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.

Today, Brown's failures are clear for all to see. The rot set in when Brown toyed with the idea of holding a snap general election last autumn, only to step back, again, at the last minute. His most recent error was to equalize income-tax rates at the lower end of the scale, apparently forgetting that up to 5 million poorer people could suffer. In one move, he had undermined his mission—to help the disadvantaged. In other areas he has vacillated as well. One moment he hinted at a change of approach toward the United States. By the time Bush had completed his "farewell" tour of Europe in June, Brown had backtracked to a relationship as obsequious as the one pursued by Blair. On Iraq, the prime minister first floated the idea of a commission of inquiry. Then he refused. He said a national identity-card scheme was a good thing. Then he changed his mind. Then he denied he had done that. He said he would attend the opening of the Beijing Olympics; then he said that had never been his intention.

Brown's fundamental flaw is not specific to him. In a review of Brown's book, Philip Gould, Labour's focus-group expert, wrote that courage has "always been in the DNA of New Labour." In fact, it is the reverse. New Labour was an artificial construct, a political vehicle created by a group of center-left politicians scarred by the failures of their older colleagues during Thatcher's 1980s hegemony. When they did finally make it to power in 1997, Blair, Brown and their team behaved—as one ministerial old-timer described it to me—as squatters. Levy captures this moment delightfully, but also mischievously, by recalling how Blair came to his home within days of winning the election. "He literally jumped up and down, like a small kid who had been let out of school for the day and shouted, laughing out loud: 'I really did it. Can you believe it?' "

They couldn't quite believe they'd got in and were desperate to stay as long as they could. They masked their defensiveness with aggression. Survival—otherwise known as electoral victory—became the one and only goal. Blair and Brown, whatever their rivalry, shared the same value system. Underlying this failure is a pessimistic view of British society, which the party sees as politically and economically conservative. Under Blair and Brown's watch, inequality rose in the United Kingdom. Thatcher's economic settlement was not challenged. Civil liberties have been steadily eroded. Tens of billions of extra pounds have poured into the National Health Service and state schools. While this should be a laudable achievement, the government has failed to convince the public that this money has been well spent.

In the end, they were scared of making the intellectual case on these issues, as well as on the most pressing foreign-policy issue of the day: Iraq. In Prescott's memoir, his assessment of the relationship between Blair and George W. Bush shows a particular lack of intellectual rigor. At a cabinet meeting on Iraq, instead of discussing the policies underlying the decision to back the United States, Prescott admits he "got quite carried away, saying it was vital to stick together." At the recent Hay literary festival, Levy acknowledged that he had in fact been uncomfortable with Blair's proximity to Bush, and to the decision to go to war in Iraq. Why then, did he not do something about it at the time? Levy had no answer. But ultimately, as Brown might say, it comes down to courage.

Kampfner is the former editor of the New Statesman.