hurd believes that these were perfectly convincing arguments, they hardly amounted to ‘a trumpet call’.34


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The former Yugoslavia The issues of west European integration and the former Yugoslavia were not mutually exclusive. The break-up of Yugoslavia occurred at a time when western Europe was considering closer integration at Maastricht, rather than encompassing the countries of Eastern Europe. The key historical debate has concentrated on whether Hurd ceded ground to the Germans over the recognition of Croatia and Slovenia as a quid pro quo for the British opt-outs on the single currency and the social chapter at Maastricht. The crucial meeting of Foreign Ministers took place at The Hague on 16 December 1991 only six days after the Maastricht deal had been agreed. According to Hurd’s account, Roland Dumas, the French minister, despite being under instructions to resist recognition, was not willing to stand and fight with sufficient force early on in the day’s negotiations.35 At this point, the German Foreign Minister, Hans Dietrich Genscher, led the arguments in favour of early recognition. He was supported by the Danes, and to a lesser extent by the Italians and the Belgians, but with the Dutch, represented by Hans van den Broek, strongly supporting the British and French position. Genscher then took the British Foreign Secretary aside. Hurd recalls him saying: You must understand that after all we have inflicted on Europe, we Germans are not going to find ourselves on the morally wrong side of the argument. Here are these people who are actually entitled to independence. They are independent. It’s a fact. We are not going to get ourselves into a position where the Serbs are enabled to deny that any longer.36

The Italian Foreign Minister, Gianni de Michelis, tried to drive through a compromise of conditional recognition, but at this point Hurd insisted on a break in order to consult with the Prime Minister by telephone, having talked to Dumas, who, in Hurd’s opinion, was not going to put up a fight. Major and Hurd agreed that Britain should accept a compromise of conditional recognition for 15 January 1992, but with discretion for an arbitration commission. Then, Dumas put up a fight, but Hurd felt this came too late in the day. Eventually, at 1 am, the Foreign Ministers agreed to recognise the two republics on 15 January provided a set of criteria – including respect for human rights and minorities and undertakings that the border could only be altered by peaceful means – were met.

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The events of that day provide a case study of the main type of criticism levelled at Hurd: that there seem to be very few issues where he has a bottom line and is willing to stick to his guns. Instead, his instincts are those of the civil servant – to negotiate and to reach a compromise based on the balance of the arguments. Hurd did not view the issue of recognition as sacrosanct. As he would say later, the decision was ‘a matter of timing rather than principle’.37 Maastricht does seem to come into the elaborate equation of negotiations. Hurd later admitted that the Germans drew attention to the fact that, a fortnight before, they had given a certain leeway to the British Prime Minister in the Maastricht negotiations.38 But Hurd was not so much making a quid pro quo on the British opt-outs won at Maastricht, as defending the concept of an intergovernmental approach to foreign affairs and defence policy, rather than a system of rigid qualified majority voting. Had EC Foreign Ministers split on an issue only six days after the Maastricht deal that enshrined intergovernmentalism, this would have dealt a huge blow to that concept. Hurd does not see a line of argument running from the recognition of Croatia and Slovenia to the civil war in Bosnia. Others, including Peter Carrington, then the EC’s peace envoy for the former Yugoslavia, Hans van den Broek and Gerald Kaufman, Hurd’s opposite number in Britain, disagree. Carrington has described the decision to recognise the two republics as ‘an absolutely idiotic mistake’.39 From Carrington’s position as the EC’s chief negotiator in the former Yugoslavia, the prospects of confederation were extinguished because two of the six republics no longer had an incentive to stay in Yugoslavia. Even more importantly, granting Croatia and Slovenia their independence gave a green light to the multi-ethnic state of Bosnia (comprising Muslims, Croats and Bosnian Serbs) to declare its own independence, making civil war inevitable because the Serbs in Bosnia would not accept such an act. Hurd would reply by arguing that Croatia and Slovenia were already free by December 1991; the European Community was merely recognising a reality. The real question that lingers in Hurd’s mind, however, is whether he should have encouraged earlier military intervention against Milosevic. That crucial question was ruled out at a joint meeting of the Western European Union (WEU) and NATO on 19 September 1991. At no point in these discussions was there talk of military intervention. The debate centred instead on the scale of a peacekeeping force. All ministers agreed that no peacekeeping force could be sent to the region until there was first a durable


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ceasefire in place. But Hurd, invoking the British experience in Northern Ireland, turned down all four options ranging from sending a few observers to a peacekeeping force numbering anything up to 50,000 men. He realised that large-scale peacekeeping of this kind was not credible without the help of the USA. Those European countries in favour of greater EC powers in the defence arena were keen to show that they could deal with the Yugoslavian issue without help from the Americans. The Americans, preoccupied with not re-electing their president, were only too happy to oblige.

CONTEMPORARY FOREIGN-POLICY PROBLEMS DURING THE SECOND MAJOR ADMINISTRATION, APRIL 1992–JUNE 1995

Europe and the Exchange Rate Mechanism The celebrations after John Major’s unexpected and remarkable election victory in April 1992 had hardly time to abate before his government was hit by two exogenous shocks from which his second administration never fully recovered. First, the government felt compelled to delay the parliamentary ratification of the Maastricht Treaty when the Danes voted ‘No’ in a referendum on Maastricht in June 1992. Backbench Conservative opposition was so great, exemplified by the 84 signatories to the ‘Fresh Start’ motion, that Hurd agreed with the Prime Minister to delay ratification. The second blow to the government came on 16 September 1992, when Britain was forced to withdraw from the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) of the European Monetary System (EMS). On so-called Black Wednesday, Hurd was among the senior ministers in on the decision to raise interest rates from 10 to 12 per cent. He was strongly of the view that, if the government was going to be forced out of the ERM, then it should do so in a way that was reputable and was not seen as sabotaging the outcome of the crucial French referendum on Maastricht due to be held on the Sunday (20 September).40 The massive intervention had no effect, and Britain was forced to withdraw from the ERM. John Major’s two main policies – Europe and the economy – lay in ruins. Douglas Hurd was among several senior ministers who urged a depressed John Major not to resign as Prime Minister. Hurd’s two foreign-policy priorities

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were to stick to the policy of ratification despite growing calls from the Conservative back benches, and from Lady Thatcher, that the Treaty should be abandoned, and to repair the damage done to Anglo-German relations.41 On the first point, Hurd played a decisive role at that year’s Conservative Party conference at Brighton in October, facing down calls for the abandonment of Maastricht. Listening to a ‘poisonous’ speech from Norman Tebbit, the Prime Minister passed ‘Give ’em hell’ notes to Hurd throughout the debate.42 At the end of September, relations with Germany deteriorated again when Helmut Schlesinger, the President of the Bundesbank, sent a briefing note to Von Richtofen, the German ambassador in London, which was leaked to Peter Norman, economics editor of the Financial Times. The note revealed that the French government had received massive assistance from the Germans to prop up the franc, and that the British had been offered a wider realignment by the Germans. Hurd agreed to add his name to a Treasury rebuttal stating that the Germans had made no request that Britain should realign. Unfortunately, on the day the row blew up, Hurd was in Bonn meeting Klaus Kinkel, the German Foreign Minister. In the middle of the meeting, Norman Lamont telephoned Douglas Hurd to let Hurd know about the leak. Hurd would not have known who was telling the truth when Lamont phoned, and it is impossible to tell without the documents who exactly was telling the truth, but in the circumstances he had to back his own Chancellor. Hurd therefore commented to Kinkel that the German ambassador had been very unwise and that the British government was being thrown back into a controversy from which he thought it had been emerging.43 During 1994, there was a chance to rebuild trust and enhance cooperation between the two countries when Klaus Kinkel joined Douglas Hurd in an Anglo-German initiative on the Cyprus issue. Throughout his foreign secretaryship, Hurd tried to move forward the debate on Cyprus by holding a meeting in October 1993 with the leaders of both sides, Glafkos Clerides, the Greek Cypriot leader, and Rauf Denktash, the Turkish community’s representative. However, neither Hurd’s initial meeting nor the Anglo-German initiative produced a breakthrough. Each side seemed dug into its trench. Generally, Hurd found the Greek government more intransigent that the Turkish government, especially over the separate issue of Macedonia, which was discussed at the Edinburgh summit in December 1992.


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Hurd also tried to make the Turks feel less insecure about their place in Europe, which he felt had been ignored by the European Union. In his retirement, he argued that the EU should develop a common (though not a single) foreign policy towards Turkey to help ease these insecurities, building on Turkey’s membership of NATO. Hurd believed that both Turkey and neighbouring Russia were crucial to the future security of Europe, and that the EU required a special relationship with both countries.44 In order to ease Russian worries of NATO’s expansion into the former Warsaw Pact countries, he urged the creation of a Baltic security system, involving Finland, Sweden and the three Baltic states – Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia – while recognising the desire of Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic to become full members of NATO.45 Apart from the end of the Gulf War, the other highlight of Hurd’s six-and-a-half years at the Foreign Office was the Edinburgh summit of December 1992. Hurd cites the Edinburgh summit as a classic example of what modern diplomacy should be about and the Prime Minister’s finest hour.46 The Edinburgh summit brought together the Danish problem (the Danes had voted against Maastricht in June 1992) and the future finance of the European Community, along with the issues of subsidiarity and enlargement. The key to the entire settlement was to find a way of satisfying the demands of the Danes without amending the Maastricht Treaty (which would have involved every member state going through another tough round of ratification). The conundrum was solved by a Frenchman, Pirice, an official on the secretariat of the Council of Ministers, who came up with a formula allowing the European Community to take a decision, which would have legal force, but which would not involve amending the Treaty. In effect, the Heads of Government unanimously put their names to a legal statement that addressed the Danish concerns, which only the Danish government would have to ratify with its own people. Hurd believes that the Prime Minister rescued the British presidency of the European Community at Edinburgh. The previous six months had been a disaster, coming after the Danish reversal, the ERM crises and the disastrous Birmingham summit (16 October 1992), which was dominated by the sudden row over President of the Board of Trade Michael Heseltine’s plans to close 30 coal mines. For the first time really since its inception, the European Community’s future was in serious doubt because of the currency crises across Europe. But the problems for the British

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government over Maastricht did not abate after Edinburgh because John Major and Douglas Hurd became immersed in the domestic political task of the parliamentary ratification of the Maastricht Treaty. Night after night, Conservative rebels attempted to bring down the Treaty, but not their government. Only the threat of electoral suicide in July 1993 eventually secured the passage of the Treaty.47 Bosnia Simultaneously, much of Hurd’s time was taken up with the Bosnian crisis. Hurd’s aims were to prevent the conflict from spreading, to facilitate a settlement, to provide humanitarian relief and, crucially, to uphold the Atlantic Alliance. The irony was that, by the time the Clinton administration became engaged in the former Yugoslavia, EC- and UN-inspired policies were already in place, including the humanitarian relief effort, which risked being jeopardised by what the Americans wished to do, namely to lift the arms embargo and begin air strikes against the Bosnian Serbs – the so-called ‘lift and strike’ policy. A great deal of effort was expended by Hurd in Washington DC trying to persuade the Americans not to lift the arms embargo. By this time, Hurd had become a regular part of the American scene. During 24-hour visits, he would have meetings during the day with the key players on Capitol Hill. In the evening, Robin Renwick, the British ambassador, would host dinners at which Hurd would meet groups of Congressmen, journalists and other Washington opinion formers. According to an insider, these explanation meetings and dinners where ‘worth their weight in gold’.48 In May 1993, Warren Christopher, the US Secretary of State, was persuaded at Chevening not to lift the arms embargo. But, because Hurd’s most important aim was the preservation of the special relationship, he had to cede ground to Clinton, who in turn came under pressure from the Republican Party to lift the arms embargo and begin air strikes. In November 1994, Clinton came under intense pressure after the Republican victory in the mid-term Congressional elections. With the Republicans in control of both Houses of Congress and the Senate majority leader Bob Dole calling for a ‘lift and strike’ policy, the President announced on 11 November that the USA would no longer enforce the arms embargo against the former Yugoslavia. Such American pressure resulted in Hurd progressively jettisoning European-inspired


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policies as the Americans came progressively more on board. First, there was the ditching of the Vance–Owen Plan.49 Then, Hurd helped establish the Contact Group of nations – comprising Britain, France, the USA, Germany and Russia – in an attempt to cut through the morass of international institutions dealing with the Bosnian issue. This very much fitted in with Hurd’s preference for a system close to the nineteenth century ‘Concert of Europe’ approach to foreign affairs, involving the great powers in solving disputes.50 Eventually, Hurd reluctantly gave way to American pressure on air strikes. He had opposed air strikes because he felt that they would end the humanitarian effort and endanger British and French troops on the ground. From the end of November 1994 until his retirement in June 1995, Hurd’s diaries are punctuated with expressions of anxiety that some fearful incident might occur in which the British might lose a large number of troops. Indeed, when Hurd finally conceded air strikes (the Prime Minister was always keener on these than Hurd), it led to hostage-taking by the Bosnian Serbs of British and French troops on the ground in May 1995. Then, the Americans started arming the Croatians for an offensive against the Krajinian Serbs, which proved decisive in bringing Milosevic to the negotiating table. The Bosnian crisis created an opportunity for the British and the French to cooperate much more closely, both militarily and diplomatically. Militarily, the prize was not so much the daily reality of the British and French working together on the ground, but France’s re-entry into the military structure of NATO, reversing General De Gaulle’s decision of 1966. During 1994, Hurd succeeded in his aim of promoting NATO rather than the European Community as the organisation charged with handling the defence of Europe. Diplomatically, Hurd and his opposite number, Alain Juppe, set great store in trying to persuade President Milosevic of Serbia to drop his support for the Bosnian Serbs. Hurd and Juppe worked closely together during two trips to Belgrade (June and December) in 1994. Did French and British diplomatic pressure have any influence on Milosevic’s decision to drop his support for the Bosnian Serbs? By 1995, Milosevic refused to intervene militarily when the Americans started arming the Croatians against the Krajinian Serbs, and was persuaded to sign the Dayton peace agreement. Whether this was due to American power shifting the military balance away from Milosevic or the result of sanctions and Anglo-French persuasion in convincing Milosevic that he had to return to European respectability

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in order to restructure his economy (or a combination or both) is unclear. Hurd later felt that the Americans were not as helpful as they could have been in promoting the Anglo-French initiatives. Hurd also attracted a great deal of criticism when he wrote that lifting the arms embargo ‘would in effect be saying, “Here are the arms: fight it out”. That is the policy of the level killing field.’51 The phrase was intended by Hurd as a neat and powerful phrase to illustrate the folly of arming the Bosnian Muslims. It was an amalgam of two well-known sayings: ‘level playing fields’ were often referred to at European summits; and The Killing Fields was the title of a film about the slaughter of thousands of innocent civilians by Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge in Cambodia (formerly Kampuchea) during the 1970s. Hurd wrote his letter to the Daily Telegraph from Jakarta, Indonesia. He felt he was using a pertinent example from the region he was visiting and even tested out the phrase on David Martin, his parliamentary private secretary. However, with hindsight, Hurd admitted that it was ‘too powerful, too vivid an accusation. It upset those most strongly on the side of the Bosnian Muslims.’52 Thereafter, Hurd was seen as the leading politician in Europe standing in the way of the arms embargo being lifted. To describe a ‘level killing field’ is to infer that the victims can defend themselves and, to those supporting the Bosnian Muslims, the phrase is a contradiction in terms. A few days later, Lady Thatcher slammed it as ‘a terrible and disgraceful phrase’.53 It does seem ill-judged. Much later, after Hurd’s retirement, opponents of Hurd’s Bosnian policy questioned his ethics in visiting Belgrade in July 1996 in his capacity as deputy chairman of NatWest Markets. He was there in order to persuade Milosevic to privatise Serbia’s electricity and oil sectors.54 It is possible to set this meeting in the context of Milosevic’s pragmatic desire to embrace capitalism and to re-enter European respectability. However, in the eyes of the Bosnian Muslims and their supporters, the responsibility for starting the war lies squarely at the door of Milosevic. Therefore, the idea of a former British Foreign Secretary – indeed, one who played a central role in blocking the American and Muslim efforts to lift the arms embargo – subsequently trying to cut financial deals with the Serbian President is, in their view, profoundly distasteful. Hurd also raised the ire of those sympathetic to the Bosnian Muslims in Britain, particularly the press, by referring to them in September 1993 as ‘the founder members of the something-


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must-be-done club’.55 He was trying to highlight the need for a proper balance between realism and idealism in the conduct of foreign policy, something he would later highlight in a television series (and accompanying book) for the BBC in 1996, entitled The Search for Peace – A Century of Peace Diplomacy. In another lasting Hurd phrase, he said while still Foreign Secretary that British foreign policy should fall ‘somewhere between Gladstone and the saloon bar’.56 Revulsion about atrocities highlighted by television cameras was not a sufficient reason for intervening in every dispute. Britain should consider carefully before risking the lives of its soldiers in foreign wars, but at the same time avoiding the narrow, Tory view that no British national interests were involved. Britain had its part to play in creating a more decent world, but could not intervene everywhere. Hurd has admitted since his retirement that the Bosnian issue was ‘intellectually and ethically tangled’.57 In the second half of his foreign secretaryship, he reckoned that the Bosnian question consumed more intellectual time than any other subject.58 During the crisis, internal policy meetings were held at least once a week.59 It is significant that, before Hurd left the Foreign Office, he ordered that an official account of the conflict be written, to remain confidential for 30 years. Was this partly a clue to his lingering doubts whether his own policies were right?60 These doubts surface in three short stories, written about Bosnia. (Like Disraeli, Hurd preferred to use fiction to illustrate his more controversial views.) The best of these is ‘The Last Day of Summer’, a parable about the consequences of wars fuelled by nationalism.61 In terms of lessons learned from the conflict, Hurd was willing to concede that major mistakes were made. The UN’s declaration of safe areas gave the Bosnian Muslims the illusion of safety without having the necessary troops in place to make the policy credible.62 Member states refused to respond to the request of Dr Boutros Boutros Ghali, the UN Secretary-General, for 34,000 extra troops, resulting in cases of genocide, including the massacre after the fall of Srebrenica. By agreeing to a policy that it could not possibly implement the UN did lasting damage to its own authority. A second major policy failure was the dual-key policy of an air effort conducted by NATO and a ground effort conducted by the United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR). The use of air power authorised by NATO after February 1994 did not require a Security Council resolution, but did require the authorisation of the United Nations Secretary-General, acting through his special

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envoy, Yasushi Akashi. Either the UN or NATO could propose air strikes, but both had to agree. On several occasions, General Sir Michael Rose, then commander of the UNPROFOR, requested air strikes, only to be turned down by Akashi.63 But the third major mistake in Bosnia, and the one that still lingers in Hurd’s mind, is whether the West should have intervened earlier against Milosevic. It depends on one’s view of Milosevic and whether western European institutions were capable of dealing with the Bosnian crisis at the time without the initial diplomatic and military support of the USA. While it seems that Europe was not ready to deal with a crisis of this kind in 1991, this argument still does not explain away the moral case for stopping Milosevic. He can be seen as an opportunistic and extremely wily dictator who took advantage of the collapse of communism to start aggressive wars fuelled by nationalism in Slovenia, Bosnia and later Kosovo. However, in the end, he proved the key to peace at Dayton. Without his pressure on the Bosnian Serbs, no deal could have been reached. On Kosovo, Milosevic can be seen as continuing his policy of ethnic cleansing, or he can be viewed as a Serb leader defending his country’s territory from KLA terrorists and from impossible terms being demanded by NATO at Rambouillet. Given the terrible loss of life through ethnic cleansing, it is hardly surprising that Hurd still has lingering doubts about the rightness of his actions, but he chose not to embroil British troops in a war that could have gone terribly wrong, and selected a humanitarian path instead, illustrating his liberal view of Britain’s role in the world. The handover of Hong Kong to China Hurd’s liberal instincts also eventually won over pure realpolitik in the case of Hong Kong’s handover to China. Having been posted to Peking in 1954 as a young diplomat, Hurd could claim to have a deep knowledge and interest in China and Hong Kong. Indeed, his first book was a non-fiction account of the Arrow War, recounting two missions by the Eighth Earl of Elgin, which eventually secured British and French diplomatic representation in Peking.64 Hurd began his foreign secretaryship by following Geoffrey Howe’s policy enunciated in the Sino-British Joint Declaration of 1984. In this declaration on the handover of Hong Kong to China in July 1997, Britain pledged not to disrupt the ‘through train’ – the idea that institutions in place before the handover should remain in place after. In practice, China would


