Why did Andrew Mitchell reinstate aid to Rwanda on his last day at DfID?

The "aid success story" in Rwanda was key to detoxifying the Tory brand. Is that why Andrew Mitchell personally intervened to restore its budget, despite fears that the country is funding violent rebels in the Congo?

David Cameron used his appearance yesterday at the UN General Assembly to re-confirm British support for increasing aid to meet the UN target of 0.7 per cent of GDP. Coming at a time when billions have been cut from defence budgets dear to Tory hearts, and billions more will have to be cut from welfare, it is a remarkable display of international solidarity. Or is it? While there’s no doubting the Prime Minister’s personal commitment to the poor of Africa, it does not explain why ring-fencing aid is such a high priority in such difficult times.

International aid was critical in redefining the modern Tory party. Aid played, and continues to play, an important part in “Brand Cameron” – which is why there was such anguish when Mitchell went and spoilt it all with his “fucking pleb” rant against the police in Downing Street. As the Daily Mail commented this week: “He lavished billions on foreign aid to detoxify the Tories. Now Mr Mitchell's boorish tirade has set them back years.”

At the heart of the Tory aid project has been Rwanda – a country now boasting impressive growth rates, as it recovers from the genocide of 1994. Having left the Francophone zone behind and joined the Commonwealth, Rwandan president Paul Kagame was an ideal partner for the Conservative Party to embrace.  

All of which explains why Andrew Mitchell went through such contortions to reinstate part of the Rwandan aid budget on 4 September, his very last day in office as Secretary of State for International Development. It had been a job he loved – having served as Shadow Secretary for five years before the 2010 election. Before he left, Mitchell took one final decision. Without consulting his senior officials, I understand, he reversed the cuts that had been made to the Rwandan aid budget less than two months earlier.

The decision flew in the face of the professional advice he had received, and Britain’s Western aid partners have privately expressed their outrage at his action. Mitchell’s successor, Justine Greening, was left struggling to pick up the pieces. 

The initial aid cut had been announced against Mitchell’s judgement, and was only implemented following considerable pressure from Washington, Bonn and the Hague, which had already made the cuts. It followed extensive evidence from UN experts that Rwandan troops and weaponry were slipping across the country’s border to support some of the most notorious rebels operating in Eastern Congo – the M23 (pdf). Their report was backed by evidence supplied by Human Rights Watch.

Andrew Mitchell resisted imposing the sanction as long as possible, but had finally caved in. The decision was grudgingly taken and slipped out in a press release from DFID on 27 July, while the British press and public were immersed in the spectacle of the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics.

Just 53 days after the cut was announced, it was reversed. Explaining this decision, Mitchell said that following the delay in British aid: “. . . I sought assurances from President Kagame that Rwanda was adhering to the strict partnership principles.” President Kagame, a past-master at dealing with Western donors, provided the kind of vacuous assurances he has repeated down the years. Mitchell believed them, announcing as he left for the Chief Whip’s office that: “Britain will partially restore its general budget support to Rwanda.”

The UK remains Rwanda’s largest bilateral aid donor. What is so remarkable about the tenacity of British support, is not that it not just that it flies in the face of years of evidence of Rwandan repression at home or Kagame’s backing for Congolese rebels. It also ignores the evidence of the danger Rwandan government death squads pose to exiles living in London.

In May last year the Metropolitan police took the extraordinary step of issuing several Rwandans with “Threats to Life Warning Notices.” (See an example of one of them here, with personal information redacted.) These stated, in no uncertain terms, that they were in danger of being killed by Paul Kagame’s government.

“Reliable intelligence states that the Rwandan Government poses an imminent threat to your life. The threat could come in any form. You should be aware that othr high profile cases where action such as this has been conducted in the past. Conventional and unconventional means have been used.”

While the Met said it could not provide round the clock protection, it instructed the recipients of these warnings not to carry weapons. Instead a series of measures, including burglar alarms, changes to daily routine and the like were suggested to the frightened exiles.

The British fascination with Rwanda dates back to Clare Short’s time, when she was given the development ministry by Tony Blair following the 1997 election. More than a decade later, long after losing her post, she still took holidays in the country. “The wonderful thing about Rwanda” she explained in 2008 “is that people are full of hope and determination to build a better future.” This, despite repeated warnings from human rights groups of Rwandan political repression, the silencing of critical journalists and repeated interventions in Congo.

Tony Blair took a similar position, continuing to support President Paul Kagame after leaving office through his Africa Governance Initiative. Blair still works closely with the Rwandan president, visiting the country earlier this month.

But Labour’s support only laid the foundations for the Tories, who were soon also won over by Kagame’s cool intelligence and free-market principles. Andrew Mitchell was among the first to be charmed, grasping the part this small Central African nation could play in re-branding the Tory party.

In 2007 he formed Project Umubano. Working in Rwanda and that other war-torn African state, Sierra Leone, the project claims to have sent 230 volunteers – many of them MPs and cabinet ministers - off to sunny climes to do a spot of teaching, building and good works. Stephen Crabb MP was an early convert, describing Kagame as “one of Africa's most competent leaders.”

Among their activities has been the encouragement of that most English of exports, the love of cricket. A Rwandan Cricket Academy was formed and the annual match between Umubano volunteers and a side from the Rwanda Cricket Association was a highlight of every visit.

Umubano was more than just a knock-about holiday in the sun; its real aim was to detoxify the Tory brand. Rwanda provided the prefect backdrop for Cameron to launch his development aid programme in 2007, even if he was criticised for leaving his flooded Witney constituency to do so. As a senior Tory MP complained at the time, "Rwanda always looked a bit like a stunt. Now it looks like a very ill-timed one."

Cameron’s critics were wrong. The strategy paid off, softening the Tory image. The links with Rwanda saw Paul Kagame attend the Tory Party conference in 2007, lavishing praise on his hosts, describing Umubano as an “unprecedented” example of aid.

Just how sensitive the Mitchell camp is about Project Rwanda was recently revealed by the Telegraph journalist, Lucy Kinder, who described how in 2009, as a young volunteer with Umubano she was mercilessly bullied by Mitchell’s staff. Kinder had written an article which was mildly critical. It produced fury from Mitchell and reduced some of his senior aides to tears. Anything that might besmirch the Tory image had to resisted at all costs. "You have betrayed the trust of me and the Conservative Party," Mitchell told her.

The complex web of relations between Cameron, Mitchell and Rwanda perhaps explains why the Prime Minister has continued to support his Chief Whip throughout the “fucking plebs” scandal. The success of “Brand Cameron” owes much to the people of Rwanda. Ditching the architect of Umubano could call into question the Prime Minister’s loyalty to his closet friends and undermine his carefully crafted image.

Paul Kagame. Photograph: Getty Images

Mike Hale is a pseudonym.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war