Two Prime Ministerial confidants, two very different specimens. First Jonathan Powell, Tony Blair’s former ‘chief of staff’. Later Oliver Letwin, the Cabinet Office minister who has been David Cameron’s point man on Press regulation.
Mr Powell was, in a slightly manic way, terrific. He spoke at a million miles an hour, sentences pinging off the surface hard and low, as will flat pebbles if thrown at a lake with enough wrist action. He was in front of the public administration select committee, discussing the future of the civil service.
Mr Powell, still a zipped-up Blairite, thought Whitehall should be politicised and given a ‘cadre’ (a word normally used of the Chinese communist party) of officials with declared political leanings. He also thought civil servants should be put in charge of big spending projects and publicly named. At present officials are supposed to be non-partisan. When projects go awry, as often they do, it is almost impossible to discover who is responsible.
Mr Powell thought Whitehall should be politicised and given a 'cadre' of officials with declared political leanings. He also thought civil servants should be put in charge of big spending projects and publicly named
He sat at the witness table alone, jiggling his knee, the manner one of careless brilliance, even arrogance as he scorned John Major’s government. A head of curls, busy lips, the occasional twitch of a muscle in his right cheek when listening (with little patience) to backbench MPs: here was a brisk Brahmin, a man to shrug aside obstruction and doubt.
‘Break up the monolithic culture’ was his recommendation for the civil service.
‘Change the culture … Get officials over the hump of changes … The guilty secret of British politics is that No 10 is remarkably unpowerful … Power is gold at the end of the rainbow.’
Ping, ping, ping went the observations. Supplementary questions from the MPs were defused in seconds.
Kelvin Hopkins (Lab, Luton N) accused Mr Powell of being ‘a Leninist’, hoping to impose centralism through a strong leader (Chairman Blair). To be accused by our Kelvin of being a commie is quite something, he being a tremendous old Leftie himself.
Mr Letwin anguished, agonised, as he explained the processes by which the Government had arrived at its policy on trying to tame Fleet Street
Mr Powell half-heartedly denied the charge but the hooded eyes, even as he jabbered replies – words chattered from him like lead from a Bren gun – made one suspect he was little fussed by what mere MPs thought. ‘I’m not in this country much,’ he rasped. We should be so lucky.
Mr Letwin was at the culture select committee, discussing Parliament’s moves to muzzle the Press. Do I have that right? I do hope so. You know, Leveson and all that. String up the sketchwriters. Shoot the diarists. Bankrupt Grub Street.
Modern European politicians having little power over budgets, they nowadays legitimise themselves by setting up regulatory bodies. It is all that is left to them. Again we heard the canard – from Labour donkey Jim Sheridan (Paisley), who really needs despatching to the glue factory – that journalism was a ‘profession’.
No it ain’t. A way of life it may be. A conspiracy, a fight in an alley, a beery yelp for freedom, all these it frequently is. But the day we blunt nibs become a ‘profession’, with fancy letters after our name and so forth, is the day we become controllable, the day our murky trade dies.
Mr Letwin? He looked miserable. Words crawled from him at the speed of snails chewing a hosta leaf.
He frowned, forming sad Vs with his eyebrows. He spoke with a fogey’s creakiness, one of his answers lasting a good five minutes. He anguished, agonised, as he explained the processes by which the Government had arrived at its policy on trying to tame Fleet Street.
Until not too long ago, Oliver Letwin was an engaging, chubby chuckler. He used to be charming, full of philosophical daring.
All that has gone. He has slimmed – and with it, seemingly, has gone his love for life. Has the System beaten him? Is it all those meetings with Hugh Grant and his polytechnic oddballs?
Something has happened and it grieves me to see what has become of this once-zesty sprite.
David Cameron should dump him and hire Powell, pronto.
Mr Powell was, in a slightly manic way, terrific. He spoke at a million miles an hour, sentences pinging off the surface hard and low, as will flat pebbles if thrown at a lake with enough wrist action. He was in front of the public administration select committee, discussing the future of the civil service.
Mr Powell, still a zipped-up Blairite, thought Whitehall should be politicised and given a ‘cadre’ (a word normally used of the Chinese communist party) of officials with declared political leanings. He also thought civil servants should be put in charge of big spending projects and publicly named. At present officials are supposed to be non-partisan. When projects go awry, as often they do, it is almost impossible to discover who is responsible.
Mr Powell thought Whitehall should be politicised and given a 'cadre' of officials with declared political leanings. He also thought civil servants should be put in charge of big spending projects and publicly named
He sat at the witness table alone, jiggling his knee, the manner one of careless brilliance, even arrogance as he scorned John Major’s government. A head of curls, busy lips, the occasional twitch of a muscle in his right cheek when listening (with little patience) to backbench MPs: here was a brisk Brahmin, a man to shrug aside obstruction and doubt.
‘Break up the monolithic culture’ was his recommendation for the civil service.
‘Change the culture … Get officials over the hump of changes … The guilty secret of British politics is that No 10 is remarkably unpowerful … Power is gold at the end of the rainbow.’
Ping, ping, ping went the observations. Supplementary questions from the MPs were defused in seconds.
Kelvin Hopkins (Lab, Luton N) accused Mr Powell of being ‘a Leninist’, hoping to impose centralism through a strong leader (Chairman Blair). To be accused by our Kelvin of being a commie is quite something, he being a tremendous old Leftie himself.
Mr Letwin anguished, agonised, as he explained the processes by which the Government had arrived at its policy on trying to tame Fleet Street
Mr Powell half-heartedly denied the charge but the hooded eyes, even as he jabbered replies – words chattered from him like lead from a Bren gun – made one suspect he was little fussed by what mere MPs thought. ‘I’m not in this country much,’ he rasped. We should be so lucky.
Mr Letwin was at the culture select committee, discussing Parliament’s moves to muzzle the Press. Do I have that right? I do hope so. You know, Leveson and all that. String up the sketchwriters. Shoot the diarists. Bankrupt Grub Street.
Modern European politicians having little power over budgets, they nowadays legitimise themselves by setting up regulatory bodies. It is all that is left to them. Again we heard the canard – from Labour donkey Jim Sheridan (Paisley), who really needs despatching to the glue factory – that journalism was a ‘profession’.
No it ain’t. A way of life it may be. A conspiracy, a fight in an alley, a beery yelp for freedom, all these it frequently is. But the day we blunt nibs become a ‘profession’, with fancy letters after our name and so forth, is the day we become controllable, the day our murky trade dies.
Mr Letwin? He looked miserable. Words crawled from him at the speed of snails chewing a hosta leaf.
He frowned, forming sad Vs with his eyebrows. He spoke with a fogey’s creakiness, one of his answers lasting a good five minutes. He anguished, agonised, as he explained the processes by which the Government had arrived at its policy on trying to tame Fleet Street.
Until not too long ago, Oliver Letwin was an engaging, chubby chuckler. He used to be charming, full of philosophical daring.
All that has gone. He has slimmed – and with it, seemingly, has gone his love for life. Has the System beaten him? Is it all those meetings with Hugh Grant and his polytechnic oddballs?
Something has happened and it grieves me to see what has become of this once-zesty sprite.
David Cameron should dump him and hire Powell, pronto.