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have a controlling say in any democratic structures being proposed for Hong Kong. The appointment of Chris Patten as the Governor of Hong Kong signalled an abrupt change in British policy. Hurd was revealed as a liberal Conservative when he publicly backed Patten’s view (strongly supported by John Major) that the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989 had created a democratic movement in Hong Kong that had not existed to any real extent before then. Hong Kong, Patten argued, should therefore be entitled to as much or as little democracy as it wanted, regardless of the views of China. Hurd believed that it simply would not be credible to stand up in the House of Commons telling the Hong Kong people in effect that negotiations about their future were being conducted in private.65 The ideal solution, which Chris Patten always favoured, would have been to offer all seven million Hong Kong people the right of abode in the United Kingdom. But this had proved politically impossible given the views of the Tory right. (As Home Secretary, Hurd had had enough difficulties with Conservative backbenchers, especially Norman Tebbit, resulting in the granting of the right of abode to only 50,000 families in the Hong Kong (Nationality) Act 1990.) Britain therefore needed, as Chris Patten put it, to put some ‘panes of glass on the window’ to create a democratic heart in the colony, which would go on beating regardless of what the Chinese did after the handover.66 This view was supported by the findings of the Foreign Affairs Select Committee report in March 1994.67 On 7 October 1992, Patten made the fateful decision to expand the franchise and to increase the number of directly elected seats for the main Legislative Council elections in 1995, without gaining the consent of the Chinese (but with Hurd warning the Chinese of British intentions two weeks before). A trio of former British ambassadors to China – Sir Richard Evans, Sir Alan Donald and Sir Percy Cradock (Mrs Thatcher’s foreign-policy adviser on China) – virulently challenged the change of policy by Hurd, Patten and Major. Cradock went as far as to suggest that Patten had pursued ‘a dangerous and reckless policy’ in making his proposals without the consent of the Chinese.68 In their opinion, Patten had interrupted the ‘through train’ and breached the Sino-British Joint Declaration of 1984, which they saw as a triumph of British diplomacy. Sir Edward Heath agreed with the former diplomats, believing that the Chinese would simply reverse Patten’s democratic reforms when they took over in July

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1997.69 Geoffrey Howe believed that Hong Kong should be handled like a delicate vase. Britain should do nothing to upset China in the run-up to 1997. But Howe stayed silent until the negotiations on the handover were completed. When he finally made his views known, Howe launched a very bitter tirade against Patten and Jonathan Dimbleby’s biography defending The Last Governor.70 Hurd disliked the Dimbleby book: it stirred up trouble, whereas Hurd’s instincts were not to fan the flames of controversy but to defuse and conciliate. It was typical of Hurd to write a conciliatory letter to Howe after the handover ceremony in an attempt to smooth the ruffled feathers: Apart from one short pacifying letter in The Times I have kept out of the brouhaha. The handover itself was dignified and could have provided a full-stop to argument. I am not an admirer of the Dimbleby book … And I do not think that it is seemly for you and me to brawl in public, when we have agreed so much for so long.71

However, the episode revealed Hurd’s liberal instincts on democracy and foreign policy. It also revealed a tendency by Hurd to change his mind based on the weight of the arguments. In September 1993, in another matter related to China, Hurd stepped into the row over the contest to host the Olympic Games in the year 2000. At the time, John Major was strongly behind Manchester’s bid to host the Olympics, headed by the tireless Manchester businessman, Bob Scott. It was clear, however, that Britain was being edged into third place, and that the contest was developing into a two-horse race between Sydney and Peking. The Foreign Office’s brief urged Hurd to stick to supporting Manchester’s failing bid. However, on the aeroplane over to Sydney (arranged as part of a trade and cultural visit), Hurd listened to the arguments of his younger officials that failing to speak out against the Chinese bid would send the wrong signal about democracy in Britain’s last major colony.72 During an interview on Australian television, when questioned for a third time on the issue by a journalist, Hurd commented that a Peking victory would be ‘poor news, a bad choice’.73 The Pergau Dam affair One of Hurd’s finest political skills was his ability to get himself and the government out of difficulties, by correctly judging the mood in the House of Commons, a gift which led the political


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columnist Matthew Parris to christen him ‘Super-Doug’.74 One such instance was the Pergau Dam affair where Hurd survived, despite being found guilty by the High Court of an inappropriate use of aid money. The Pergau Dam affair was really a throwback to the Thatcher government’s aggressive pursuit of arms sales in the 1980s rather than indicative of British aid policy in the 1990s. Hurd felt he was honouring a promise made by Mrs Thatcher to the Malaysian Prime Minister, Dr Mahathir Mohamed, back in 1988. He therefore ignored advice from Sir Tim Lankester, then the permanent secretary at the Overseas Development Agency, and its chief accounting officer, who sent a memorandum to ministers advising against the project because ‘it would not be consistent with policy statements by ministers to Parliament about the basic objectives of the aid programme’.75 Lynda Chalker, the Minister for Overseas Development, agreed with her permanent secretary’s analysis.76 There is little argument on this point. A National Audit Office report in 1993 confirmed as much.77 Hurd overruled their advice and made the first payment for the dam. In retrospect, Hurd should have taken more detailed legal advice. The episode was a classic example of how Whitehall really operates. Because the dam project and the arms sales were made cosmetically to run as two separate but parallel policies, the Whitehall machine did not consider it necessary to inform Hurd of the 1988 defence deal between George Younger, the Defence Secretary, and the Malaysians: it had been de-linked and therefore did not exist. In November 1994, Hurd was found guilty in the High Court, not on the arms sales point, but on the narrow question of whether the payment was a proper use of aid money. Was it a resignation issue? Hurd contemplated resignation over that weekend, but he was advised that this was a political crisis with a short shelf-life. In any event, Hurd is not a resigner by nature. His instincts are to find a way through a difficulty. He acted swiftly by launching a prompt review of all Aid and Trade Provision projects in light of the High Court’s judgment, while adding that he ‘did not feel penitent about taking a fairly robust view of where the interests of this country lie’.78 Qualified majority voting and enlargement of the European Union, Ioaninna Hurd showed similar skills in getting himself out of difficulty, but was not able to prevent the Prime Minister from taking the blame,

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after the row over qualified majority voting (QMV) in March 1994. The irony of the episode was that the British government was among the leading enthusiasts for enlargement of the European Union to include Finland, Austria and Sweden (Norway applied, but subsequently voted No), but the Foreign Office made the mistake of tackling the finer points of enlargement first, leaving the important question of weighted voting until last. Hurd realised the mistake in his diary: ‘25 March 1994: We’ve put second things first and will suffer grievously.’79 The balance of voting in the Council of Ministers had, up to this point, meant that a ‘blocking minority’ of 23 votes was required, but no agreement could be reached on what would constitute the new blocking minority. Gradually, the tight timetable for enlargement (the new countries were scheduled to join on 1 January 1995) came under threat. Having been the enthusiast for enlargement, Hurd felt that Britain could not be seen to be blocking it, especially since the Germans, the French and the Italians – as the large states in the EU – were no longer willing to defend 23 as the blocking minority. Of Britain’s original allies on the issue only Spain stood firmly with the British.80 Hurd urged a compromise, but was told to defend 23 by a majority of the Cabinet subcommittee, OPD (E), including Michael Heseltine, the President of the Board of Trade, and Kenneth Clarke, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, both normally Hurd’s closest allies on European policy. Eventually, Hurd persuaded the Cabinet, with the support of the Prime Minister beforehand, to secure more flexibility in the negotiations. But, on 22 March, John Major made ill-judged comments in the House of Commons during Prime Minister’s question time, in which he declared Britain’s determination to stand and fight, accusing the then Labour leader John Smith of being ‘Monsieur Oui, the poodle of Brussels’.81 Hurd was very cross and felt that John Major ‘dug us all in deeper’.82 The Prime Minister had been fully informed of the negotiations in Brussels, and yet he had made this unscripted remark. Hurd told Major what he thought of it all and this plunged John Major into one of his periodic bouts of depression. At Cabinet on 24 March 1992, Heseltine even suggested that Hurd should threaten to resign if he did not get his way. Hurd did not see any need for this. Rather, Britain’s efforts in defence of 23 were completely disproportionate to the importance of the issue.83 On 26 March, Hurd flew to Ioannina in Greece for an informal summit at which the issue was temporarily resolved. The Ioannina


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compromise set the blocking minority at 27 but, in cases where the number of blocking votes was between 23 and 26, countries agreed to a cooling-off period of two months during which the proposals could be re-examined. Hurd’s initial reaction to Ioannina was favourable, but he guessed correctly that the deal would ‘look weak at Westminster’.84 On his return to London, Hurd won over a very reluctant and melancholy Prime Minister with the help of Kenneth Clarke, who, after holding out against a compromise, was persuaded by Hurd to change his mind. On Monday 28 March, Hurd gave another one of his reassuring performances in the House of Commons, leading Matthew Parris to comment that Hurd ‘just keeps on convincing people’.85 The following day at Cabinet, Hurd secured agreement for the deal, but Major, who was still extremely upset, refused to argue. Looking back, Hurd is sure that he could not have gained more for Britain, but John Major felt that he could have secured a better deal. Whereas Hurd had survived his ordeal in the House of Commons, John Major was savaged by incandescent Eurosceptics when he gave his statement on QMV. For the first time since 1963, a Conservative MP – albeit Tony Marlow, a maverick with a penchant for stripy blazers – called for the resignation of the Prime Minister.86 The press reaction the following day was extremely bloody. The Prime Minister had chosen to fight a pitched battle on ground that he stood no chance of holding. The aftermath of the QMV episode left John Major with virtually no authority in his party other than wielding the threat of electoral suicide. In retrospect, Kenneth Clarke believes he was wrong to have been persuaded by Hurd to change his mind because John Major was left ‘terribly exposed’, and it led to the weakening of the Cabinet troika of Major–Clarke–Hurd on European policy.87 However, Hurd believes that the Prime Minister had ‘over-exposed himself unnecessarily’ with his ‘Monsieur Oui’ comment the previous Thursday. He also believes that the Prime Minister’s miserable experience over the QMV row was a crucial turning point in John Major’s thinking on Europe. From then on, Major felt increasingly that Britain was going to be a loser in arguments of this kind.88 After the QMV episode, Hurd floated his vision of ‘variable geometry’ as part of the process of reuniting the Conservative Party on Europe in time for the European elections in June 1994. On 6 May, in a speech to the Polish Parliament in Warsaw, Hurd claimed that a ‘multi-speed, multi-track, even multi-faceted Europe’ was taking shape.89 His lecture was barely reported. He

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tried again at the Scottish Conservative Party conference in Inverness, but it was only when John Major took up the issue at the end of May that the idea took flight. The European elections were bad, but they were not catastrophic, and Hurd felt that at least he had helped to maintain a semblance of unity during the campaign.90 But it wasn’t to be. Essentially, the pattern from this point on until Hurd’s retirement remained the same: the Eurosceptics would create a fuss, which would be countered by the pro-Europeans, leaving the Prime Minister and Douglas Hurd seeking new ways of preserving a paper unity for the election. Sensing that Douglas Hurd, his closest ally in Cabinet on Europe, might be thinking of retirement, Kenneth Clarke took to the habit every time he met Hurd of pleading with him not to resign. In the manner of M. Porcuis Cato (234–149 BC), who kept warning the Romans about the rise of the Carthaginians after the Second Punic War by saying ‘Carthago delenda est’ (and Carthage must be destroyed), the Chancellor exhorted to Hurd, ‘And you must not resign.’91

THE FOREIGN OFFICE: FUNDING AND BRITAIN’S FUTURE ROLE

On most issues, the Chancellor and Foreign Secretary agreed. However, they did not see eye to eye on the Chancellor’s desire to cut the Foreign Office budget. Hurd robustly defended his department by refusing to argue with Kenneth Clarke on the details, arguing in broad strategic terms, leaving Treasury ministers and officials bemused.92 The Foreign Secretary also tried to increase funding for the civilian side of Britain’s overseas effort – the cultural and educational aspects such as the British Council and the BBC World Service, the various scholarship schemes, trade promotion and development policy – encapsulated in the term ‘preventive diplomacy’. On 13 January 1995, at a meeting of senior ministers at Chequers, Hurd thought he had secured an agreement in principle to this effect. According to Hurd, the Treasury disputed the minutes of the meeting, but the Prime Minister sustained them.93 Hurd believed that, in 30 years’ time, the public records would show that he had secured an advancement on the overseas civilian effort of the Foreign Office. And yet, after Hurd retired, the agreement did not operate. Partly as a parting shot, Hurd seized the opportunity provided by the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Royal Institute for


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International Affairs at Chatham House to launch the Britain in the World conference. The one-day conference was held at the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre on 29 March 1995. Around 700 opinion formers met to identify more clearly what Britain was good at in the post-Cold War world, and how it could do those things better. Hurd’s main reason for holding the conference was to shift the foreign-policy debate in Britain beyond Europe. Europe was important, but it was not the only area of the world where British interests lay. Despite Hurd’s efforts to keep Europe off the agenda, according to Hugo Young, he ‘could not resist its seepage in every pore’.94 Dr Henry Kissinger, the former US Secretary of State, delivered the unwelcome advice that Britain’s special relationship with America should be transferred to the whole of Europe, with Britain acting as an oiler in the wheels of US–European relations.95 Hurd can be accused of not enunciating his world vision sooner, but there were dangers in doing so too soon after the end of the Cold War. President Bush’s phrase about the new world order in the wake of the Gulf War had, in Hurd’s view, raised false expectations about the capacity of world institutions to deal with new types of disorder such as civil wars. Hurd preferred to speak in terms of ‘the new disorder’.96 The conference confirmed that Hurd’s policy of trying to unite the Conservative Party on Europe through his variable geometry vision was not succeeding. Every time a concession was made to the Euro-sceptics, they came back for more. The Prime Minister stopped believing that his fellow European partners were on his side, while Hurd’s European initiatives were seen as carrying less weight at the European table because they were seen as devices designed to paper over domestic divisions inside the Conservative Party. Progressively, the Conservative Party, the party of big business, turned its back on Europe. Businesses started casting their eyes towards Tony Blair and the inevitable change of regime.

HOLDING BACK THE TIDE

It was as though Hurd sensed it was time to leave, as though his brand of Conservatism was in retreat. In September 1991, on a visit with John Major to China, when Major asked him to stay on as Foreign Secretary after the election, Hurd offered only two years. In Easter 1993 and again in Easter 1994, he had told his principal

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private secretary, John Sawers, that he intended to serve just one more year before retiring.97 Undoubtedly, the cumulative strain of spending 16 unremitting years as a minister, ten-and-a-half of them as a Cabinet minister, was beginning to tell. Four gruelling years at the Home Office had been followed by five-and-a-half years as Foreign Secretary during which he had subjected himself to a punishing schedule of foreign travel. For most of the time, he had enjoyed good health, but a bad back from October 1994 began to take its toll. Friends testified that he was finding it increasingly difficult to unwind away from work. In January 1995, Hurd came under sustained pressure to resign from the Euro-sceptics and their friends in the press.98 These Eurosceptics increasingly viewed the Foreign Secretary as the man standing in the way of the Prime Minister hardening his policy on Europe. By coincidence, Hurd had told the Prime Minister in the spring of 1994 that he was going to resign in 1995, but Judy, his wife, advised him to stand firm. Hurd used his good links with journalists to scotch rumours of his intention to resign in the summer of 1995, at a moment of the Prime Minister’s choosing. That moment came on 23 June, the day after the Prime Minister stood down as leader of the Conservative Party and challenged his critics to ‘put up or shut up’. In a typically selfless act, Hurd announced his resignation on the steps of the Foreign Office, saying that he wished to avoid his future and the question of the foreign secretaryship from being entangled in the campaign. Major won the leadership contest but, despite the appointment of Malcolm Rifkind, a more Euro-sceptic Foreign Secretary, the European issue continued to divide the Conservative Party. After a summer of recuperation, Hurd started a new career in the City of London as deputy chairman of NatWest Markets, acting in an ambassadorial role for the company. He resumed his writing career, publishing a new novel The Shape of Ice. There was also a foray into broadcasting when Hurd compiled five 15-minute programmes for BBC Radio 4 under the series title Letters from a Diplomat, recounting his earlier career experiences. In November 1997, Hurd compiled a further BBC series (with accompanying book) entitled The Search for Peace. Although no longer in front-line politics, Hurd became increasingly critical of the lurch to the right inside the Conservative Party, particularly Michael Howard’s populism over sentencing policy at the Home Office. Hurd’s liberal instincts on the subject were shown when he accepted the appointment as chairman of the Prison Reform Trust, arguing for more education in prisons,


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instead of seeing prisons ‘simply as a wastepaper basket into which we toss offenders’.99 In September 1996, he spoke at the launch of Conservative Mainstream, an umbrella organisation of centre-left groups inside the Conservative Party arguing for a return to one-nation values. But Hurd’s defence of his brand of Conservatism, though stronger than when he had been in office, was no longer relevant. In May 1997, Labour won a crushing election victory. Post-election, the Hurd–Major–Clarke view of Europe was rejected by a new leader of whom Hurd knew little.


Hurd was essentially a pragmatic Foreign Secretary who responded to each issue based on the circumstances, forming a view based on the balance of the arguments. In that sense, he was more like a civil servant than a politician despite his best efforts to operate at arm’s length from officials. He is undoubtedly intelligent, but even his political friends acknowledge that because he is willing to listen to the weight of the arguments, and has few ideological beliefs, as Foreign Secetary he was sometimes too ready to change his mind. Against this needs to be set his ability to defuse crises, his strong defence of his department against Treasury cuts, his overall skills as an administrator, and his impressive analysis of politics and events revealed in his fictional and non-fictional writing. He went beyond the narrow traditional Tory view of the national interest, showing a willingness to see an element of decency in the conduct of foreign policy, but his strong dislike of war and preference for conciliation prevented him from dragging Britain into full military intervention in Bosnia. Hurd was in many ways a transitional Foreign Secretary, straddling the end of the Cold War and the beginning of the new world disorder. Inevitably, international institutions adapted too slowly to cope with the new realities, most notably the need to intervene in civil wars, and Hurd’s policies, particularly over Bosnia were a victim of this, despite his attempts to blend nineteenth-century methods with twentieth-century morality by cutting through the morass of international institutions and only involving the great powers in the contact group. Just as Lord Palmerston in the nineteenth century pursued liberal policies in some areas, while backing draconian regimes in others, Hurd followed a policy of

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selective liberalism as Foreign Secretary. He became more liberal as time went on, especially on China, but ultimately his greatest failure was to prevent the Conservative Party from turning its back on Europe, altering fundamentally the pro-European policy pursued since Harold Macmillan.

