Haunted By ‘Courage’

It is that time in the political cycle when revenge and self-justification come thick and fast. As British Prime Minister Gordon Brown marks the end of a desperate first year, and as the New Labour era draws to a close, its protagonists are writing books in the hope that history will look more kindly upon them. But for the most part, these authors have failed to analyze why more than a decade of Labour has left so many supporters disappointed. Cherie Blair was apparently persuaded by her husband not to be unduly rude about Brown, a man whom she could not abide, so only a few political observations are allowed to intrude into her observations of fitness gurus and B-list celebrities. John Prescott, the former deputy prime minister, has provided a dispiriting account of life in the court of King Tony and Prince Gordon. A more intriguing narrative comes from Michael Levy, Tony Blair's fund-raiser and part-time Middle East adviser.

But perhaps the most revealing book from a 10 Downing Street insider is one penned by Brown himself a year ago. The book, titled "Courage," identified eight heroic figures, including Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King, and explained how their bravery had influenced his politics. The C word is liberally dispensed throughout the work. In his chapter on Robert Kennedy, Brown says that the late senator and U.S. attorney general described two temptations that "in the pursuit of his cause he had to show the courage to resist: what he called the danger of timidity and the lure of comfort."

Now, after 12 months in Downing Street defined by blunders and historically low opinion-poll ratings, the word "courage" has come back to haunt Brown. Labour loyalists, who had tired of Blair's hubris and would never forgive him for the Iraq catastrophe, saw in Brown's arrival the prospect of a more radical and imaginative government. They were not naive; they anticipated a shift, not a revolution. They were also aware of his awkwardness and his tendency to surround himself with a small clique. But, whatever Brown's defects, the parliamentarians assured themselves that at least he knew his mind.

There were signs to the contrary. In 2004, with Blair facing problems on every front, Brown became the dominant figure in politics, maneuvering his forces in the parliamentary party, discreetly encouraging them to challenge or even vote against government policy. But on the eve of a crucial vote on health reform—on granting hospitals greater financial autonomy—that could have destroyed his rival, he stepped back. Blair was facing defeat, but at the last minute Brown encouraged a small group of rebels to fall back into line and support the prime minister.

He craved his friend's job, but could not bring himself to twist the knife. In one of the more telling recollections from her memoir, Cherie Blair refers to Brown in this period as "rattling the keys above his head." If only Brown had shown more loyalty to her husband, she suggests, he would have fulfilled his dream earlier. "Gordon wanted to become Prime Minister so much he failed to understand that, had he been prepared to implement Tony's programmes on internal reform—academy schools, foundation hospitals and pensions—Tony would have stood down."

In 2004, with Blair hanging on by his fingertips, I wrote a piece suggesting Brown might not have what it takes to become a leader, and accusing him of being "frit"—a colloquialism of Margaret Thatcher's from her native Lincolnshire that translates loosely as "cowardly." When it was published, one of Brown's closest confidants phoned me to pass on his master's displeasure. But did the aide disagree with the thesis? He said it was too painful to contemplate.