Watching brief - Amanda Platell backs chequebook journalism
Published 09 June 2003
When it is finally drawn, the road map tracing the departure of Alastair Campbell will lead all the way back to a luxury flat in Bristol and end somewhere during the search for WMDs
Six years into his tenure, the most inclusive, big-tent prime minister this country has ever elected finds himself stuck in the political wilderness in a two-man tent with Cherie and Carole Caplin for comfort. And I suppose if Cherie's there, so also will be Andre Suard, her trusty £1,000-a-day hairdresser.
Tony Blair is now isolated in Europe, isolated from his party and isolated from all those who bought the weapons of mass destruction line as the reason for war with Iraq. In the public's mind, this self-confessed "honest kind of guy" has proved about as straight as Peter Mandelson. And now, Blair is isolated from that which he holds most dear - the national newspapers.
It was no surprise that the usual anti-war suspects seized upon the WMD row - the Guardian, Independent and Daily Mirror have all been merciless - but even those who gave conditional support once the troops went in were quick to turn. The editors unleashed their dogs of postwar. Melanie Phillips in the Daily Mail: "The tragedy is no one believes him - even when he is telling the truth." Stephen Glover: "Blair must pay for these lies." Matthew Parris in the Times: if WMDs are not found "I remain unconvinced Tony Blair will survive". Three days later the highly respected political analyst Peter Riddell concluded: "His 'trust me' phase is long over. His word is now not enough."
Then the Sunday Telegraph provided Clare "The Scud" Short: "Blair duped us all along . . . We were deceived."
The Prime Minister is now as vilified in Fleet Street as he is in Europe. Where once he had the support of the Mail, he now has the Express. Where once he was feted by France and Germany, now he has Spain and Poland.
Most menacing was the Observer - "In their [the WMDs'] absence, Mr Blair implies that a free Iraq makes everything worthwhile . . . the post-hoc justification will not suffice. Mr Blair's credibility is on the line. This newspaper backed the PM in his decision to go to war. Now he must justify the faith we and others placed in him."
When it is finally drawn, the road map tracing the departure of Alastair Campbell will lead all the way back to a luxury flat in Bristol and end somewhere during the search for WMDs, which could take some time. Campbell has been a brilliant apparatchik for the Prime Minister, but he has been mortally wounded in this war.
Whether it be sexed-up documents or reports cribbed from students' websites, or his addiction to eye-catching initiatives - such as Blair's "secret" phone call to Bob Geldof about how they could save the world together (mysteriously leaked to the Sun) - Campbell is taking the bullets for Blair. It is inconceivable he could have done any of these things without, at the very least, the tacit blessing of his boss. Once his master's voice, Campbell is now his master's flak jacket.
The tactics feel so dated; take the heavily scripted shirt-sleeves visit to the troops. The speech Blair made to our professional soldiers in Iraq redefined cringe. The PM said: "I know this is real war, not the pretend stuff you see in the movies."
Campbell's partner, Fiona Millar, has already announced her departure as an adviser to Cherie Blair; she's probably had enough of that ridiculous Carole Caplin. Unlike the Dresser, Millar is the kind of woman who thinks personal honesty takes priority over personal hairdressers.
Even dream partnerships have to end, Ali - get out before new Labour gets you. Either way, it will be soon.
The last chance is my kind of saloon. Full of reprobates pretending to be Arab sheikhs, no closing hours, an occasional fight where the chairs get broken. However much the place gets messed up, though, by morning, it's business as usual.
Such will be the fate of the News of the World after the spectacular collapse of the trial of five men accused of plotting to abduct Victoria Beckham. One must question the wisdom of, first, paying £10,000 for any information to a 27-year-old Kosovar car-park attendant with previous convictions for dishonesty; and, second, believing him.
There has been much talk of entrapment, but it is still unclear who conned whom. It is puzzling that the judge referred the newspaper to the attorney general: while it may have broken the spirit of the Press Complaints Commission code, it did not technically break the code. Nor, it would seem, has the paper broken the law. Chequebook journalism is as much a part of our culture as coronation chicken. And the people are complicit in the practice.
In this country, a free press comes at a price. Unfortunately, sometimes that price is paid via a newspaper's chequebook, but the alternative, which is politicians such as honest Tony dictating what we have a right to know, is frankly unthinkable.
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