NOTES 1. The four books written with Andrew Osmond were: Send Him Victorious (London: Collins, 1968); The Smile on the Face of the Tiger (London: Collins, 1969); Scotch on the Rocks (London: Collins, 1971); War without Frontiers (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1982). Hurd was also the sole author of two books written in the 1970s: Truth Game (London: Collins, 1975) and Vote to Kill (London: Collins, 1975). While Minister of State at the Foreign Office, he also wrote a novel with his private secretary, Stephen Lamport, The Palace of Enchantments (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1985). Pressures of Cabinet office (and the desire not to stir up a fuss) forced Hurd to confine himself to writing short stories. 2. MacGregor had been head of Heath’s private office since 1965. He became MP for South Norfolk from February 1974 to present, serving as a Cabinet minister in both the Thatcher and Major governments. 3. Douglas Hurd, The Shape of Ice (London: Little, Brown, 1998). 4. Another novel, Image in the Water (London: Little, Brown, 2001), warned of the perils of populist politicians who are too easily led by press and public opinion. 5. On 1 May 1980, the Saudi government asked Britain to withdraw its ambassador, James Craig, after Anglia Television screened the drama documentary film, Death of a Princess. The film revealed that in 1997 Princess Misha, granddaughter of Prince Mohammed ibn Abdul Aziz (the elder brother of King Khaled) had been found guilty of committing adultery under Islamic law and had been publicly executed, along with her lover. Keesing’s Contemporary Archives, p. 30429. 6. Neil Marten, the Overseas Development Minister, also survived the reshuffle. 7. Douglas Hurd, ‘Political Co-operation’, International Affairs, 57, 3 (Summer 1981), pp. 383–93. 8. Interview with Stephen Lamport, 19 December 1995. 9. Douglas Hurd, ‘Statutes of Liberty’, Spectator, 5 December 1987. 10. See Lord Windlesham, Responses to Crime: Penal Policy in the Making, vol. II (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993). 11. 20 October 1998. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, 26 February 1997. 12. Three related cases involving miscarriages of justice dating back to the IRA’s bombing of mainland Britain in the 1970s. 13. Second Report on the Maguire Case, HC 296 (London: HMSO, 1992). 14. Royal Commission on Criminal Justice, Report (Cm. 2263) (London: HMSO, 1993). 15. Even then, Fridays tended to be reserved for constituency business. 16. 26 October 1989, Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, 26 February 1997. 17. Philip Stephens, Politics and the Pound: The Conservatives’ Struggle with Sterling (London: Macmillan, 1996), p. 143. 18. Douglas Hurd, ‘Wars and Peacemakers’, Letters from a Diplomat, Radio 4, 1 July 1996 (original transcript). 19. 10 July 1990. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, 18 March 1997. 20. The Delors Committee, which had consisted of a group of central bankers chaired by the European Commission President Jacques Delors, recommended a three-stage plan on the road to monetary union. Stage one envisaged all the countries of the European Community joining the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM), with the abolition of capital controls and the greater use of the European currency unit (ECU). This would be followed by the creation of a European Monetary Institute (stage two), which in stage


21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32.

33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

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three would be transformed into a European Central Bank running a single currency with fixed exchange rates. Hugo Young, One of Us: A Biography of Margaret Thatcher (London: Pan Books revised paperback edn, 1993), p. 575. Transcript, ‘On the Record’, BBC 1, 25 November 1990. Hurd’s grandfather, Sir Percy Angier Hurd, had also served as the Conservative MP for the Somerset division of Frome from 1918 to 1923, and for the Devizes division of Wiltshire from October 1924 until his retirement in 1945. Private information. Ibid. Interview with Lord Carrington, 16 December 1995; Nigel Lawson, The View from No. 11: Memoirs of a Tory Radical, 2nd edn (London: Corgi Books, 1993), pp. 1002–3. Hugo Young, ‘The Best Man Fails the Saloon Bar Test’, The Guardian, 27 November 1990. Interview with Gerald Kaufman, 13 November 1996. John Campbell, Edward Heath: A Biography (London: Jonathan Cape, 1993), p. 780. House of Commons Debates, 28 November 1990, col. 874. Douglas Hurd, ‘First Steps on the Campaign Trail’, Daily Telegraph, 7 October 1992 (book review, Colin Powell with Joseph E. Persico, A Soldier’s Way: An Autobiography (London: Hutchinson, 1995)). Interview with Tristan Garel-Jones, 19 November 1996. The Dutch draft had proposed the granting of new powers to the European Commission to initiate legislation in the field of home affairs. For the first time, the European Parliament would have had the power to veto the decisions of the Council of Ministers. While the continuation of NATO was guaranteed under the plans, foreign and security matters would have been decided within the Treaty structure, rather than being organised on an intergovernmental basis. Areas like social affairs, health and education would have been subject to majority voting. Guardian, 5 November 1991. Hurd was attacking the European Commission’s desire to invoke environmental-impact rules against Whitehall on transport projects. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, 18 March 1997. Interview with Douglas Hurd, 18 March 1997. House of Commons Debates, 30 May 1992, col. 716. Douglas Hurd, ‘A British Overview of the Conflict. All Souls College: Foreign Policy Studies Programme’, Seminar Series on Lessons from Bosnia, Hilary Term, 8 March 1996 (verbatim text of the lecture). Interview with Lord Carrington, 6 December 1995. Stephens, Politics and the Pound, p. 250. Hurd was unaware of the full story of Norman Lamont’s outburst at the Bath meeting of EC Finance Ministers on 5 September, at which the Chancellor tried to browbeat the German delegation into cutting interest rates. 6 October 1992. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. This account is based on a letter from Douglas Hurd to the author, dated 15 October 1997. Hurd consulted his diary entry and produced a summary. This was the only occasion in the Diary Readings on which this happened. Douglas Hurd, ‘Europe Looks East’, Winston Churchill Memorial Lecture, 14 March 1996 (verbatim text of lecture). Douglas Hurd, ‘Europe in the 21st Century’, SHAPEX Conference, Brussels, 25 April 1996 (verbatim text of lecture). Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. See D. Baker, A. Gamble and S. Ludlam, ‘Whips or Scorpions? The Maastricht Vote and the Conservative Party’, Parliamentary Affairs, 46, 2 (April 1993), pp. 151–66. Private information. The Vance–Owen Plan drew its ideas from the Finnish diplomat Martti Ahtisaari. In October 1992, he proposed dividing up Bosnia into autonomous provinces or ‘cantons’, allowing refugees to return to their homes. The Vance–Owen Plan of January 1993 redefined these cantons, giving them ethnic labels, which, it can be argued, had the effect of breaking the alliance between the Muslims and the Croats, sparking fighting between Croats and Muslims for mixed areas.

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50. Although the concept of the contact group was first devised during the Namibian conflict in the 1970s. 51. Douglas Hurd, ‘Letter to the Editor’, Daily Telegraph, 5 April 1993. 52. Telephone conversation with Douglas Hurd, 5 December 1997. See Noel Malcolm, Bosnia: A Short History, 2nd edn (London: Macmillan, 1996). 53. Verbatim text of interview between Baroness Thatcher and Peter Sissons, The Times, 14 April 1993. 54. Sunday Telegraph, 1 September 1996; Tribune, 6 September 1996. 55. Quoted from Nicholas Jones, Soundbites and Spin Doctors: How Politicians Manipulate the Media – and Vice Versa, 2nd edn (London: Indigo, 1996), pp. 25–6. Hurd first used the phrase in April 1993. House of Commons Debates, 29 April 1993, col. 1178. 56. House of Commons Debates, 23 February 1993, col. 774. 57. Douglas Hurd, ‘A British Overview of the Conflict’. 58. Ibid. 59. Private information. 60. Boris Johnson, ‘Douglas Hurd’s Public Conscience’, The Spectator, 17 April 1993. 61. The other two Bosnia-based short stories were ‘Ten Minutes to Turn the Devil’, about a military intervention gone wrong, and ‘Warrior’, a coded way of praising the UN’s humanitarian effort. 62. House of Commons Debates, 7 December 1994, col. 323. 63. For example, on 8 May 1995 General Rose requested air strikes at Butmir near Sarajevo, but was refused by Akashi. 64. Douglas Hurd, The Arrow War: An Anglo-Chinese Confusion, 1856–1860 (London: Collins, 1967). 65. Letter from Lord Hurd of Westwell to Lord Howe of Aberavon, 4 August 1997. 66. Clive James, interview with Governor Chris Patten, in Clive James, ‘Postcard from Hong Kong’, ITV, 27 August 1997. 67. HC 37, Foreign Affairs Select Committee, Relations between the United Kingdom and China in the Period up to and beyond 1997, First Report, Session 1993–94, 23 March 1994, vol. I, p. lxxxvi. 68. Minutes of Evidence and Appendices, First Report, Session 1993–94, 23 March 1994, vol. II, p. 219. 69. House of Commons Debates, 27 April 1995, cols. 1008–13. 70. Jonathan Dimbleby, The Last Governor: Chris Patten and the Handover of Hong Kong (London: Little, Brown, 1997), pp. 276–84. For Howe’s attack on Patten, see Geoffrey Howe, ‘The Smell of Betrayal’, Sunday Times, 20 July 1997. 71. Letter from Lord Hurd of Westwell to Lord Howe of Aberavon, 4 August 1997. 72. Private information. 73. Guardian, 17 September 1993. 74. Matthew Parris, ‘Very Nice, Well-mannered Minister Confidently to the Rescue’, The Times, 14 December 1994. 75. Independent, 11 November 1994. 76. Interview with Baroness Chalker of Wallasey, 21 January 1997. 77. HC 908, National Audit Office, Report by the Comptroller and Auditor General: Pergau Hydro-Electric Project, 18 October 1993, HMSO, p. 11. 78. House of Commons Debates, 13 December 1994, col. 780. 79. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. 80. Hurd was particularly impressed by the robustness of the Spanish Foreign Minister, Javier Solana, and in October 1995 his support for the idea that Solana should become Secretary-General of NATO was partly based on this experience. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. 81. House of Commons Debates, 22 March 1994, col. 134. 82. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. Major admits in his memoirs that his outburst was ‘a gratuitous and graceless accusation’: John Major, The Autobiography (London: HarperCollins, 1999), p. 590. 83. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. 84. 27 March 1994. Diary Readings with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. 85. Matthew Parris, ‘Obedient Tories Chew on Dr Hurd’s Bitter Euro-pill’, The Times, 29 March 1994.

Douglas Hurd, 1989–95 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99.

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House of Commons Debates, 29 March 1992, col. 802. Interview with Kenneth Clarke, 16 December 1996. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. Independent, 6 May 1994. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. Interview with Kenneth Clarke, 16 December 1996; Cicero may also have used the phrase when he was being hounded by the Senate. Interview with Kenneth Clarke, 16 December 1996; interview with William Waldegrave, 17 December 1996. Interview with Douglas Hurd, Westwell, 13 June 1997. Hugo Young, ‘The Role is Elsewhere – but not without Europe’, Guardian, 30 March 1995. Henry Kissinger, ‘America’s New Special Relationship’, The Times, 30 March 1995 (an extract of Dr Kissinger’s speech to the Britain in the World conference). Douglas Hurd, ‘The New Disorder’, speech to RIIA, 27 January 1993. Interview with John Sawers, 10 Downing Street, 21 December 1999. See for example, Lord McAlpine, ‘The Man for all Seasons whose Time has finally Run Out’, Mail on Sunday, 22 January 1995. Douglas Hurd, ‘Letter to the Editor’, Daily Telegraph, 5 November 1996; Robert Crampton, interview with Douglas Hurd, ‘I am not Afraid of being Called a Liberal’, The Times, 15 January 1997.

10

Malcolm Rifkind: Foreign Secretary, 1995–97 Damian Thwaites

Malcolm Rifkind was the last Conservative incumbent to hold the post of Foreign Secretary before the party’s electoral defeat at the hands of New Labour in May 1997. Rifkind was appointed to the FCO on 6 July 1995 in an extraordinary Cabinet reshuffle staged by John Major after the Prime Minister had successfully placed his leadership of the Conservative Party on the line against a Eurosceptic challenger, John Redwood. Malcolm Rifkind’s stewardship, therefore, should be seen primarily in the context of domestic politics. With the issue of Europe eviscerating John Major’s leadership of his party – and government – the positioning of the Foreign Secretary within this dynamic is arguably the most interesting question that arose during his two years in the job. As Foreign Secretary, Malcolm Rifkind was in situ at a time when the domesticand foreign-policy influences were equally potent. Rifkind’s case, therefore, can provide insights about the effects of weakness in domestic politics on the Foreign Secretary.

CAREER

Malcolm Rifkind’s appointment as Foreign Secretary was the culmination of the highest political ambitions. He had predicted he would be an MP by the age of 30;1 in fact, by this time, Rifkind was a member of the opposition front bench, having entered the House of Commons in 1974. A political survivor, however, Rifkind served Heath and Thatcher, as well as Major. His career progression

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did not necessarily point to high office, notwithstanding his discernible ambition. A proponent of Scottish devolution in the 1970s, Rifkind resigned from Margaret Thatcher’s front bench months after his appointment in December 1976. Nonetheless, she appointed him a junior Scottish Office minister in 1979. From 1982, Rifkind laid the foundations for his eventual succession to the post of Foreign Secretary, serving successively as a Parliamentary UnderSecretary (1982–83) and Minister of State at the FCO (1983–86). In 1986, Mrs Thatcher needed to fill a vacancy at the Scottish Office; Malcolm Rifkind thereby achieved his first Cabinet appointment, one that he would retain until her departure as Prime Minister. Marking out his political territory and deploying his guileful advocacy skills nurtured as a Scots lawyer, Rifkind clashed with Mrs Thatcher on public expenditure. A Cabinet colleague from 1987, John Major recalls that Rifkind ‘usually threatened to resign unless he got a better settlement’, not least when Major, as Chancellor, neglected to backdate the poll tax rebate in Scotland.2 On another occasion, Major amusingly recounts asking Rifkind whether he should like to resign before their meeting, or after it.3 By 1990, therefore, Malcolm Rifkind was a highly skilled domestic political operator who had the advantage of a foreign-policy background. In the three-way second ballot in the Conservative Party leadership election, Rifkind backed Douglas Hurd over John Major (and Michael Heseltine).4 Perhaps wary that, ‘behind a thoughtful and civilised aspect, Malcolm was a deceptively ambitious man’,5 Major was not inclined to promote Rifkind to senior Cabinet rank on becoming Prime Minister; Rifkind got ‘at best a sideways move’6 to the post of Transport Secretary. According to one prime ministerial aide, Rifkind was one of ‘the two great leakers’7 in the Cabinet; yet, after the 1992 election victory, Rifkind was Major’s choice as Defence Secretary. Anthony Seldon suggests he was ‘perhaps lucky to get Defence’.8 At the Ministry of Defence, Rifkind’s greatest preoccupation was British involvement in the disintegration of former Yugoslavia. Rifkind shared the deeply sceptical concerns of Kenneth Clarke and Norman Lamont about the risks of being drawn into the conflict; at one point, he made a slight bizarre reference to ‘a civil war in which the parties have willingly engaged’.9 However, as Seldon opines, ‘if Major and Hurd [Foreign Secretary] had not been united, the anti-intervention forces might have won the day’.10 The Bosnia question would consume Rifkind’s time as Foreign Secretary. Once more he negotiated his departmental budget robustly, although apparently did not threaten resignation.

Malcolm Rifkind, 1995–97

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In fact, Rifkind’s placement at Defence enhanced his stature within the inner sanctum of the Cabinet; he partook in the discussions on tactics both after the defeat on the European Finance Bill that had once again exposed the European fault-line among Conservative MPs in November 1994 and in the wake of the government’s setback in the Commons over VAT increases.11 Although his domestic position was strong and his previous FCO experience was an asset, Rifkind was not alone in aspiring to succeed Douglas Hurd as Foreign Secretary.

DOMESTIC POLITICAL CONTEXT

As the above instances of the need for tactical manoeuvring demonstrate, John Major’s premiership in 1995 was imperilled by internecine warfare on his own back benches – primarily on European policy – to the extent that he considered it necessary to challenge his Conservative opponents ‘to put up or shut up’.12 In the light of his renewed mandate from Conservative MPs, the febrile atmosphere in the party made the choice of a replacement for Douglas Hurd as Foreign Secretary perhaps the most finely balanced in his ministerial shake-up. The perceived need to firm up a more Euro-sceptical line encouraged the hopes of Employment Secretary Michael Howard on the right of the party. In the event, however, John Major elected to promote Malcolm Rifkind, despatching Howard to the Home Office. As a result, the senior players in Major’s new Cabinet comprised Michael Heseltine and Kenneth Clarke (the Europhiles), Michael Howard (Euro-sceptic) and Malcolm Rifkind. Malcolm Rifkind, at that time, belonged to ‘the Prime Minister’s party’ in Cabinet – centrists on Europe – and, as such, this equilibrium arguably enabled Major’s tight-rope act on European matters to continue. Moreover, Major was well aware that the Foreign Office was unenthusiastic about the prospect of Howard as Foreign Secretary, even if he does not explain his rationale for designating Rifkind at the FCO. As one Foreign Office source suggested, ‘if he is a Euro-sceptic, at least it is for tactical rather than visceral reasons’.13 It is extremely difficult, therefore, to disentangle the domestic political scene from British policy towards the European Union during Malcolm Rifkind’s term as Foreign Secretary. The tortured series of EU-related issues Rifkind faced are covered below; here the desideratum is how the domestic political situation impacted

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on Malcolm Rifkind as a Conservative politician, as much as Malcolm Rifkind qua Foreign Secretary. Malcolm Rifkind carefully crafted his position in extremely tight political circumstances on Europe in his two years as Foreign Secretary; in that post he was well-placed to pursue objectives at domestic and EU level alike. Rifkind faced two domestic audiences – the Foreign Office and the party. John Major was irrevocably weakened by European schisms that seared his party and their knock-on effects on voter perception of palpable division. There is little doubt that Euro-scepticism was an indispensable imperative for the survival of the government – and that Malcolm Rifkind was the most suitable candidate for Foreign Secretary in such circumstances. Nonetheless, Major’s comment about Rifkind’s deceptive ambition indicates that precisely such a tight political spot presented Rifkind with potential space to make a future leadership bid.

