Sweet 16
Anyone else smell sulphur? Anyway...
They grow up so fast, don't they. The meme is coming of age and now considered legal in most parts of the world. (In case someone wanted to write meme/? )
We've never been very strict parents and are very proud of all our little meme's achivements. Here's a little reminder of the rules as the meme sometimes picks ( Read more... )
They grow up so fast, don't they. The meme is coming of age and now considered legal in most parts of the world. (In case someone wanted to write meme/? )
We've never been very strict parents and are very proud of all our little meme's achivements. Here's a little reminder of the rules as the meme sometimes picks ( Read more... )
But that pragmatic stance has been overwhelmingly rejected by the Conference- by two of their own MPs, no less, sitting up there with them on the stage, and didn't Alan just want to crawl under the table and die when David Alton began applauding as the total was read out. A lesser leader would blame Alan. He is the Chief Whip, after all; he's supposed to make sure Conference goes smoothly, and this vote has been the worst catastrophe for the leadership since Jeremy set eyes on Norman Scott.
It wouldn't even be unfair. Their side was a disaster up on stage. David Penhaligon was as engaging as ever, but his assertion that a yes-vote would bring about a second D-Day in which the Soviet Union invaded Britain was a bridge too far. Alan could see incredulous eyebrows lifting all around the hall. Richard Moore's characterization of the motion as an emotional spasm passed by the warm-hearted and the soft-headed won them no votes and probably lost a few; it certainly lowered the tone of the debate. And speaking in favor of the motion Paddy Ashdown proved himself a magnificent orator, passionate and convincing, and neatly sidestepped the twin traps of hyperbole and condescension into which their own speakers blindly stumbled. No one arguing for their side was half so good.
Alan should have found a way to shift the balance somehow. He should have found better speakers or vetted their speeches more thoroughly or canvassed more of the membership before the vote or... something. Found a magic spell to raise Gladstone from the dead, maybe. But he was too worried about securing the Alliance vote to think much about this one, and by the time he realized where it was heading, it was too late. He doesn't even know what he did wrong, that's the worst of it. If he could learn from his mistakes, if he could honestly convince himself that next time he'll do better, he won't let David down...
But David will never fault him for it. He's too good a man to blame his misfortunes on his subordinates. Instead he'll blame the Party, which is dangerous, or himself, which is fatal. The swiftest route to electoral oblivion is a leader who has lost his self-confidence. They need David's optimism, his ambition, his fervent conviction that the Liberals belong in Government and he can put them there. If he doesn't believe that he can take on Goliath, they are lost.
David is angling for the front doors, trying to get out, away from the crowd and the scene of his humiliation and into the cool salt air. Alan shares the impulse, but if they dare to venture out onto the front steps they're going to have a hundred microphones shoved in their faces, a hundred flashbulbs going off. The last thing they need now is David's pale, tight face plastered across the papers. As they come into the atrium he catches David's elbow.
"Not that way. Let's go out the back, David, come on."
David jerks to a halt as if Alan has cut his strings. His head droops.
"They're right," he whispers, so low that Alan can scarcely make out the words. "I can't control my own party. What will I tell Roy? What will I tell David?"
It breaks Alan's heart to hear him sound so broken. There's nothing to be said, really, but Alan is a professional politician. It's his life's work to wrap problems in words until the sharp edges are blunted.
Reply
David turns to look at him, and there is such raw terror in his eyes that Alan trails off, all the reassuring platitudes he's prepared for the press slipping away in the face of that fear. He knows that feeling all too well, that sense that the ground is crumbling beneath his feet and leaving him in free fall, that he's cocked everything up and let everyone down and the Party will collapse and it will all be because of him. They exist on the edge of a knife, with none of the inertia or the institutional advantages that protect the larger parties. They all know that a relapse back to the bad old single-digit days is just an election away.
Alan feels sometimes like the Liberal Party is a Ming vase or a Fabergé egg, something old and fragile and precious that has been foolishly entrusted to his care, a treasure that could slip from his fingers and shatter at any moment. However crushing that fear is for Alan, it must be a hundred times worse for David. Being the Chief Whip is an exhausting, thankless job, but at least he doesn't have the entire country scrutinizing his every move, just waiting for him to fail. All he has to do is keep the Party working together. It's impossible, but not nearly as impossible as David's task of getting them into Government.
That task will be harder now, after this vote, and Alan shudders to think how David Owen will react to the news. The other three are friendly, but Owen hates them; he's made that clear from the outset, and he triumphantly brandishes any failure of David's as proof that his party's new allies are useless. If David could put the criticism in the proper perspective it wouldn't be so bad, but for some reason beyond mortal comprehension he actually likes the bastard, and he seems to take it all to heart. When Denis Healey insulted them David used to throw it right back at him, but when Owen launches into one of his sneering diatribes he just looks down at his hands and quietly apologizes. Their next meeting with the SDP is going to be a nightmare.
Alan can't fix the conference resolution or David Owen's personality disorder, but he may be able to fix David. It's a slapdash repair, bailing wire and chewing gum to hold the Party together, but it works, at least for a little while, and years of bitter campaigning have taught them to use anything they can. The Liberals don't have the resources to be choosy.
He takes up his leader's hand in his. Someone's palm is damp, Alan isn't sure whose.
"Come with me."
David looks at him. The fear in his eyes has ebbed back a little, to be replaced by some shuttered emotion Alan cannot read. Nothing pleasant, judging by the tense set of his jaw. When Alan tugs his hand, David follows him without a word.
Reply
Leave a comment