PERSONAL STYLE

Malcolm Rifkind arrived at the FCO from a stint at Defence. Given the similarities in responsibility, Rifkind said in one interview that his new diary ‘seems not all that different from the diary I’ve had the last three years’, joking that ‘from now on I shall be eating for my country’.14 Rifkind was keen on expounding his views in philosophical terms – he delighted in giving the 1988 Conservative Political Centre lecture, while John Major declined the invitation.15 As Foreign Secretary, Rifkind took his cue from the traditionalist Palmerstonian precepts on foreign policy. In his inaugural Chatham House speech, the new Foreign Secretary approvingly quoted, and adapted his nineteenth-century predecessor’s first principle. Rifkind opined that ‘we must not be afraid of debating the trade-off between influence and interest … influence is not an end in itself. Occasionally it may be appropriate to accept a loss of influence if that is the only way we can protect key national interests.’16 Unlike his immediate predecessor, Rifkind, although an instinctive strategist, was not a natural diplomatist, ‘a master of tact and the precise phrase, like Mr Hurd’.17 He was deftly aware of the realpolitik of the British handover of Hong Kong to China, but scarcely massaged the fact that boosting commercial links with China, not human-rights concerns, had top priority – winning plaudits from critical quarters for a perceived lack of hypocrisy.18 Moreover, bouts of verbal belligerence caused sparks


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in Anglo-French relations, over both Bosnia and the Middle East. His legalistic barrister qualities were not always appreciated in Cabinet,19 but his forensic skills were at a premium in dealing with the most intractable issue facing the Major government – European policy. The political situation necessitated a Janus-like strategy from the government – in a minority in the Commons on the issue – and, given his ‘uncommonly swift facility for eluding tight … corners’,20 Malcolm Rifkind was arguably its ideal personification. Although the Foreign Secretary ‘distanced himself from jingoism’ during the so-called policy of non-cooperation in Europe, following the EU ban on British beef, he emboldened his Euro-scepticism in the House of Commons, yet was skilful enough to foresee the limitations of the policy. He realised that even mild Euro-scepticism required ‘discreet allies’ in the FCO in pursuit of the largely unpopular policy of non-cooperation, loathed by British diplomats in Brussels.21 The Foreign Secretary was quickest off the mark in wresting FCO-preferred exemptions from the policy at an early stage.22 With acute antennae for the art of the possible, however, Rifkind was astute in appreciating the non-viability of the noncooperation policy, dubbed ‘PONCE’ in the FCO. As one observer remarked ‘normalisation’ of British relations in the EU beckoned, ‘the improbable extremity of the case Mr Rifkind has had to make is getting to him … the strategy … was desperately high risk. He can’t wait to be shot of it.’23 The PONCE episode did not prevent Rifkind from seeking ‘darker blue’ water from his Cabinet colleagues on the key question of the single currency, however. His position on the single currency mutated. ‘We are not going to rule out the possibility of joining a single currency in the next Parliament’24 was the line in April 1996; in January 1997, however, Rifkind affirmed that it was ‘now very unlikely that a single currency would start in 1999’.25 As a result, Rifkind’s stance on Europe exemplified and confirmed a personal style with the consequence that ‘political associates find him maddeningly difficult to define. As a result, he inspires little open hostility, but not much open support either’, and that ‘his old friends feel betrayed by him: his new friends do not yet trust him’.26


As is clear above, the issue of Europe dominated the political agenda during Rifkind’s time as Foreign Secretary, all the more so

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because of its domestic saliency – and sensitivity. Before returning to a detailed examination of the EU questions Malcolm Rifkind faced, however, we should look at the other foreign-policy issues that featured during his tenure, notably Bosnia, the Middle East peace process and China. Bosnia Three weeks after becoming Foreign Secretary, Malcolm Rifkind stated that Bosnia had consumed two-thirds of his time since being appointed.27 We have noted Rifkind’s aversion in Cabinet, as Defence Secretary, towards a policy that favoured more active engagement in the former Yugoslavia. However, Rifkind asked for reinforcements of key personnel and the deployment of an aircraft carrier to the Adriatic in January 1993. Given the Major–Hurd axis on Bosnia, Rifkind was left to announce the deployment – as Defence Secretary – of a 900-strong battalion to Bosnia in March 1994. As Andrew Marr comments, however, his muted ‘we just plug on’ in Bosnia line ‘led to a widespread view that [he] was, if not pro-Serb, at least a confirmed Bosno-sceptic’.28 As Foreign Secretary, however, his shifting position was confirmed and was ‘certainly … a factor in his recovering reputation with the Prime Minister’.29 On assuming his post, he immediately faced a crisis in managing a perceived Anglo-French policy rift. President Jacques Chirac had questioned the mission of the UN Protection Force (UNPROFOR) in Bosnia if the enclave of Srebrenica was not restored, and urged the deployment of the Anglo-French Rapid Reaction Force (RRF) to retake it.30 Rifkind, however, stated that withdrawal from the region had to ‘remain an option’, and that the RRF had ‘neither the size nor the capacity to be a war-fighting machine’.31 Rifkind faced the formidable task of balancing US and French proposals with Russian sensitivities in the formulation of British policy; US Defence Secretary William Perry had urged air strikes against the Serbs, but Russian Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev still urged diplomacy. Rifkind’s ‘realism’ arguably persuaded the French government against recapturing the Muslim enclave of Srebrenica.32 His talks with his French counterpart Hervé de Charette focused on the fate of another enclave, Gorazde, as well as the capital Sarajevo. Rifkind had to persuade the USA to reinforce the British presence protecting Gorazde. His greatest challenge on policy, however, was the Foreign Secretary’s chairmanship of the Lancaster House conference on Bosnia on 21–2 July 1995. Bringing together the key players in the crisis, one newspaper was brutally


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frank in labelling the Foreign Secretary as one who ‘had to change the British attitude – now ready to risk the “Mogadishu” line’, in a reference to the USA’s untimely withdrawal from Somalia in 1991. The weakness of the position was further reflected by Rifkind’s concession both that the fall of Gorazde would signal the end of UNPROFOR’s presence in Bosnia – and that the fall of another enclave, Bihac, would not automatically invoke an ultimatum to the Serbs, with air strikes as the consequence of non-compliance.33 In the event, air strikes presaged the final and decisive US military intervention that led to the Dayton Peace Agreement; Rifkind reflected that ‘[t]he Yugoslav crisis has put great pressure on the transatlantic relationship’.34 The Foreign Secretary was himself shot at on a Bosnia visit on 18 September.35 After air strikes and the beginning of peace talks between the warring parties, the Foreign Secretary admitted to the annual UN General Assembly (UNGA) that much of the destruction of former Yugoslavia might have been prevented by closer international action, even if peace enforcement should best be left to ‘coalitions of the willing’, acting under UN authority.36 He would later be criticised, however, for a perceived lack of assertiveness towards the Serbian President Slobadan Milosevic after attempts to reverse democratic election results, in late 1997. He stuck firmly to the Foreign Office line preferring private negotiation to public pressure on Milosevic.37 Middle East peace process Developments in the Middle East peace process (MEPP) also featured prominently during Malcolm Rifkind’s foreign secretaryship. Following John Major’s visit to Israel in March 1995, the Prime Minister was keen to pursue a more pro-Israeli policy. Rifkind himself was the first Foreign Secretary from a Jewish background for over 50 years, as he reminded one journalist.38 His first foray into the tangled politics of the Middle East as Foreign Secretary, however, was to attend the funeral of moderate Israeli Prime Minister, Yitzhak Rabin, who had been assassinated in November 1995. Rapprochement between Israel and Syria was evident in late November 1995, hailed by Rifkind as ‘a useful step in the resumption of Israeli–Syrian dialogue’.39 Another instance of Anglo-French friction under Rifkind’s stewardship emerged, however, over the MEPP. Following remarks by President Chirac on a Middle East visit in October 1996 that the EU in general and France in particular should assume a more central role in the MEPP as a co-sponsor –

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with the USA – of talks, Rifkind was dismissive, blasting ‘we don’t indulge in megaphone diplomacy. Our role is less colourful, less dramatic, less romantic than others.’40 The riposte from Paris was swift, with French Foreign Minister Hervé de Charette describing Rifkind’s remarks as ‘uncalled for’, and claimed an historic duty for France to the region, contending, ‘no one can dispute France’s special role in the Middle East’.41 As one newspaper reported, this was ‘an unusually public spat between Paris and London’42 – and an unhelpful one. The Foreign Secretary himself embarked on a Middle East visit the following week. Rifkind went to Hebron, a flashpoint in his tour of Israel and the Palestinian territories, and carefully articulated a middle course between the two sides, stating that ‘Hebron has become crucial to whether there is a future for the peace process’,43 and that the British government believed ‘the possibility of a Palestinian state cannot be excluded’.44 Nonetheless, Rifkind was seemingly unable to resist a further swipe at perceived French grandstanding.45 As such, the overall British approach to MEPP under Rifkind sought to exploit its greater proximity to the USA than to its EU partners, particularly France. China Malcolm Rifkind visited China in early January 1996, one-and-ahalf years before the reversion of Hong Kong to Chinese autonomy. Sino-British relations came under particular pressure from the Chinese authorities immediately before the visit following a hostile British TV documentary on conditions in Chinese orphanages, entitled ‘Return to the Dying Rooms’.46 As Hugo Young remarked, however, ‘demonising China is no part of the Rifkind script’,47 given the significance of commercial links. The Foreign Secretary bluntly told Hong Kong legislators that the British could not impose solutions on China after the handover on 30 June 1997.48 Rifkind’s script during his three-day visit to Beijing – where he became the first visiting British politician for some time to see President Jiang Zemin – emphasised the importance Jiang had ‘attached to autonomy for Hong Kong, their determination to respect that autonomy’.49 The Foreign Secretary did raise human rights concerns at all his meetings, ‘but only incurred China’s ritual responses’.50 The real significance of Rifkind’s visit was to upgrade trade links and military exchanges, laying the foundations for subsequent promotional visits, including one by Michael Heseltine, the Deputy Prime Minister. Trade interests aside, however, Britain later co-sponsored support to a Danish-led UN resolution tabled


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at the Commission on Human Rights in Geneva in April 1997, with Rifkind stating ‘it is important that international attention is focused on the need for improvement in China’s human rights situation’.51 Other issues Given the daily gamut of foreign-policy issues the Foreign Secretary faces, Rifkind had several other matters to address during his time in the job. One of the first was the immediate decision taken by newly elected President Chirac to resume French nuclear testing in the Pacific. The UK – also a permanent member of the UN Security Council – did not criticise the moves. Rifkind, however, noted it was ‘up to France to justify’ the tests, and that they served to ‘bring home the fact that different member states have different foreign policy and defence priorities’.52 Another issue was EU agreement to impose an arms embargo – though not an oil embargo – on Nigeria in the light of the executions of political critics including Ken Saro-Wiwa by General Sani Abacha’s military regime in November 1995. EU Foreign Ministers supported Rifkind’s stated rationale (and that of his French counterpart) that maximum pressure could be exerted by an arms embargo, with the reserve option of an oil embargo.53 In February 1996, Rifkind met his Russian opposite number, Yevgeny Primakov, to underline Western preoccupation over any Moscow strategy to coerce former Soviet republics into re-entering Moscow’s political orbit. The Foreign Secretary had established his credentials as a firm supporter of the newly independent republics after the collapse of the Soviet Union, not least by making his first official visit as Foreign Secretary to Ukraine.54 Furthermore, 50 years after Churchill’s Zurich speech, Rifkind explicitly expressed a British aspiration for new members to join the NATO alliance by 1999 – NATO’s fiftieth anniversary.55 Closer to the run-up to Russian elections, in which President Yeltsin was seeking a new mandate, Anglo-Russian relations were briefly soured in May 1996 when Moscow expelled nine British envoys on spying accusations – the first expulsions since 1989. Although Rifkind publicly warned that the UK would consider retaliation, the FCO privately understood the rationale as a Yeltsin bid to display toughness towards the West, in the face of a nationalist electoral threat.56 Closer to home, Rifkind was accused by senior British Council officials of not defending the council against proposed cuts of 600

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staff in the 1995–96 expenditure round.57 Globally, however, Rifkind’s toughness on the FCO public expenditure allocation won him praise in the Foreign Office, and stretched the Chancellor and Prime Minister. John Major recalls that Rifkind – true to previous form – proved ‘particularly intransigent’58 on proposed cuts. Rifkind also supported an abortive proposal to provide £60 million to replace the royal yacht Britannia.59 Europe Europe vastly occupies the Foreign Secretary’s time. In Malcolm Rifkind’s case, EU-related matters were extremely time-consuming, even more so given the inhospitable parliamentary arithmetic that constantly frustrated the Major government’s European policy. Towards the end of the 1992–97 session in the House of Commons, John Major lacked a parliamentary majority, rendering European strategy the most delicate exercise in government. Rifkind had been supportive of a no-nonsense approach to facing down backbench rebels as a member of the Cabinet’s inner circle when he was Defence Secretary, particularly over Maastricht ratification and the European Finance Bill. In the latter case, he backed Douglas Hurd’s argument that, as a treaty obligation, the government would have to resign if it proved unable to push the bill through the Commons.60 As Foreign Secretary, Rifkind himself adopted a ‘reasoned Euro-sceptic tone’, a minister prepared to be both unpopular and isolated in Europe.61 Rifkind sought to mark out a degree of personal territory by advocating the case, in Cabinet, for a government white paper on the Inter-Governmental Conference (IGC) that commenced just before he became Foreign Secretary. Staking out the government’s position on such ultrasensitive ground was a curious stratagem. Rifkind promoted the idea, however; he reputedly believed the publication of a document would differentiate the Conservatives from Labour on European policy. Cabinet Europhiles, notably Kenneth Clarke, attempted to block the initiative, but failed.62 As ‘principal begetter’63 of the IGC white paper, A Partnership of Nations, Rifkind ‘finally emerged from the long shadow cast by his predecessor’, yet risked ‘offending his counterparts in the rest of Europe with a strategy that polite Mr Hurd might have declined’.64 If Rifkind hoped to capitalise on a nod towards Euro-sceptics with a white paper, he was ‘mauled by many of his backbenchers’.65 Euro-sceptic ministers in Cabinet, dubbed ‘the bastards’ by John Major, supported the publication of a white paper; through the Cabinet


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committee he chaired, OPD(E), Rifkind made sure that the proposals in the white paper were not to be altered significantly. One Euro-sceptic minister, Peter Lilley, complained, for example, that Rifkind had been tardy in responding to a letter expressing the view that a full Cabinet debate should take place on EMU before the end of 1996.66 With the advent of the beef crisis, however, Euro-scepticism developed its own momentum. In the light of EU refusal to lift a ban on British beef exports, the FCO was charged with the task of devising tactical options as the situation became inexorably more fraught for the government in its dealings with European partners. Rifkind came to be regarded as a ‘hawk’ on the subject, readier to invite a greater range of options than his predecessor might have done, although trade retaliation was ruled out.67 As government policy became more bellicose, non-confrontational options were increasingly off the agenda, however.68 The Foreign Secretary was behind the Prime Minister in orchestrating the policy of noncooperation premised on obstructing EU business where unanimity was required in the Council. The diplomatic futility of the policy rapidly became apparent. A tactical effort to resolve the crisis took second place to obstructionism laced with contradictions. The UK ended up blocking items that it supported, and was forced into granting exemptions that required justification. By the time of the Florence European Council in June 1996, therefore, it was abundantly clear – not least to the Foreign Secretary – that the policy was unsustainable. Although Rifkind had been closely identified with it, he was relieved to abandon it. EU diplomats reported that Rifkind ‘seemed to take a perverse pleasure in pursuing the policy of non cooperation – until he woke up to the damage to British interests’.69 His Minister of State for Europe, however, David Davis – candidly sceptical during the IGC – had mooted his resignation because he considered the Florence European Council basis for a settlement to be a government climbdown.70 The threat to disrupt the workings of the IGC, however, was empty, especially given the fact that the UK was in any case isolated on the overall shape of the emerging package during the Italian and Irish presidencies, even if it could claim allies on particular elements.71 There was a tacit understanding both on Rifkind’s part and on that of the rest of the EU that substantive progress in the IGC would not be possible until the British political situation had been resolved. In early 1997, however, Rifkind embarked on a tour of soap-box diplomacy in European capitals, ostensibly to set out the British

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stall on further European integration. Michel Barnier, French Europe Minister, was more candid than others, but probably closer to the mark, when he suggested Rifkind was conducting the British election campaign on the continent.72 He was keen to see Conservative parliamentary candidates have a choice of acceptable formulations on the single currency in their campaign material.73 Moreover, Rifkind’s timing in lambasting proposals on the table in March 1997 – the fortieth anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Rome that established the EEC – bore the hallmarks of an unmistakable calculus to display hardline credentials in the immediate run-up to a general election, which the Conservatives looked destined to lose. It looked very much as if Rifkind was positioning himself as a runner for the party leadership after the expected election defeat.


Malcolm Rifkind presided over the Foreign Office during a period of acute sensitivity in domestic politics in which the Major government was paralysed through its lack of support on European policy in the House of Commons. We can draw several conclusions regarding his period as Foreign Secretary, therefore, that offer a case study of how one incumbent acted – and reacted – to such domestic political difficulty. First, we can see from Rifkind’s career development that he made both Mrs Thatcher and John Major wary of accelerating his promotion. By 1995, however, Malcolm Rifkind was the only plausible candidate for the post of Foreign Secretary. His standing with John Major had improved as Defence Secretary – and he had made his way in the FCO before – but, most importantly, he had positioned himself at the critical point of parliamentary opinion on European policy. Faute de mieux, political logic pointed towards Rifkind as Foreign Secretary. Any other choice might have fractured the party even more. Rifkind’s case is surely proof that FCO ministerial experience ipso facto is not a direct route to the foreign secretaryship. Second, it follows that the domestic political profile of the candidate(s) for Foreign Secretary is crucial. Neither Kenneth Clarke nor Michael Howard as Foreign Secretary could have successfully maintained the required balancing act in the party, since each was at opposite ends of the spectrum of opinion on European policy.


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Malcolm Rifkind, therefore, entered the scene as the only remaining contender of requisite seniority to assume the post of Foreign Secretary. Had Rifkind not been regarded a centrist on European policy, it is perhaps less likely that he would have been appointed. Third, the personal style of the Foreign Secretary, as the Rifkind case shows par excellence, assumes a particular significance when the government lacks room for domestic manoeuvre. Rifkind’s traditional renditions of hallowed nineteenth-century doctrine on national interest, especially when applied to European integration, struck less agitated chords among backbenchers who tended towards Euro-scepticism. Furthermore, they were a consistent basis for other areas of foreign policy, although they risked implying the UK should withdraw from Bosnia – or indeed, should not have been deployed in the first place. However, Rifkind’s approach, on China, for example, reflected a policy that was not prepared to risk targeted British influence by pursuing all interests with equal vigour. Fourth, Malcolm Rifkind’s time as Foreign Secretary underlines the inextricable linkages between domestic and international contexts. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the case of European policy. The ‘two-level game’ of squaring internal and external interests was rendered even more complex, as the Conservative drift towards Euro-scepticism became an unstoppable torrent once the beef crisis reared its head. Rifkind was instrumental in supporting John Major’s policy of non-cooperation in Cabinet – and he was just as active in extricating FCO interests from it. Rifkind was content to give the impression he was a Euro-sceptic – even if he did not act like one in his EU dealings. The conclusion to draw from a study of Malcolm Rifkind is a portrait of an incumbent who sought an equilibrium between statecraft and opportunity. Although other foreign-policy issues are important in their own right, historians will come to base their judgement of Malcolm Rifkind as Foreign Secretary primarily in relation to European policy. His views on Europe were necessarily elliptical but, as the proximity of likely election defeat approached, Malcolm Rifkind – not instinctively on the right of his party – strategically placed himself there. He may have been preparing to launch a leadership bid after the demise of John Major but, by the same token, he must have believed he might retain his Edinburgh constituency at the election to make such a launch pad a possibility. The fact that Rifkind did fall victim to the Labour landslide adds an enigmatic postscript to his last two years as a minister in a critical Cabinet post. Rifkind may have aspired to use his position

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at the fulcrum of the party on European policy to reach the leadership, an ambition momentarily – but not permanently – postponed on 1 May 1997.

NOTES 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

Cited in Financial Times, 11 August 1996. John Major, John Major: The Autobiography (London: HarperCollins, 2000), pp. 104, 148. Ibid., p. 104. We should perhaps note that Douglas Hurd had a campaign team comprising mainly FCO ministers (plus Kenneth Clarke), while John Major was supported by ministerial colleagues from the Treasury. Major, Autobiography, p. 209. Anthony Seldon, Major: A Political Life (London: Phoenix, 1997), p. 417. Diaries of Judith Chaplin, 16 January 1992. Seldon, Major, p. 288. Cited in the Independent, 13 July 1995. Seldon, Major, p. 372. Ibid., pp. 507, 515. Major, Autobiography, p. 626. Financial Times, 6 July 1995. Interview in Glasgow Herald, 10 July 1995. Seldon, Major, pp. 81–2. Malcolm Rifkind, The Times, 21 September 1995. Lesley Duncan, Glasgow Herald, 10 July 1995. Cf. Hugo Young, Guardian, 9 January 1996. Financial Times, 11 August 1996. Hugo Young, Guardian, 13 June 1996. Interviews with the author. Interviews with the author. Hugo Young, Guardian, 13 June 1996. The Times, 5 April 1996. Cited in Seldon, Major, p. 697. Financial Times, 11 August 1996. Rifkind, Sunday Times, 30 July 1995. Andrew Marr, Independent, 13 July 1995. Ibid. Chirac, cited in the Guardian, 13 July 1995. Guardian, 13 July 1995. Independent, 15 July 1995. Letter to Paddy Ashdown, MP, Leader of the Liberal Democrats, cited in the Independent, 26 July 1995. Ashdown took a persistent interest in Bosnia, and was sharply critical of the government’s policy. Rifkind, Sunday Times, 30 July 1995. Independent, 19 September 1995. Independent, 25 September 1995. The Times, 15 January 1997. Since Rufus Issaacs, Marquess of Reading, in 1931, cited by Rifkind in Glasgow Herald, 10 July 1995. Independent, 29 November 1995. Independent, 24 October 1996. Independent, 28 October 1996. Ibid. Guardian, 4 November 1996.

Malcolm Rifkind, 1995–97 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

Ibid. Ibid. Guardian, 9 January 1996. Ibid. Independent, 14 January 1996. Ibid. Ibid. The Times, 8 April 1997. The Times, 3 October 1995. The Times, 21 November 1995. Independent, 27 February 1996. The Times, 26 November 1996. Daily Telegraph, 7 May 1996. Sunday Times, 24 December 1995. Major, Autobiography, p. 646. Seldon, Major, p. 698. Ibid., p. 599. Ibid., p. 605. Ibid., p. 635. Ibid., p. 637. The Times, 13 March 1996. The Times, 23 March 1996. Seldon, Major, pp. 689–90. Interviews with the author; Daily Telegraph, 23 April 1996. Interviews with the author. Financial Times, 20 March 1997. Seldon, Major, p. 653. Interviews with the author. Barnier, cited in Financial Times, 20 March 1997. Seldon, Major, p. 704.

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11

Robin Cook: Foreign Secretary, 1997–20011 Rhiannon Vickers

CAREER

Robert Cook, later nicknamed Robin, was born in Lanarkshire in Scotland in 1946. His father was a schoolteacher and the son of a miner who had been blacklisted for his part in the General Strike. He was bright, bookish and ambitious, interested in current affairs and politics and involved in the debating societies at school and university in Edinburgh. Friends remember him as a great debater, charismatic but ruthless in his pursuit of his objectives. At university he read English literature, and joined the Labour club, becoming its chairman. He was co-chair of the Scottish Association of Labour Student Organisations along with George Robertson. He was also a member of the debates committee of the Union, where he met Margaret Whitmore whom he subsequently married.2 After graduating, Cook started a PhD, combining his studies with active involvement in Labour Party politics, but gave up the PhD finding it too far removed from real life. He worked as a schoolteacher for a while, before joining the Workers’ Educational Association, a traditional ‘old’ Labour employer. He unsuccessfully stood as parliamentary candidate for Edinburgh North, a fairly safe Conservative seat, in the 1970 general election at the age of 24. Cook was then elected an Edinburgh city councillor for the Holyrood ward, becoming convenor of the Edinburgh Corporation’s housing committee in 1973.3 Cook won the Labour nomination for Edinburgh Central, narrowly winning the seat in the February 1974 election, and again more securely at the October 1974 election. Following

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boundary changes, Cook became MP for Livingston, a new constituency located close to Edinburgh, in 1983, a seat which he has held since then. Cook was part of the radical left, joining Tribune soon after arriving at Westminster in 1974. His interests were initially in poverty and housing, social policy, civil rights and the liberalisation of legislation on social issues such as divorce law and gay rights. He urged greater control of MI5, MI6 and the Special Branch, and twice introduced a private member’s bill to give the public greater access to official information. He had joined CND when he was 15, and actively campaigned against nuclear weapons. He was against Britain’s continued membership of the EEC, believing with many on the left at that time that membership prevented Britain from carrying out socialist policies. He and Neil Kinnock became friends, with Kinnock saying that ‘We were both religiously internationalist, but like so many in the party saw the Common Market as a capitalist club.’4 However, Cook shadowed Malcolm Rifkind, whom he knew from university and Edinburgh politics, as minister with responsibility for European affairs from 1983 to 1984, where he was made responsible for ‘spearheading a shift in the Labour Party’s stance towards Europe’.5 Cook fitted into the liberal internationalist tradition on the left. He was not a pacifist, but was strongly against Britain’s reliance on nuclear defence. He was a member of a working party set up by the Labour Party’s National Executive Committee to consider defence spending, the arms trade and alternative employment. Along with Ian Mikardo and Mary Kaldor, in 1977 they published Sense about Defence, which examined the implications of reducing Britain’s defence expenditure and role.6 He was a leading figure in the Scottish Campaign to Resist the Atomic Menace (SCRAM), campaigning against Cruise and Trident missiles.7 He also campaigned for greater openness on arms sales, and became the defence correspondent for the New Statesman. In July 1978 he co-wrote a Fabian pamphlet with Dan Smith on What Future in NATO? This argued that NATO had failed to respond to some of the opportunities provided by détente, was over-reliant on nuclear retaliatory deterrence, and that Britain’s defence needs would be better met through defensive deterrence and possibly partial disengagement from NATO.8 With the heightening of tension over nuclear weapons during the 1980s, Cook became a prominent campaigner against them, often appearing at anti-nuclear demonstrations. He was involved in the appeal for European Nuclear Disarmament, END, an internationalist version of CND launched on 28 April 1980. He

Robin Cook, 1997–2001

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was a speaker at the Alternative Defence Strategy conference in Bradford in 1982.9 He was also chairman of the Labour Disarmament Liaison Committee during 1983. Some of his friends hoped that he would become shadow minister of defence following Kinnock’s election as leader, but this did not occur.10 Between 1987 and 1992 Cook held the posts of shadow social services secretary, then shadow health secretary. From 1992 to 1994 he was shadow trade and industry secretary. In 1994 Blair appointed him as shadow foreign secretary, when he again shadowed Rifkind, referring to him at the 1995 Labour Party annual conference as ‘the chief apologist for the Tory failure to support sanctions in those years of apartheid’.11 Cook was chair of the Labour Party’s National Policy Forum of the National Executive Committee. In 1996 he became chair of the Labour Party and a privy councillor.

PERSONAL STYLE

In the run-up to the 1997 election, Cook had been a permanent thorn in the side of the Conservatives, using his ‘forensic intelligence’ and debating skills to probe the government on the arms-to-Iraq scandal.12 He had humiliated Conservative ministers as they gave evidence over the secret supply of arms to Iraq to the Scott Inquiry, and he ‘had been feted in Opposition as one of Labour’s sharpest minds, the custodian of the party’s conscience from the Blairites, and the best parliamentary orator of his generation’.13 This had made him popular with sections of the media, and he was seen by some within the Labour Party as one of the custodians of the left of the party. He had not tended to devote much time to networking and building up support among his parliamentary colleagues, preferring to spend his evenings working in the House of Commons library.14 While admired for his abilities, he was not always popular among the Labour front bench, and he was not seen as part of any particular alliance within the Cabinet. Cook tended to think tactically rather than strategically, believing that he could, ‘through force of argument and ordering of fact, win any battle he chose to fight’.15 It is thought that Cook had wanted the post of President of the Board of Trade rather than Foreign Secretary, and that ‘He was there largely at the insistence of Gordon Brown, who, resenting Cook’s self-portrayal as leader of the intellectual left in the Labour leadership, had demanded that he be removed from any position of influence in domestic policy.’16 Despite this, Cook was determined

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to leave his mark as Foreign Secretary, and this was reflected in a number of policy and institutional initiatives. Cook had let it be known in advance that if Labour won the election, as was widely expected, he wanted to ‘hit the ground running’.17 There was a lot to get on with – Britain was due to take over the presidency of the European Union the following January; there was a forthcoming meeting of the G8; a Commonwealth summit in Edinburgh in October; and Britain’s ongoing role within NATO and on the UN Security Council to deal with. There were great expectations of what a Labour government could do, on foreign as well as domestic policy. In the heady first days of the New Labour government, Cook invited the media, academics and diplomats to the launch of his new corporate style ‘mission statement’ in the Locarno Room of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO). He declared that he was going to implement a new kind of foreign policy, with human rights at its heart, and which ‘recognises that the national interest cannot be defined only by narrow realpolitik’. The aim was ‘to make Britain once again a force for good in the world’.18 Cook was keen to rethink foreign policy, and for there to be a genuine left-of-centre approach to foreign policy. At the suggestion of Andrew Hood, one of his advisers, a new left-of-centre think tank, the Foreign Policy Centre, was established. Robin Cook became its president, and Tony Blair its patron. With Mark Leonard, a young New Labourite, at its head, this was to ‘think the unthinkable’ and come up with an innovative approach to foreign policy.19 Its mission statement was a call for a ‘democratic foreign policy’, finding new ways to get people involved and rethinking Britain’s foreign-policy goals through public debate.20 This worked on ideas from Australia, Canada and the USA, in particular on the idea of ‘opening up’ foreign policy and on public affairs and public diplomacy.21 Some of the ideas that the Foreign Policy Centre subsequently worked on appeared in Cook’s mission statement, suggesting that these ideas had been germinated for some time while Cook was still in opposition. In particular, Cook promised ‘a more open, inclusive approach’ to the management of foreign relations, which ‘must not be limited to contact between politicians’, and laid out the government’s ‘commitment to foster a people’s diplomacy to increase respect, understanding and goodwill for Britain among nations as well as governments’.22 Under Cook, the FCO did start to visibly rethink traditional notions of diplomatic conduct, and to be more public about its activities. Panel 2000 was set up to stimulate debate on how


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Britain’s identity is projected abroad. There were attempts to ‘rebrand’ Britain through trade and cultural events, and through new departures such as the Planet Britain 2000 CD-ROM. Produced by the Foreign Office, and aimed at a young, technologicallyminded audience, this highlighted the attractions of British music, arts, fashion, business, sport, technology and ‘street culture’. The Foreign Office also launched a Planet Britain website on 1 January 2000, which provided information about the many attractions and opportunities Britain has to offer young people from across the world.23 This built on previous work at the FCO and the British Council, the organisation that promotes British educational and cultural relations abroad, which is separate from, but works with, the British government. Cook was also committed to opening up the Foreign Office, holding open days for schools and colleges for the first time in that institution’s history. The idea was to encourage students from as wide a background as possible to apply to work there, as ‘The Foreign Office represents modern Britain and we need people here who are representative of that modern Britain.’24 Cook also brought in a number of experts from nongovernmental organisations, business, developing countries and other government departments to work as part of the Foreign Office’s research teams on the environment and human rights, for example Diana Melrose, formerly the policy director at Oxfam. This possibly reflected Cook’s earlier suspicion of the FCO. However, sources close to Robin Cook say that he is particularly proud of his efforts to open up the Foreign Office, and he sees this as a significant achievement.25 However, not everything went according to plan, and Cook suffered from a severe bout of negative publicity in his first year. The media seized on his mission statement, and widely misquoted him as having promised an ‘ethical foreign policy’, rather than the more modest ethical dimension. The Conservatives also made great play of this, arguing that Cook’s rhetoric was hypocritical and sanctimonious, and the ethical comment was used time after time as a focal point of criticism against Cook and the Labour government’s foreign policy. This early experience appeared to have made Cook rather more circumspect in his pronouncements, and there were no further mission statements. The criticism of Cook’s claim of a new direction in foreign policy was reinforced during his first year in office by problems in his personal life, when it was revealed that he was having a relationship with Gaynor Regan, whom he subsequently married. This cannot have helped his attempts to develop or implement British foreign policy. In addition,

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his intellectual abilities did not necessarily translate into political acumen, and he was criticised for appearing self-important. Two overseas trips – when he accompanied the Queen on a royal visit to India in September 1997, and his visit to Israel in March 1998 – were dogged with problems and negative media publicity, with suggestions that Cook was gaffe-prone. However, at the same time, many members of the Parliamentary Labour Party welcomed Cook’s attempts to develop a new foreign-policy perspective, in which he attempted to combine traditional Labour Party beliefs about international policy with what he saw as practical solutions to modern issues. I shall deal briefly with some of these beliefs, as they provide an ideological context for understanding what Cook attempted to achieve as foreign secretary. First, Cook took what he perceived to be an internationalist stance on many issues. Cook is and always has been an internationalist, believing in the need for a strong international community to preserve the peace between nations.26 When he presented the Foreign Office mission statement, he opened with ‘This is an age of internationalism’, and proceeded to emphasise how the global economy and the information revolution mean that ‘We live in a world in which nation states are interdependent. In that modern world foreign policy is not divorced from domestic policy but a central party of any political programme. In order to achieve our goals for the people of Britain we need a foreign strategy that supports the same goals.’27 This commitment to internationalism could be seen in Cook’s willingness to take a multilateral rather than purely state-centric approach to issues, and in his commitment to international institutions. Cook strongly supported the establishment of an International Criminal Court, the International War Crimes Tribunal on the former Yugoslavia, and the incorporation of the European Convention on Human Rights into UK law. At the 1997 Labour conference he proudly proclaimed that the new government was now leading negotiations on climate change and the environment, and leading the fight against world poverty.28 He upgraded the emphasis that the FCO put on combating cooperative security issues such as international crime, refugees and migration, the proliferation of small arms, and the protection of children in conflict situations. If there is one major theme underpinning Cook’s approach to foreign policy it is that of internationalism. Certainly the government itself believed that there was a significant shift from previous administrations, which tended to focus on more state-centric balance of power considerations.29


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The commitment to internationalism was successful because it reflected Blair’s approach to international affairs. Indeed, one of Blair’s most interesting speeches was on the ‘doctrine of the international community’ outlined to the Economic Club of Chicago on 22 April 1999. In this speech, Blair emphasised that globalisation and increasing interdependence means that ‘We live in a world where isolationism has ceased to have a reason to exist. … We are all internationalists now, whether we like it or not.’ In particular, Blair argued that ‘Non-interference has long been considered an important principle of international order. … But the principle of non-interference must be qualified in important respects. Acts of genocide can never be a purely internal matter.’30 This speech was given within the context of the Kosovo conflict, about which, as outlined below, both Blair and Cook argued against old conventions of non-intervention. Cook’s position was that ‘We want Britain to be a force for good in the international community.’31 Second, related to the focus on internationalism, Cook and Blair repeatedly emphasised that domestic and foreign policy are part of a whole. This is a traditional Labour Party tenet, which they interpreted through the modern prism of globalisation, for ‘We can no longer separate what we want to achieve within our borders from what we face across our borders.’32 In his mission statement Cook argued: We live in a modern world in which nation states are interdependent. In that modern world foreign policy is not divorced from domestic policy but a central part of any political programme. In order to achieve our goals for the people of Britain we need a foreign strategy that supports the same goals.33

This was a theme that reflected Cook’s long-held views, and that he often repeated. Third, Cook expressed through his commitment to a more open diplomacy a traditional Labour Party belief in open and democratic, rather than secret, diplomacy. Finally, Cook’s stated commitment to an ethical dimension to foreign policy fell within the tradition on the left to argue for a moral, principled foreign policy, based partly on the promotion of human rights, and was not, therefore, the new stance that it was sometimes taken to be. Indeed, David Owen, the last-serving Labour Foreign Secretary before Cook had written a series of speeches and articles on human rights that were then published while he was in office.34 Because the ethical dimension proved to be such a high-profile

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aspect of Cook’s foreign policy, I shall deal with this in a little more depth below when I assess the particular policy issues that provided the context of Cook’s period as Foreign Secretary, starting with Europe.

CONTEXT

Labour came to power in May 1997 with a commitment to reform and to overhaul British foreign policy, and to update it to take account of what Labour perceived as Britain’s role in the modern world. To this end, Cook pronounced his new ethical dimension, and briefly flirted with the Third Way as the bright new idea of British foreign as well as domestic policy.35 It was not long before he and the government proclaimed success in modernising British foreign policy. The government’s first annual report stated that Labour had improved relations with Europe, and reasserted British leadership in the world, while Cook argued that ‘Britain’s foreign policy has changed dramatically since New Labour came to power.’36 This rather overstated the case on Europe, where there was a significant shift in the style of diplomacy rather than the substance of policy, but Cook did demonstrate a commitment to strengthening the role of ethical considerations in foreign policy, and propounded a significantly more interventionist approach to foreign policy than previous British governments had when it came to conflict in the former Yugoslavia. Europe The most important foreign-policy issue that Britain faced when Labour came to power was its relationship with, and role within, Europe. The party’s 1997 election manifesto had promised that under a Labour government Britain would have ‘a fresh start in Europe’ with a detailed agenda for reform, and a referendum on the single currency.37 During Cook’s first week in office he visited Paris and Bonn for talks with his French and German counterparts, declaring that ‘I want today to be the start of a new era between the leading members of Europe … It is our intention that Britain should now be one of those leading members, not a country on the sidelines seeking to be obstructive.’38 The Amsterdam summit in June gave Cook and Blair their first


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opportunity to put into practice their new positive attitude towards Europe. They came away having signed up to the European social chapter, ending the British opt-out that John Major had secured at Maastricht in 1991, and having signed the Amsterdam Treaty. This strengthened the power of the Commission President and the European Parliament against member-state governments, and agreed to negotiations on the provision of a common European defence policy. However, Blair and Cook demonstrated a continuation of the policies pursued by their Conservative predecessors by blocking Franco-German proposals for the eventual merger of the EU and its defence arm, the Western European Union; retaining the right of each member state to the power of veto over home affairs and foreign policy in the Council of Ministers; and retaining a British opt-out from any agreement to abolish frontier controls. Cook has argued that he spent more time on Europe than on any other issue, and that he had significant successes with his European counterparts.39 Successes included close cooperation with the French Foreign Minister, Hubert Védrine, resulting in an Anglo-French summit in St Malo on 4 December 1998 at which there was a joint declaration on a common defence policy and on diplomatic cooperation in Africa. Certainly officials in the Foreign Office were breathing a sigh of relief that they had a government and a minister who got on well with Britain’s European partners,40 and much was made of a ‘new negotiating climate’ with the election of the Labour government.41 Cook and other ministers at the FCO attempted to lead public opinion on Britain’s relationship with Europe by giving numerous speeches around the country on the importance of the EU to British foreign, domestic and economic policy. However, on the crucial issue of whether Britain would join the single currency, Cook was, to some extent, sidelined. Blair decided to use the opt-out clause that John Major had negotiated for the European single currency (the euro), which was launched in January 1999 in 11 of the 15 EU member states. He also sought to neutralise this highly controversial issue by presenting the decision on whether Britain would join the euro as a purely technical and economic one rather than a political one. The announcement in October 1997 by the Chancellor Gordon Brown that five economic tests would have to be met before the government would recommend joining the single currency meant that the Treasury was largely able to appropriate this issue from the FCO.

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For Cook, however, Britain’s role within Europe was a political as well as economic issue. He argued at a ‘Britain in Europe’ event that ‘Our political strength is greatly enhanced by playing a leading role in Europe’ and ‘It is folly to pretend that Britain has an alternative destiny outside Europe.’42 In particular, Cook attempted to overcome the perceived dichotomy between Britain’s involvement in Europe and the Anglo-American relationship, arguing that ‘The paradox that anti-Europeans fail to acknowledge is that far from undermining our special relationship with the USA, our membership of the European Union is increasingly important to the success of that relationship.’43 This was a theme that Blair also emphasised on numerous occasions, pointing out that ‘Britain does not have to choose between being strong with the US, or strong with Europe; … Britain can be both. … We have deluded ourselves for too long with the false choice between the US and Europe.’44 Indeed, ‘America wants Britain to be a strong ally in a strong Europe. The stronger we are in Europe, the stronger our American relationship.’45 Both Cook and Blair talked of Britain as forming ‘a natural bridge between our partners in Europe and friends in North America’.46 The 2001 election manifesto reiterated that ‘Our argument is that if Britain is stronger in Europe, it will be stronger in the rest of the world. We reject the view of those who say we must choose between Europe and the USA.’47 The ethical dimension: human rights and the arms trade An ethical dimension to Labour’s foreign policy was heralded in the Labour Party’s 1997 general election manifesto, when it was stated that ‘Labour wants Britain to be respected in the world for the integrity with which it conducts its foreign relations. We will make the protection and promotion of human rights a central part of our foreign policy.’48 The Labour government’s human rights objectives had been set out in numerous statements made both before and after the election, but it was Cook’s very public launch of his FCO mission statement of 12 May 1997 that caught the media’s attention. Cook declared: The Labour Government does not accept that political values can be left behind when we check in our passports to travel on diplomatic business. Our foreign policy must have an ethical dimension and must support the demands of other peoples for the democratic rights on which we insist for ourselves. The


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Labour Government will put human rights at the heart of our foreign policy.49

The commitment to human rights was included in the Queen’s Speech of 14 May 1997.50 Thus, the ethical dimension was strongly associated with the issue of human rights. It would be wrong to assume that an interest in human rights was a New Labour creation. Douglas Hurd had established a human rights desk at the FCO when he was Foreign Secretary, and Foreign Secretaries always tend to talk in terms of promoting human rights, democracy and good governance. However, under Cook, human rights were given a higher profile in terms of FCO statements and public relations exercises, for example with the introduction of a yearly FCO report on human rights. Unfortunately, the first of the FCO’s annual reports on human rights contained a photograph of Cook and President Suharto shaking hands, which apparently left Cook ‘cold and white with fury’ when he saw it.51 Cook and George Robertson, the Secretary of State for Defence, announced on 21 May 1997 that the UK would ‘ban the import, export, transfer and manufacture of all forms of anti-personnel landmines’.52 This was ahead of the international decision taken to ban anti-personnel mines in Ottawa on 3 December, and was seen as evidence of a more ethical standpoint. Britain hosted the international conference on Nazi gold on 2 December 1997, at which Robin Cook gave a key speech. Britain, unlike the USA, backed the establishment of an International Criminal Court with powers to order the arrest, trial and punishment of war criminals charged with serious human rights abuses. Throughout his tenure, Cook continued to signal his belief in human rights through speeches, and through initiatives such as members of Amnesty and Save the Children acting as advisers to the Foreign Office on human rights.53 However, the human rights dimension proved problematic for Cook. He was criticised for his policy of engagement towards Russia and China, where the New Labour government invested extensive political capital into strong bilateral relations, and was accused of failing to raise the issue of human rights more strongly. In the case of China, Cook pursued a new policy of ‘quiet diplomacy’, and in 1998 ended the practice of signing up to the annual resolution of the UN Commission on Human Rights condemning China’s record on this issue.54 Many commented that Cook’s softening of British criticisms of China’s human-rights record demonstrated that the ethical dimension was ‘subordinate to commercial concerns’.55

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The other issue that came to be closely associated with the ethical dimension of New Labour’s foreign policy under Cook was that of arms exports. This was a particularly personal issue for Cook, with his track record of campaigning against nuclear weapons, arguing for a reduction in the arms trade,56 and his role in highlighting the deception within the previous Conservative administration’s handling of arms exports. In opposition, Robin Cook told the 1995 Labour conference that a ‘Labour government will not license the export of arms to any regime that will use them for internal oppression or external aggression’.57 Soon after gaining power, Cook announced that there would be a review of arms export criteria. On 28 July 1997 Robin Cook and Tony Lloyd reported on this review and laid out the new criteria to be used in considering arms export licence applications; and announced that Britain would work for the introduction of a European code of conduct for arms exports. In addition, to ensure transparency the government would report annually to Parliament on the application of strategic export controls, but Robin Cook said that it would not be ‘realistic or practical to revoke licences that were valid and in force at the time of our election’ that were made by the previous administration.58 At the 1997 Labour Party annual conference, Cook proclaimed that Britain had been ‘leading by cleaning up the arms trade’, and that Labour had carried out its manifesto commitment not to give any more licences for arms exports that would ‘conspire with conflict or abet repression,’ and that ‘brutal, megalomaniac dictators tend to be rather poor at paying their invoices on time’.59 At the 1999 Labour Party annual conference he said ‘Let’s put the myth to rest: your government has not sold weapons that would suppress democracy or freedom. We rejected every licence to Indonesia when the weapons might have been used for suppression.’60 The decision not to revoke licences for export granted by the Major government, including licences for the export to Indonesia of Hawk aircraft, armoured vehicles and water cannon, were seen by some as ‘worrying signs that there is a considerable gap between policy and practice’.61 It was also very unpopular within the Parliamentary Labour Party, and 136 MPs, most of them Labour, signed an early-day motion attacking the decision.62 It is inconceivable that the Labour government did not know that there was extensive evidence that these exports had been and could be used for internal repression. While Cook said that it was impossible to apply the new arms export criteria and refuse to export arms to Indonesia under pre-existing contracts, others


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argued that the earlier decision could have been reversed. While largely welcomed by pressure groups, the new arms export licensing criteria were said to ‘have proved disappointing’, as they could be interpreted with considerable flexibility. In particular, there were no guidelines to indicate how evidence of use was to be obtained, nor risks assessed, and no monitoring of the end use of the exports.63 The commitment not to export equipment for internal repression was qualified by a statement exempting equipment judged to be for the legitimate protection of a country’s security forces from violence. This too was criticised by arms-control and human-rights groups and experts.64 Despite the tightened criteria, arms continued to be exported to many regimes with questionable human-rights records, including Columbia, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and Turkey,65 and ‘non-lethal’ military equipment has been exported to China.66 Joint reports were produced by a quadripartite committee of the four Select Committees (Defence, Foreign Affairs, International Development, and Trade and Industry) involved in strategic export controls to review the extent to which the implementation of arms licensing matched the government’s declared objectives. They found that in 1999 the proportion of all export licence applications that had been refused under the Labour government was only 0.7 per cent, compared with 1 per cent under the Conservatives.67 In the cases of arms exports to Zimbabwe and Indonesia, policy ‘did not yet reveal evidence of joined-up government. There was evidence that Whitehall baronial interests had sometimes fought each other to an unhappy compromise.’68 It was also pointed out that all the select committee reports that dealt with the issue of arms export licensing had contained ‘strongly worded criticism of the absence of legislation following the Scott report during this Parliament’. Indeed, ‘As a result of the effort that we put in when in opposition on the issue of the Scott report, we have a legislative debt of honour to redeem the Scott recommendations in the form of legislation.’69 The unanimous recommendation of the four Select Committees was that they should undertake prior scrutiny of licences, but this was rejected by the government on the grounds that it would compromise political and commercial confidentiality in the UK.70 It was also pointed out that ‘No formal mechanisms exist at present for systematically monitoring the use that has been made of British defence equipment once it has been exported.’71 Neil Cooper has concluded that New Labour’s commitment to restricting arms exports was framed in a manner that implied ‘a largely permissive attitude to UK

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arms exports. Judged solely on its own language, Labour’s arms sales policy is less ethical than its own policy in the 1980s, less ethical than that of a number of other states, less ethical than the EU code [on arms exports] and little different from the ethically challenged approach of its Conservative predecessors.’72 The general perception was that while Cook genuinely wished to tighten up on arms exports, he was overruled by the Department of Trade and Industry, which was working to a different set of priorities to that of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.73 There were other foreign-policy decisions that did not fit well with Cook’s ethical dimension. Britain was the only European state that fully supported the US policy of sanctions over Iraq’s refusal to allow the United Nations Special Commission (UNSCOM) weapons inspectors access, and the only European state to support the USA’s use of strategic bombing to enforce the no-fly zone. However, Cook continued to take the moral high ground on this issue, writing a column in The Sun in February 1998 on ‘Why we dare not ignore terror arsenal’.74 Cook presented the threat of the use of force against Iraq as the ‘ethical’ option, arguing: Here is the link between our opposition to Iraq and an ethical base to foreign policy. We have taken a very strong line against nuclear, chemical and biological weapons. It would be totally inconsistent with that if we were to allow Saddam to remain in possession of weapons of mass destruction.75

Following the bombing of February 2001, Cook argued in the Daily Telegraph that ‘Britain’s robust approach has contained the threat that Saddam poses.’ British pilots patrolled the no-fly zones in order ‘to protect the Iraqi people’. The air strikes were a limited operation to ‘ensure that our Servicemen can protect themselves while protecting others’.76 Cook’s attempts to persuade the British public of his ethical foreign policy sometimes seemed strained to say the least, and fed the criticism that his claim to a new foreign policy was merely hype and rhetoric. This was particularly the case over the Sandline affair, when it was found that the Foreign Office had, at some level, known about the shipment of arms to Sierra Leone (which flouted UN resolution 1132) and the intervention of mercenaries to restore President Kabbah to power. This shot a hole through Cook’s attempts to present the FCO as working under a stricter regime than with the Conservatives. Cook’s unhappy response to this event suggested that he considered that the upholding of UN resolutions was the ethical position


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to take, and that officials should be punished for flouting them. Blair, on the other hand, suggested that the ends justified the means in restoring democratically elected President Kabbah, and declared somewhat confusingly that ‘When people say they run an ethical foreign policy, I say Sierra Leone was an example of this.’77 The impression given was that Cook and Blair assumed that anything Britain did in terms of foreign policy was by definition ethical. The Kosovo conflict The most dramatic crisis that Cook had to respond to as Foreign Secretary was the Kosovo conflict. Here opinion was intensely divided over whether intervention was the right thing to do – morally, politically and strategically – but for Cook, Kosovo represented the apogee of the Labour government’s new approach to foreign policy. Cook’s interest in Kosovo reflected his earlier concerns over Bosnia. In his 1995 speech to the Labour Party conference, Cook had argued that security included the international defence of Britain’s values, and that those values were under attack in Bosnia. ‘For the first time since the defeat of fascism, European states are being carved out behind borders drawn up by ethnic cleansing.’78 Thus, for Cook, when conflict flared up in Kosovo in 1997, this became an issue where Britain had to be seen to be taking a leading role in preventing a repeat of what was seen as the failure of Bosnia. Britain’s involvement in the Kosovo conflict was also institutionalised as a member of the six-nation Contact Group, and through its presidency of the EU starting in January 1998. On 9 March 1998 Cook hosted an emergency meeting of the Contact Group, which denounced the use of force by both the Serb military and the Kosovo liberation army, and which called for an arms embargo, which was then passed by the United Nation Security Council as resolution 1160 on 31 March 1998.79 However, during the summer of 1998 Cook and Blair resisted calls from the German Foreign Minister, Klaus Kinkel, for immediate military intervention.80 Cook then co-chaired talks at Rambouillet with Hubert Védrine, the French Foreign Minister, which opened on 3 February 1999. NATO’s operation Allied Force began on 24 March 1999, after Richard Holbrooke had declared that the final attempt to get Milosevic to sign the Rambouillet peace agreement had failed. Blair emphasised from the very beginning of the NATO military action that ‘We do not plan to use ground troops in order to fight

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our way into Kosovo’ and that ‘I do not accept that land troops are necessary to curb repression in Kosovo. Air strikes properly targeted – directed against the military capability of the oppressor – can achieve the objective that we set ourselves.’81 However, as the conflict dragged on, Blair then became pivotal in getting the battle for public opinion on course, setting a military and political agenda that could be relayed to the public, and launching a massive political campaign aimed at shoring up public opinion both in Britain and abroad. 82 Cook played a vital role in this. Their view on the use of ground troops shifted suddenly in April. On 20 April, Robin Cook rather ambiguously suggested a willingness to insert ground troops without a fully implemented Serb withdrawal.83 By the time the Washington summit to celebrate 50 years of NATO started on 23 April, it was the British government that was urging the other NATO members to commit to ground troops. While it is not clear exactly why Milosevic backed down, it seems likely that his eventual capitulation was because NATO was finally able to project the appearance that it was contemplating a ground war.84 In the end, then, the New Labour government took a more interventionist approach to the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia than its Conservative predecessor had. This in turn was responsible for causing a shift in thinking about foreign policy on the centre-left, with a new ‘warlike humanitarianism’ complemented with internationalism.85 Kosovo represented very clearly a new approach to foreign policy in terms of intervention for humanitarian reasons overriding traditional state sovereignty. Blair argued that ‘Noninterference has long been considered an important principle of international order. … But the principle of non-interference must be qualified in important respects. Acts of genocide can never be a purely internal matter.’86 For internationalists such as themselves, Cook and Blair argued that not to act would have been to go against their whole worldview. Cook even made several comparisons of the Kosovo situation with the Spanish Civil War and the fight against fascism, proclaiming: I am absolutely robust that we are right to be fighting this evil. There is no conflict between the traditional values of the left and being against this. What we are witnessing is the resurgence of fascism in Europe. … We have not seen trains used to take men, women and children from their homes since the days of Hitler and Stalin. I do not think that anyone on the left should have any reservations about fighting this evil.87


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On a more personal level, he said that ‘I am absolutely clear that the objectives of our action inside Kosovo fit entirely with all the political values I have upheld throughout my political career.’88 The Kosovo conflict was significant for British foreign policy, in that it was the first time in NATO’s history that it had undertaken a sustained military campaign, in addition to which this campaign was aimed at preventing a humanitarian tragedy rather than a military threat to one of its member states. It was significant for Cook in that it was the most dramatic crisis that he had to respond to during his time as Foreign Secretary, and it seemed to highlight his new, more internationalist approach to foreign policy. However, Labour’s initial reluctance to use military force, followed by the pronouncement that British ground troops would not be used, which many argued extended the length of the conflict,89 did not sit well with Cook’s claims to the moral high-ground. There were also accusations of double standards vis-à-vis Serbia’s actions in Kosovo and Russia’s actions in Chechnya. Kosovo did demonstrate, however, what could be achieved when the Foreign Secretary, Prime Minister and Defence Secretary were working in harmony towards the same goal of bolstering support both internally within Britain and externally within NATO in order to carry the military campaign through.


First, critics argue that ‘Robin Cook’s ethical foreign policy was revealed as the throw of the gambler he is; an initiative without underpinning, designed to catch the eye and mark him out from his predecessors.’90 This is too simplistic. Cook attempted to spearhead a new approach to foreign policy in terms of opening up both the policy-making processes and institutional structures to wider involvement. He broadened the definition of foreign policy, and he raised the profile, though not as much as he would argue, of the role of principles in British foreign policy. Second, Kampfner says Cook ‘saw himself as the last of the Bevanites, reluctant to give up the label of socialist, whatever its frailties’.91 This might be truer than one would expect. Like Bevan, Cook was forced to embrace issues which he had previously made his reputation among the left of the Labour Party by campaigning against. While in his first couple of years in office Cook sought

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a prominent role in the media spotlight; he avoided attracting attention to himself in the second half of his tenure, and his lower profile appeared to be matched by a decline in his belief that he could truly make a difference in foreign policy. Third, Cook was most successful with the commitment to internationalism and Kosovo, when he was in step with Blair. He was least successful in cleaning up the arms trade, when he was working to an agenda different from that of Blair. Nevertheless, Cook has left behind him an extensive legacy both for himself and for the Labour Party – Ernest Bevin is the only other Labour Foreign Secretary to date to remain in post for a full term or to have lasted longer in the role of Foreign Secretary than Robin Cook – in terms of having produced a more internationalist stance to British foreign policy, which reflected more clearly the post-Cold War, globalised world. Cook himself noted that trying to make ‘Britain a spokesman for human rights and democracy in the world … has got me into an awful lot of trouble with the cynics at home. But I would rather be in trouble than be in the wrong.’92

NOTES 1. I would like to thank the British Academy for providing funding for the research on which this chapter is based; the Museum of Labour History in Manchester for use of the Labour Party archive; and Robin Cook and others for agreeing to be interviewed. 2. John Kampfner, Robin Cook (London: Victor Gollancz, 1998), pp. 11, 13–20, 23, 25–7. 3. Kampfner, Robin Cook, pp. 30–3. 4. Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 41. 5. Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 58. 6. Sense about Defence: The Report of the Labour Party Defence Study Group (London: Quartet, 1977). 7. Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 42. 8. Robin Cook and Dan Smith, What Future in NATO? (London: Fabian Research Series 337, July 1978), pp. 9, 10–11, 25. 9. Labour Party Archive, Museum of Labour History, Manchester, Box on Labour CND, Labour Disarmament Liaison Committee 1981–83, and Sense about Defence; file Labour CND 1981–82; Alternative Defence Strategy conference, 29 May 1982. 10. Labour Party Archive, Box on Labour CND, Labour Disarmament Liaison Committee 1981–83, and Sense about Defence; letter from Peter Smith to Robin Cook, 13 October 1983. 11. Robin Cook, speech to the 1995 Labour Party annual conference, Labour Party Annual Conference Report (hereafter LPACR) (1995), p. 189. 12. These are referred to frequently in writings on Cook, for example Paul Anderson and Nyta Mann, Safety First: The Making of New Labour (London: Granta, 1997), p. 116; Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 109. 13. Andrew Rawnsley, Servants of the People: The Inside Story of New Labour (London: Hamish Hamilton, 2000), p. 168. 14. Author’s interview with former House of Commons political aide, Leeds, May 2001. See Cook interview in The Herald, 20 May 1996.

Robin Cook, 1997–2001 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

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Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 83. Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 7. Author’s confidential interview with FCO official, London, June 1997. Robin Cook, ‘Mission Statement for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office’, FCO, London, 12 May 1997. Author’s interview with Mark Leonard, director, Foreign Policy Centre, London, 25 November 1999. Foreign Policy Centre mission statement, 1999. Author’s interview with Steve Lee, director of the Centre for Foreign Policy Development, Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, Ottawa, Canada, 26 September 2000; author’s interview with Barry Fulton, Washington DC, 26 October 2000. Cook, ‘Mission Statement for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office’. See Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Planet Britain 2000 CD-ROM (London: FCO, 1999), and Planet Britain website at www.planet-Britain.org. Robin Cook, speech by the Foreign Secretary at FCO Open Day, 1997, from www.fco.gov.uk. Author’s confidential interview, London, September 2001. Robin Cook, speech to 1995 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1995), p. 190. Cook ‘Mission Statement for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office’. Robin Cook, ‘Britain’s New Approach to the World’, speech to the 1997 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1997), p. 132. Author’s confidential interview with senior FCO adviser, London, August 2000. Tony Blair, ‘Doctrine of International Community’, speech to the Economic Club of Chicago, 22 April 1999. Robin Cook, speech to 1998 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1998), p. 129. Tony Blair, ‘A New Era of International Partnership’, speech to the United Nations General Assembly, New York, 21 September 1998. Cook, ‘Mission Statement for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office’. David Owen, Human Rights (London: Jonathan Cape, 1978). See Rhiannon Vickers, ‘Labour’s Search for a Third Way in Foreign Policy’, in Richard Little and Mark Wickham-Jones (eds), New Labour’s Foreign Policy: A New Moral Crusade? (Manchester: MUP, 2000), pp. 33–45; and Nicholas Wheeler and Tim Dunne, ‘Good International Citizenship: A Third Way for British Foreign Policy’, International Affairs, 74, 4 (October 1998), pp. 847–70. Robin Cook, ‘Clean Slate Britain and Europe: A New Start’, Harvard International Review, 21 (Spring 1999), p. 84. Labour Party 1997 general election manifesto, New Labour: Because Britain Deserves Better, p. 37. Cited in Anderson and Mann, Safety First, p. 113. Author’s confidential interview, London, September 2001. Author’s confidential interview with senior foreign policy adviser, London, August 2000. Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 137. Robin Cook, ‘Britain’s Future in Europe’, speech at Britain in Europe campaign event, 23 November 1999. The Britain in Europe movement is the main umbrella group heading the ‘yes’ campaign to the single currency. Cook, ‘Britain’s Future in Europe’. Tony Blair, ‘Britain’s Role in the EU and the Transatlantic Alliance’, speech to the Associated Press, London, 15 December 1998. Tony Blair, ‘Committed to Europe, Reforming Europe’, Ghent speech, 23 February 2000. Cook, ‘Britain’s Future in Europe’. Labour Party 2001 election manifesto, Ambitions for Britain, p. 38. Labour Party, New Labour: Because Britain Deserves Better, p. 39. Cook, ‘Mission Statement for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office’. House of Commons Debates, Queen’s Speech, 14 May 1997, col. 44. Rawnsley, Servants of the People, p. 168. House of Commons Debates, 21 May 1997, col. 72w. For example, Robin Cook, ‘Human Rights: Making the Difference’, speech to the Amnesty International Human Rights Festival, London, 16 October 1998.

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54. See Isobel Hilton, ‘Chinese Whispers: A Year of Quiet Diplomacy Ends with More Arrests of Dissidents’, Guardian, 31 December 1998; Kampfner, Robin Cook, pp. 218–19. 55. Mark Wickham-Jones, ‘Labour’s Trajectory in Foreign Affairs: The Moral Crusade of a Pivotal Power?’, in Little and Wickham-Jones (eds), New Labour’s Foreign Policy, p. 25. 56. For instance, What Future in NATO?, pp. 14–15; and his joint role in Sense About Defence. 57. Robin Cook, speech to the 1995 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1995), p. 191. 58. House of Commons Debates, Robin Cook’s written answer to questions for 28 July 1997, cols 27–9. 59. Robin Cook, ‘Britain’s New Approach to the World’, speech to 1997 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1997), p. 133. 60. Robin Cook, ‘Britain in the World’, speech to 1999 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1999), p. 51. 61. Foreign Affairs Select Committee, First Report, Appendix 2, Memorandum submitted by TAPOL, the Indonesian Human Rights Campaign. 62. Rawnsley, Servants of the People, p. 171. 63. Foreign Affairs Select Committee, First Report, Appendix 2, Memorandum submitted by TAPOL, the Indonesian Human Rights Campaign. 64. For example, in a report drawn up by the Department of Peace Studies at Bradford University and Saferworld, a campaigning group; Malcolm Chalmers, British Arms Export Policy and Indonesia (London: Saferworld, 1997), p. 22. 65. Defence, Foreign Affairs, International Development and Trade and Industry committees, Special Report, Committee’s Inquiry into the 1997 and 1998 Annual Reports on Strategic Export Controls, HC 540 (London: Stationery Office, 1999). 66. Defence, Foreign Affairs, International Development and Trade and Industry committees, Third Report, Strategic Export Controls: Annual Report for 1999 and Parliamentary Prior Scrutiny, HC 225 (London: Stationery Office, 2001). 67. Defence, Foreign Affairs, International Development and Trade and Industry committees, Special Report, Committee’s Inquiry into the 1997 and 1998 Annual Reports on Strategic Export Controls, HC 540 (London: Stationery Office, 1999). 68. House of Commons Debates, 14 December 2000, presentation by Ted Rowlands of the reports of the four Select Committees making up the ‘Quadripartite Committee’ on strategic export, cols 1 WH and 3 WH. 69. Ibid., col. 4 WH. 70. Ibid., col. 5 WH. 71. House of Commons Debates, 3 June 1998, comments by Derek Fatchett, col. 240. 72. Neil Cooper, ‘The Pariah Agenda and New Labour’s Ethical Arms Sales Policy’, in Little and Wickham-Jones (eds), New Labour’s Foreign Policy, p. 163. 73. Author’s confidential interview, London, September 2001; see, for example, Rawnsley, Servants of the People, pp. 170–2. 74. The Sun, 5 February 1998. 75. Cook interview with John Lloyd, ‘Ethics Makes the World Go Round’, New Statesman, 6 March 1998, p. 10. 76. Robin Cook, ‘Why it is in the interest of the Iraqi People to Bomb Saddam’, Daily Telegraph, 20 February 2001. 77. Tony Blair, interview on GMTV, 17 May 1998. 78. Robin Cook, speech to the 1995 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR (1995), p. 190. 79. Will Bartlett, ‘Simply the Right Thing to Do: Labour Goes to War’, in Little and Wickham-Jones (eds), New Labour’s Foreign Policy, p. 133. 80. Ibid., pp. 134–4. 81. House of Commons Debates, 23 March 1999, cols 170–1. 82. See Rhiannon Vickers, ‘Blair’s Kosovo Campaign: Political Communications, the Battle for Public Opinion and Foreign Policy’, Civil Wars, 3, 1 (Spring 2000), pp. 54–70. 83. House of Commons Debates, 20 April 1999, col. 681; NATO briefing, 20 April 1999. 84. Zbigniew Brzezinski, ‘Why Milosevic Cracked’, Prospect, November 1999, pp. 10–11; Barry Posen, ‘The War for Kosovo: Serbia’s Political–Military Strategy’, International Security, 24, 4 (Spring 2000), pp. 39–84. 85. John Lloyd, ‘How the Doves Turned Hawkish’, New Statesman, 2 April 1999. 86. Tony Blair, ‘Doctrine of International Community’, speech to the Economic Club of Chicago, 22 April 1999.


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87. Robin Cook, cited by John Lloyd, ‘Cook Declares Total War on Fascism’, New Statesman, 3 May 1999, p. 8. 88. Edited transcript of interview by the Foreign Secretary, Robin Cook, BBC radio, 2 April 1999, from FCO website. 89. See, for example, comments by General Klaus Naumann, Chairman of the NATO Military Committee during 1999, in ‘War in Europe’, Channel 4, Episode 1, 30 January 2000. 90. Andrjez Krause, ‘Don’t Give up on Ethics’, New Statesman, 15 May 1998. 91. Kampfner, Robin Cook, p. 10. 92. Robin Cook, speech to 1998 Labour Party annual conference, LPACR, 1998, p. 129.

12

British Foreign Secretaries from Callaghan to Cook David Hannay

The period of a little more than a quarter of a century covered by the tenure of British Foreign Secretaries from Callaghan to Cook (1974–2001) is a sizeable slab of modern British history and of international developments. Moreover it is a period that contrasts quite sharply with the relative stability, both within the British political scene and internationally, of the previous quarter century or so (1945–74), which immediately followed the Second World War. During the first of those periods Labour and Conservative governments alternated but each invariably had an overall majority in the House of Commons, however small, and neither party underwent a major upheaval, with splits and prolonged internal strife. Between 1974 and 2001 there were periods when the ruling party did not have a majority and each major party in turn was riven by internal feuding in which external policy issues over Europe played a significant or, in the case of the Conservatives in the 1990s, a determinant role. Internationally the prolonged stasis of the Cold War and the steady post-war economic growth during the first period was succeeded in the second by a major international economic crisis following the quintupling of the oil price after the Yom Kippur War, the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War, the collapse of the apartheid regime in South Africa and many other international developments, which no foreign-policy guru, however perceptive, had forecast even a few years before they occurred. So these Foreign Secretaries were not traversing a flat and monotonous landscape, plentifully strewn with recognisable landmarks and signposts directing their policies. Rather they were thrown into a world in rapid and often chaotic transition, in which

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the conventional wisdom was of precious little use to them; and for two extensive periods they had to travel with the ball and chain of economic weakness and party strife attached to their ankle. It would be a major mistake to underestimate the extent to which Foreign Secretaries were constrained in their ability to pursue an effective and consistent policy line, particularly in the two substantial periods of economic weakness and political strife (1974–79 and 1992–97). Not only were the Prime Ministers of the day distracted from the important role they now have to play in foreign affairs by the demands of economic and party management, but ministers had to be yanked out of official visits to fly back for crucial divisions in the House of Commons. And the lack of resources hung over any attempt to pursue foreign policies, which might require something more than words to back them up. It is not easy to pursue a credible foreign policy when the International Monetary Fund is combing through your books at home or when your currency has just, rather ignominiously, fallen out of the Exchange Rate Mechanism of the European Union. No medium-sized country like Britain can in any case hope, on its own, nowadays to set the international climate or lay down a blueprint for its foreign policy. But, in a period of rapid change and frequent turmoil, the reactive nature of foreign policy and the extent to which responses have to be worked out collectively, through the chain of multilateral organisations to which Britain now belongs – the European Union, NATO, the United Nations, the Commonwealth – rather than by unilateral, national decisions, tend to mask the role played by each part of the chain and to make far more difficult for the historian the identification of the contribution made by individual Foreign Secretaries. The temptation then is to focus on a few events where Britain did itself play a predominant role – the Cod War with Iceland, the Falklands, Hong Kong – and to judge the respective Foreign Secretaries by their handling of those issues. But to do so is to give a skewed and lopsided view of the daily grind and the main thrust of the work of a modern British Foreign Secretary.

THE EUROPEAN DIMENSION

As the period covered by this volume opens, Britain had just joined the European Community (later, in the 1990s, to be renamed the European Union); but it was a Europe very different from the one to

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which it belonged at the end of the period. The relative stagnation and limited scope of the European project in the 1970s was succeeded in the 1980s, after a long and difficult negotiation required to settle the issue of Britain’s disproportionate budget contribution, by a period of rapid and successful development. A community of nine member states expanded to one of 15 and, by the end of the period, was poised close to a further expansion to 27 or more. A Europe which had, at first, in truth, been only half of Europe was on the way to becoming a genuinely continental unit. A single market was first promulgated in the Single European Act of 1986; over the following years it was effectively implemented. This in turn led on to the single currency which came into force for 11 member states (but not Britain) in 1999 and was later joined by a twelfth, Greece. Meanwhile, in parallel, steps were being taken towards developing a common foreign and security policy, with a capability for rapid reaction to humanitarian and peacekeeping crises taking shape by the end of the period. Both the often fraught and sensitive negotiation of these various steps and their day-to-day implementation transformed the work of the Foreign Secretary, heavily weighing down his diary and greatly increasing the extent to which he had to manage contentious issues in the House of Commons and to become involved in policy-formulation in areas far outside his traditional bailiwick. Gone were the days when a Foreign Secretary, like Sir Alec Douglas-Home, could effectively delegate most of the European business to a deputy. The exponential increase in the burden of European business falling on the Foreign Secretary was not only quantitative. The qualitative aspect and the way in which Europe was a contentious issue, within as well as between the two main parties, meant that the Foreign Secretary changed from being a mainly bipartisan figure – episodes like Suez being the exception rather than the rule – to his becoming a critical player in the government’s overall policy stance and indeed its electoral prospects. Not only did this increase the burden of domestic speaking appearances but it meant that every word attributed to a Foreign Secretary came to be analysed for (in a Conservative government) its degree of scepticism or (in a Labour government) the indications it gave for joining the euro and the holding of a referendum. Another consequence was that the Foreign Secretary and his officials became involved in a growing range of policy issues – agriculture, the environment, the single market, trade policy, tax coordination and harmonisation – which in the past would have been dealt with


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almost exclusively, insofar as their international dimension would have been recognised at all, by the respective home department. To some extent this has indeed resulted in an extension of the Foreign Secretary and the Foreign Office’s outreach and in its ability to influence policy-formulation over a much wider field than ever before. But these developments have in fact cut both ways. In many instances the main result has been that the Foreign Office has lost the capacity to formulate policy on its own, or in a cosy triangle involving the Prime Minister and the Defence Secretary, and has had to accept that policy on many European issues has to be beaten out on the anvil of interdepartmental coordination, with the Foreign Secretary having to negotiate as much with his domestic colleagues to get a mandate with which to go to Brussels as with his European colleagues when he gets there.

THE GLOBALISATION OF DIPLOMACY

The globalisation of diplomacy has been under way ever since the Second World War and its aftermath brought home to policymakers the difficulties and inadequacies of trying to pursue a foreign policy on a purely national basis and, since something like a consensus emerged, on the need to establish multilateral institutions and instruments to grapple with global problems. But the process greatly accelerated in the last quarter of the twentieth century, spurred on both by technical factors – the ease of travel, the revolutionisation of communications, the 24-hour-a-day media market – and by political factors such as the ending of the Cold War, which resulted in many previous ‘no-go’ areas such as humanitarian intervention becoming at least potentially capable of being addressed effectively. Like the burgeoning of the European agenda, this globalisation has transformed the way Foreign Secretaries spend their time and carry out their job. A Foreign Secretary, when he travels abroad – and he now has to spend an increasing amount of his time outside the country at meetings for which his attendance is not an optional extra, quite apart from bilateral visits, which remain a crucial part of his parochial task – has to take along with him the charge of running the Foreign Office and directing Britain’s diplomatic efforts around the world. This is a heavy burden and not all the consequences of having to bear it are benign. Too often the demands of the media that something

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must be done, or at least said, lead to snap judgements and superficial efforts to cobble together a policy response too fast and with inadequate consideration of the options, opportunities to consult with colleagues and a chance to concert with close allies. The Foreign Office machine can and does deal with some of these inadequacies but it cannot make them disappear, nor can it prevent the build-up of stress on the person at the apex of the pyramid.

THE ROLE OF THE PRIME MINISTER IN FOREIGN AFFAIRS

In the nineteenth century and early twentieth century the role of the Prime Minister in foreign affairs was very much a matter of the taste and choice of the individual concerned. The spectrum ran all the way from Lord Salisbury, managing the affairs of the Empire and the diplomacy of a superpower from the Foreign Secretary’s office, which he used even as Prime Minister, to an Asquith or a Baldwin who were not much interested in foreign policy or overseas travel, other than on holiday, and left matters in the hands of their Foreign Secretaries. Lloyd George, Churchill, Eden and Macmillan were nearer the Salisbury end of the spectrum; Attlee and Wilson the other. But all that changed fundamentally during the period covered by this volume. The Prime Minister’s role in foreign affairs not only became much greater, it became institutionalised. In 1974 there were no regular European summits, only an occasional not very well prepared and organised meeting; the G8 did not exist; NATO too did not have regular summits; meetings between the leaders of the main powers were sporadic and not always welcome to the participants. All that has changed irreversibly. The meetings of the European Council have become, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future, the main instrument of governance of the European Union. The pressure to maintain, if not to increase, the number of other meetings at head of state or government level will not be easy to duck, let alone to reverse. All this means that the Prime Minister has become an integral part of foreign policy-making; not an occasional extra to be called in during a crisis, supreme only during actual hostilities; a leading actor with a daily role to perform, however many other pressing domestic concerns may be crowding in on him. But, if he is to be a regular leading actor, the Prime Minister needs a regular source of advice and assistance in carrying out those tasks; and gradually the number and rank of the staff working for the Prime Minister


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on foreign-policy issues has been rising: the European Secretariat of the Cabinet Office has expanded, the ‘Sherpa’ who prepares the G8 meetings answers to him; and he now has two senior advisers of permanent secretary rank to advise on, respectively, European Union and wider foreign-policy issues. It would be idle to suppose that all this has had no effect on the role of the Foreign Secretary or has not created tensions and problems for the Foreign Office. It is evident that in some respects, on European issues in particular, the role of the Foreign Secretary, and that of his Foreign Minister colleagues in the other EU member states, has been diminished. It is also clear that if British diplomacy is to operate effectively then the Foreign Secretary, the Foreign Office and the Prime Minister’s foreign-policy advisers will have to work in the closest concert and harmony. The sort of permanent confrontation that reigned during Mrs Thatcher’s tenure of office between the two sides of Downing Street is not a recipe for successful foreign policy-making or execution. At the same time the premium on the personal and policy compatibility of the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary has become even higher than it has been in the past.

POST-IMPERIAL NOSTALGIA AND COLONIAL LEFTOVERS

It is frequently alleged that British foreign policy-making has remained suffused in a kind of post-imperial nostalgia, subject to illusions that Britannia still rules the waves. There are certainly traces of those symptoms in the quarter-century following the Second World War, with the Suez episode and the decision not to join the European Community at the outset, the most prominent consequences. But in the period covered by this study the symptoms are less evident, indeed are to be found more in the pages of the popular press than in the Foreign Secretary’s office, where the reality of Britain’s place in the world and the resources available to sustain it were brought home forcefully. In a sense this was the period when post-imperial Britain came to terms with its changed circumstances and all the Foreign Secretaries studied here helped achieve that transition, their task being continually hampered by the inter-party problems over defining Britain’s position and role in Europe. But whether or not post-imperial nostalgia continued to play some role in British foreign policy-making, what could not be

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avoided were the complex and sensitive issues posed by the handling of the colonial leftovers. The proportion of all these Foreign Secretaries’ time taken up with issues such as Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence, the Cyprus problem, the Falklands, Hong Kong and Gibraltar is the single element which, throughout this period, still sets the British Foreign Secretary’s job apart from that of his colleagues in other similar-sized countries or even that of the US Secretary of State. These were not issues which could be left to one side or delegated to a subordinate. Treated in that way they had a nasty habit of biting you in the ankle, as Carrington found in the case of the Falklands. On the whole the record was not a bad one: Rhodesia became Zimbabwe; Hong Kong became an autonomous part of China; Cyprus and Gibraltar were managed if not resolved. But the time, energy and expenditure of political capital required took its toll and there is no real reason to doubt that the distorting factor of the colonial leftovers on Britain’s foreign policy contributed to the length and the difficulty of the post-imperial transition.

EU OR USA FIRST: A REAL DILEMMA OR A FALSE CHOICE?

Few issues have so absorbed commentators on foreign policy during the period under consideration as the dilemma between Britain cleaving to US foreign policy leads or alternatively taking what would be described as a European line. This issue, together with the related one of whether Britain and the USA continue to have a special relationship and, if so, how special it is and in what way, have been flogged to death by the media and many more serious experts. And of course there have been occasions when the USA and the Europeans have either been at odds or at risk of being at odds over some matter of foreign policy, most recently and most noticeably over Iraq. None of the Foreign Secretaries whose record in office is examined will have escaped the need to deal with such problems, but none of them will have started from an a priori assumption that they were going to take a European or a US line. And, more significantly, nor will their colleagues in other European capitals. Every member of the European Union, and the European Union itself as an entity, has a special relationship with the USA, which reflects both close historical links, but also the importance they attach to the USA as the ultimate guarantor of their security through the NATO alliance. Not even France, whose domestic policies often favour taking a public line critical of the USA, bucks


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this trend. Not even Britain, sometimes portrayed as being a kneejerk supporter of US policy, has hesitated on occasion to stand up against a policy decision which it believed was against its interests, as when Mrs Thatcher successfully resisted, in the early 1980s, the imposition of sanctions on European firms cooperating in the construction of a gas pipeline from the Soviet Union to western Europe. More recently the British attitude to the Bush administration’s rejection of the Kyoto Protocol on climate change has illustrated the same point. The idea therefore that any European government has to make a fundamental and invariable choice between the USA and Europe is indeed a false one; but so is the suggestion that any British Foreign Secretary will escape from the need to weigh up individual cases on their merits and decide whether, as is generally the case, this is a matter where Americans and Europeans should be able to resolve any initial differences through compromise or whether, less frequently, this is an instance where the Europeans must stand their ground.

BEHIND THE GREEN BAIZE DOOR

For those, like myself, who have spent the whole of their professional career behind the green baize door that separates officials from ministers, some care and reticence is desirable when contributing to a study such as this. I have worked for every one of these Foreign Secretaries. My views on their performance are not those that are set out in the individual chapters devoted to each one. I suspect in fact that we are still too close to the period in which they held office and that too few of the official documents are yet available for any definitive judgements to be made on them. It is with this clear caveat that I am contributing some general reflections to this book. A study of individual Foreign Secretaries necessarily takes those who live on the other side of the green baize door, the British diplomatic service, a bit for granted. To write their story would take at least another volume. And yet they are a crucial part of the story of each and every Foreign Secretary. The diplomatic service has undergone massive change during the period in question, not only adapting itself to the upheavals in the outside world but also undergoing fundamental reforms in the way it recruits, works and manages itself. That it has managed to do all that while still giving good service to its political masters is a tribute to the quality and

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the professionalism of the men and women who serve in it. A superpower may be able to get away with a less than first-class diplomatic service; most people will beat a path to their door anyway and the weight behind their words will depend less on eloquence and skilful presentation than on the realities of power. But a middle-ranking power like Britain needs a highly skilled and professional diplomatic service if it is to keep its end up in a world where competition is not something that only takes place between individuals and businesses. The Foreign Secretaries whose tenure of office is reviewed in this book might not agree about many things but they would all agree about that.

Index

Acland, Sir Antony, 188 Agustsson, Einur, 77 Amery, Julian, 131, 145, 147 Amin, Idi, 52, 62, 75 Ancram, Michael, 136 Andropov, Yuri, 149, 167, 168 Asquith, H. H., 16, 272 Atkins, Humphrey, 22, 144 Attlee, Clement, 6, 28, 47, 178, 272 Aziz, Tariq, 189 Baker, James, 188 Baker, Kenneth, 132, 133 Baldwin, Stanley, 28, 272 Balfour, Arthur, 30 Barnier, Michel, 242 Benn, Tony, 55, 72, 98, 135 Berrill, Sir Kenneth, 53, 94 Bevan, Aneurin, 263 Bevin, Ernest, 3, 16, 28, 157, 178, 192, 264 Bingham Inquiry, 102 Bishop, Maurice, 164 Blair, Tony, 8, 9, 32–3, 35, 206, 223, 249, 250, 253, 254, 255, 256, 261–2, 264 Booth, Albert, 98 Botha, P. W., 170 Boutras Ghali, Boutras, 215 Brandt, Willy, 55, 60 Brezhnev, Leonid, 120, 149 Brittan, Leon, 196, 197 Broek, Hans van den, 207, 208 Brooke, Peter, 132 Brown, George, 1, 50 Brown, Gordon, 8, 9, 249, 255 Bush, George (US President 1989–93), 188, 205, 223 Bush, George W. (US President 2001– ), 206, 275 Butler, Rab, 6

Callaghan, James, 6, 7, 8–9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 21, 24, 25, 26, 27, 31, 69, 71, 72, 73, 76, 80, 84, 85, 86, 93, 95–6, 97, 98, 99, 100, 105, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 183; and Africa, 62; background and career, 47–9; and Cyprus, 57–9; and EEC, 52–3, 53–7, 63; and Falklands, 61; personal style, 49–53; and Soviet Union, 60; and USA, 57, 59, 60, 63 Carrington, Lord, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15, 18–19, 22, 23, 24, 27, 31, 38, 105, 144, 145, 147, 153, 177, 196, 197, 203, 208, 274; background and career, 117–19; and EU, 127–8; and Falklands, 128–30, 135; personal style, 121–3; resignation of, 128, 130–6; and Rhodesia, 120, 125–7, 133, 136; and Thatcher, 122–4, 127–8 Carter, Jimmy, 96, 100, 103, 105, 106, 107, 110, 111, 120 Carver, Lord, 104 Castle, Barbara, 55, 83 Castlereagh, Lord, 11–12 Cavallo, Domingo, 189 Central Policy Review Staff, 53, 62–3, 94 Chalker, Lynda, 186, 219 Charette, Herve de, 236, 238 Chesterton, G.K., 159 Chirac, Jacques, 236, 237, 239 Christopher, Warren, 212 Churchill, Winston, 118, 273 Clarke, Kenneth, 133, 160, 198, 220, 221, 222, 225, 232, 233, 240, 242 Clerides, Glafkos, 210 Clinton, Bill, 212 Cod War, 61–2, 76–8 Coles, Sir John, 14 Commonwealth, 6, 18, 48, 52, 53, 54, 58, 103, 104, 105, 125, 126, 169, 190, 269 Confederation of British Industry, 50

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Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 51, 60, 63 Cook, Robin, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15, 16, 17–18, 19, 20, 21–2, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 32–3, 36, 37; and arms exports, 258–60, 264; career, 247–9; and ‘ethical foreign policy’, 251, 253, 256–61, 263; and Europe, 254–6; and human rights, 250, 252, 253, 256–7; and Kosovo, 253, 261–3; personal style, 249–50, 251–2, 263–4 Cormack, Patrick, 131 Council of Europe, 75 Craddock, Sir Percy, 217 Crosland, Anthony, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 62, 93, 97; background and career, 69–9; and Cod War, 76–8; and Europe, 73–4, 75, 81–3, 84; and IMF crisis, 71–2; personal style, 69–71, 73, 83; and Rhodesia, 78–81 Crossman, Richard, 34, 35 Curzon, Lord, 28 Cunningham, Jack, 51 Davies, John, 142–3 Davis, David, 241 Defence, Ministry of, 33, 61, 108, 129, 135, 143, 232 Dell, Edmund, 72, 98, 102 Delors, Jacques, 175, 187, 202 Deng Xaioping, 171, 172 Denktash, Rauf, 210 D’Estaing, Giscard, 55, 56, 107 Dimbleby, Jonathan, 218 Dixon, Sir Pierson, 195 Dole, Bob, 212 Donald, Sir Alan, 217 Duff, Sir Anthony, 104 Dumas, Roland, 189, 207 Economic Affairs, Department of, 68 Eden, Anthony, 5, 6, 10, 11, 13–14, 93, 272 Ennals, David, 51 Environment, Department of the, 11 ‘ethical foreign policy’, 22, 32, 99–100, 251, 253, 256–61, 263 European Community/Union (EEC, EC, EU), 2–3, 4, 8, 13, 16, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 49, 51, 53–7, 63, 64, 73–4, 77, 81–2, 84, 94, 97–9, 111, 119, 127–8, 136, 148, 149–51, 162, 173, 174, 175, 180, 189, 196–7, 202–3, 205, 206, 207, 208, 211–12, 213, 220–22, 235, 237, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 248, 255, 261, 269–71, 272, 273, 274 European Monetary System (EMS), 68, 95, 98, 99, 209 European Monetary Union (euro), 9, 33, 54–5, 174, 175, 187, 189, 202, 207, 255

Evans, Gareth, 190, 192 Evans, Sir Richard, 217 Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM), 32, 175, 176, 209–10, 211, 269 Falklands, 23, 27, 38, 61, 108–10, 117, 128–30, 145–8, 150, 160, 185, 187, 189, 274 Fatchett, Derek, 23, 24 Fergusson, Ewen, 73 Foot, Michael, 55, 98, 99 Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO), 2, 11, 12, 15, 20–5, 29, 31, 36, 38, 49–50, 53, 55, 62–3, 72, 73, 82, 94–5, 102, 106, 131–2, 147, 151, 161, 175, 177, 185, 186–7, 191–2, 195, 199, 201, 222–3, 235, 240, 250–1, 252, 255, 257, 260, 273, 275–6 Foreign Policy Centre, 250 Foreign Secretary, backgrounds and careers, 5–11, 47–9, 68–9, 93, 117–19, 141–3, 157–60, 183–4, 195–9, 231–3, 247–9; burden on, 2, 4, 7, 12, 13–20, 25, 38, 39, 186, 199–200, 224, 271–2; and Cabinet, 29, 33–6, 160–1, 200; and EU, 2–3, 4, 8, 13, 16, 19, 29, 269–71; and intelligence services, 26–8, 108, 109, 199; and media, 1, 4, 19–20; and parliament, 5–6, 23, 25, 26, 36–8, 58, 132, 133, 135–6, 197, 204, 269, 270; and Prime Minister, 2, 3, 7, 9–10, 28–33, 33–6, 51, 64, 95, 122–4, 147, 174–6, 177, 185, 201, 272–3 Gaitskell, Hugh, 23, 74, 110 Galbraith, Thomas, 118 Garel-Jones, Tristan, 184, 187 Gaulle, Charles de, 27, 76, 213 Genscher, Hans Dietrich, 207 Gilchrist, Sir Andrew, 76–7 Gilmour, Ian, 20, 22, 23, 31, 123, 196 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 168 Gordan Walker, Patrick, 68 Gordievski, Oleg, 167, 168, 169 Gore-Booth, Sir David, 22 Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ), 26, 27, 28, 158, 164, 165 Grey, Sir Edward, 13, 16 Griffiths, Brian, 176 Gromyko, Andrei, 60, 106, 107 Haig, Alexander, 145, 146 Hailsham, Lord, 118 Hamilton, Sir Archibald, 135 Hannay, Sir David, 185, 189 Harlech, Lord, 125 Hattersley, Roy, 51, 54, 62, 82, 84, 85, 97, 98 Healey, Denis, 8–9, 47, 71, 72, 93, 95, 102, 107

Index Heath, Edward, 10, 23, 47, 49, 52, 54, 56, 63, 74, 107, 119, 124, 142, 147, 159, 162, 164, 177, 195, 196, 201, 204, 217, 231 Henderson, Doug, 23 Henderson, Sir Nicholas, 29–30, 50, 135 Heseltine, Michael, 162, 166, 178, 198, 203, 211, 220, 232, 233, 238 Hills, Denis, 52, 62 Holbrooke, Richard, 261 Home, Alec (Lord Home), 4, 11, 14, 16, 20, 23, 28, 134, 183, 270 Home Office, 8, 197, 198, 201 Hong Kong, 35, 120, 170–3, 177, 187–8, 216–18, 238, 274 Hood, Andrew, 250 Howard, Michael, 9, 224, 233, 242 Howe, Geoffrey, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19–20, 24, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31–2, 35, 37, 122, 124, 149, 150, 152, 184, 185, 186, 188, 198, 200, 203, 205; and Africa, 169–70; background and career, 157–60; and Europe, 173–6, 180; and Hong Kong, 170–3, 177, 216, 218; personal style, 160–1, 170, 172; and SDI, 165–6; and Soviet Union, 166–9; and Thatcher, 161–3, 169, 170, 173–6, 177–8; and USA, 163–6, 178 Hoyer-Millar, Derick, 195 Hughes, Cledwyn, 104–5 Hurd, Douglas, 6–7, 8, 9, 10, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 24, 26, 27, 29, 32, 33, 36, 37, 39, 40, 145, 151, 153, 177, 184, 186, 191, 222–3, 232, 233, 234, 236, 240, 257; background and career, 195–99; and Europe, 196–7, 201, 202–3, 206, 208, 209–12, 219–22, 223, 224; and Former Yugoslavia 207–9, 212–16; and Hong Kong, 216–18; and Middle East, 196, 202, 204–6; and Pergau Dam, 218–19; personal style, 199–201, 203–4, 225–6 Hussein, Saddam, 159, 204, 205, 260 Ingham, Bernard, 122, 191 Intelligence and Security Committee, 26 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 68, 71–2, 160, 269 Jay, Douglas, 132 Jay, Peter, 62, 105 Jenkins, Roy, 9, 47, 49, 54, 69, 71, 74, 84, 97, 98, 99 Jopling, Michael, 134 Joseph, Keith, 161 Juppe, Alain, 213 Kaufman, Gerald, 37, 204, 208 Kaunda, Kenneth, 125, 170 Keays, Sara, 9 Kerr, Sir John, 21

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Khomeini, Ayatollah, 205 Killick, Sir John, 78 King, Tom, 204 Kinnock, Neil, 248, 249 Kirkpatrick, Sir Ivone, 14 Kissinger, Henry, 52, 57, 58, 59, 61, 62, 63, 71, 73, 79–80, 81, 103, 223 Klinkel, Klaus, 210, 261 Kohl, Helmut, 202, 203 Lamont, Norman, 210, 232 Lankester, Sir Timothy, 176, 219 Lawson, Nigel, 9, 10, 32, 33, 145, 174, 175, 176, 184, 191, 203 Leonard, Mark, 250 Lestor, Joan, 51 Lever, Harold, 50, 97, 102 Levy, David, 202 Levy, Lord, 33 Lilley, Peter, 241 Lipsey, David, 71, 73 Lloyd, Selwyn, 4, 9–10, 16, 183 Lloyd, Tony, 23, 258 Lloyd George, David, 28, 272 Luce, Richard, 144 McCaffrey, Tom, 52 MacGregor, John, 195 Macmillan, Harold, 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 28, 62, 74, 148, 160, 183, 190, 226, 272 McNally, Tom, 25, 51–2, 59 Major, John, 1, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 19, 21, 24, 32, 34, 35, 195, 203, 204, 207, 209, 213, 217, 218, 223, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 234, 236, 237, 240, 242, 243, 255; career, 183–4; and Europe, 189, 206, 209, 211, 212, 220–22, 240–1; personal style, 186–7, 192; and Thatcher, 185, 188, 190–2; and South Africa, 189–91 Makarios, Archbishop, 57–8 Manning, Sir David, 33 Marlow, Tony, 221 Maude, Francis, 24, 186 Maudling, Reginald, 141 Maxton, James, 85 Melrose, Diana, 251 Meyer, Christopher, 52 Michelis, Gianni de, 207 Milosevic, Slobodan, 213–14, 216, 237, 261, 262 Mitterrand, Francois, 60, 189 Mohamed, Matathir, 219 Morris, John, 55 Morrison, Herbert, 67 Mugabe, Robert, 103, 120, 125 Mutual Balanced Force Reductions (MBFR), 75 Muzorewa, Bishop Abel, 104, 125, 126, 127

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Nixon, Richard, 57 Nkomo, Joshua, 103, 120, 125 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO), 2, 18, 75, 77, 106, 107, 111, 119, 143, 149, 151, 201, 208, 211, 213, 215–16, 250, 261, 262, 263, 269, 272 Nott, John, 130, 132, 136, 143, 145, 146 Nyerere, Julius, 169 Oldfield, Sir Maurice, 26 Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), 73 Orme, Stan, 98 Osmond, Andrew, 195 Owen, David, 1, 4, 5, 6, 8–9, 10, 13, 15, 16, 22, 26, 27, 31, 62, 70, 78, 80, 81, 83, 183, 213, 253; career, 93; and Europe, 94, 97–9, 110; and Falklands, 108–10 and human rights, 99–101, 106, 111; and nuclear weapons, 106–8; personal style, 94–6; and Southern Africa, 101–5, 110; and USA, 105–6, 111 Palliser, Sir Michael, 21, 40, 50, 74 Parker, John, 47 Parkinson, Cecil, 9, 133, 145, 161 Parsons, Sir Anthony, 147 Patten, Chris, 183, 197, 217, 218 Peart, Fred, 55, 61 Perez de Cuellar, Javier, 146 Perle, Richard, 166 Perry, William, 236 Plowden, Sir Edwin, 86 political advisers, 25, 51–2, 250 Pompidou, Georges, 56 Portillo, Michael, 9 Powell, Charles, 29, 32, 166, 175, 177, 185, 186, 189, 191 Powell, Enoch, 147 Powell, Jonathan, 32 Prentice, Reg, 55 Primakov, Yevgeny, 239 Prime, Geoffrey, 165 Prior, James, 123, 144 Pym, Francis, 7, 9, 24, 30, 177, 196; background and career, 141–3; dismissal, 151–3; and East-West relations, 148–9; and Europe, 149–51; and Falklands crisis, 145–8; and Middle East, 151; personal style, 143–4 Rabin, Yitzhak, 237 Ramsbotham, Sir Peter, 105 Reagan, Ronald, 128, 148, 149, 167, 168, 178 Redwood, John, 231 Reece, Gordon, 143 Rees, Merlyn, 55 Renwick, Robin (Lord), 21, 30, 212 Reynolds, Gerry, 93

Rhodesia (Zimbabwe), 62, 78–81, 96, 101–5, 120, 125–7, 136, 274 Richard, Ivor, 80 Ridley, Nicholas, 38, 123, 202 Rifkind, Malcolm, 6, 7, 9, 10, 12–13, 15, 19, 40, 224, 248, 249; and Bosnia, 232, 236–7; career, 231–3; and China, 238–9; and Europe, 233–4, 235, 240–2, 243; and Middle East, 237–8; personal style, 234–5, 243 Rippon, Geoffrey, 23 Roberts, Goronwy, 51 Robertson, George, 257 Rodgers, Bill, 97, 98 Ross, Willie, 55 Rowlands, Ted, 51, 80 Salisbury, Lord, 11, 272 Schlesinger, Helmut, 210 Schmidt, Helmut, 55, 56, 60, 96, 106, 107 Schultz, George, 149 Schuman Plan, 67, 159 Scott Inquiry, 27 Scott, Nicholas, 197 Secret Intelligence Service (SIS/MI6), 26–8, 109, 248 Security Service (MI5), 26, 248 Seitz, Raymond, 187 Shepherd, Lord, 55 Shevardnadze, Eduard, 168 Shore, Peter, 55, 95, 98 Silken, John, 55, 98 Sithole, Rev. N., 104 Smith, Ian, 78, 79, 80, 81, 104, 120 Smith, John, 220 Soares, Mario, 59, 60 Spaak, Paul-Henri, 74 Steel, David, 98 Stevas, Norman St. John, 135 Strang, Lord, 14 Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI), 165–6 Straw, Jack, 6, 8, 9, 25, 33 Stewart, Michael (economist), 73 Stewart, Michael (Foreign Secretary 1965–6, 1968–70), 30, 50 Symons, Baroness, 23 Taylor, Teddy, 131 Tebbit, Norman, 210, 217 Thatcher, Margaret, 9–10, 22, 23, 28, 29, 30, 31–2, 34, 61, 99, 108, 119, 121, 122–4, 126, 127–8, 130, 131, 134, 136, 142, 143, 144–5, 145–6, 147, 148, 149, 151–3, 157, 158, 159–60, 161–3, 164, 165–6, 167, 169–70, 171, 172, 173–6, 177, 178, 183, 184–5, 188, 189, 190–2, 195, 196, 197–8, 199, 200, 201, 202, 204, 205, 210, 214, 219, 231, 232, 242, 273, 275 Thomson, George, 23, 97, 102

Index Tickell, Sir Crispin, 189 Trade and Industry, Department of, 33, 36, 260 Trades Union Congress, 50 Transport, Ministry of, 8 Treasury, 8, 12, 71, 73, 86, 160, 186, 187, 192, 222, 225, 255 Trudeau, Pierre, 168 Turner, Margaret, 73 Tutu, Desmond, 190

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United Nations, 16, 18, 77, 103, 104, 119, 146, 147, 151, 188, 215–16, 237, 239, 250, 260, 261, 269

Wakeham, John, 204 Waldegrave, William, 24, 186 Walker, Peter, 123, 124 Wall, Sir Stephen, 33, 187 Walters, Alan, 175, 176, 177 Weinburger, Casper, 166 Western European Union (WEU), 2, 208 Whitelaw, William, 132, 134, 141, 142, 145 Whitmore, Clive, 144 Williams, Shirley, 98 Wilson, Harold, 10, 31, 35, 47, 49, 50–1, 54, 55, 56, 60, 61, 62, 64, 68, 73, 78, 84, 85, 95, 99, 103, 142, 204, 272 Wright, Sir Patrick, 14, 186, 187

Vance, Cyrus, 102, 103, 105, 106, 110, 111, 120, 213 Varley, Eric, 55 Vedrine, Hubert, 255, 261 Viggers, Peter, 135 Vorster, John, 80

Yeltsin, Boris, 239 Young, Andrew, 102 Young, Lord, 160–1 Younger, George, 219 Yugoslavia, former, 207–9, 212–16, 236–7, 252, 261–3

British Foreign Secretaries Since 1974

BRITISH FOREIGN SECRETARIES IN AN UNCERTAIN WORLD, 1919-1939 (British and Foreign and Colonial Policy)

British Political Facts since 1979

1974

1974

1974)

1974

1974

1974

God's Secretaries

American Exceptionalism and the Legacy of Vietnam: US Foreign Policy Since 1974

1974

Spread Wide Secretaries

Soviet-British Relations since the 1970s

Other: British and Irish poetry since 1970

Soviet-British Relations since the 1970s

British Foreign Policy: The New Labour Years

British Foreign Policy and the Anglican Church

British Foreign Policy under New Labour

FlowMyTearsThePolicemanSaid (1974)

Spread wide secretaries

Spread wide secretaries

Футбол 1974

Rise to Globalism: American Foreign Policy Since 1938

Rise to Globalism: American Foreign Policy Since 1938

From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations Since 1776

Japan's Foreign Policy Since 1945 (East Gate Books)

French Foreign Legion: Infantry and Cavalry since 1945

From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations Since 1776

Эйнштейновский сборник 1974

Мир приключений 1974

British Foreign Secretaries Since 1974

BRITISH FOREIGN SECRETARIES IN AN UNCERTAIN WORLD, 1919-1939 (British and Foreign and Colonial Policy)

British Political Facts since 1979

1974

1974

1974)

1974

1974

1974

God's Secretaries

American Exceptionalism and the Legacy of Vietnam: US Foreign Policy Since 1974

1974

Spread Wide Secretaries

Soviet-British Relations since the 1970s

Other: British and Irish poetry since 1970

Soviet-British Relations since the 1970s

British Foreign Policy: The New Labour Years

British Foreign Policy and the Anglican Church

British Foreign Policy under New Labour

FlowMyTearsThePolicemanSaid (1974)

Spread wide secretaries

Spread wide secretaries

Футбол 1974

Rise to Globalism: American Foreign Policy Since 1938

Rise to Globalism: American Foreign Policy Since 1938

From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations Since 1776

Japan's Foreign Policy Since 1945 (East Gate Books)

French Foreign Legion: Infantry and Cavalry since 1945

From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations Since 1776

Эйнштейновский сборник 1974

Мир приключений 1974

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