Iraq dossier - watchdog ruling

The government is attacked as "dodgy" after a ruling that criticises the way in which author of the

The Information Tribunal has today criticised the government for the absence of any audit trail showing the true authorship of its September 2002 dossier on “Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction”. In a new ruling, the tribunal has accepted the Cabinet Office’s position that it has no record of which officials or spin doctors made “substantial changes” to the dossier’s executive summary. The Liberal Democrats have already condemned this position as “dodgy”.

The case represents another blow to the government’s claim that the dossier was the work of the intelligence services, following the publication in February of the first draft, written by Foreign Office spin doctor John Williams. The existence of the Williams draft was first revealed in the New Statesman in November 2006.

In this latest freedom of information act case, I asked the Cabinet Office to state who re-wrote the dossier’s executive summary between the drafts of 10 and 16 September 2002. It initially claimed that evidence to the Hutton Inquiry by Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC) chairman John Scarlett covered this, but the Tribunal rejected that claim. Scarlett had told Hutton that he and his team of JIC assessments staff had been responsible for compiling the dossier but did not state that they had done all the drafting.

The Tribunal stated that it is clear “that substantial changes were made” between the two drafts and suggested that it was common ground that officials outside the JIC “may have gone as far as proposing particular forms of words”. These officials included Williams and other spin doctors such as Alastair Campbell, the government’s former director of communications.

The dossier’s executive summary included “judgements”, which Tony Blair presented to Parliament as having been “made by the JIC alone”. The judgements in the 10 September draft were themselves revealed to have originated in John Williams’ document. But the next version included a number of new ones. The government’s inability to account for these changes raises the possibility that none of the judgements in the published dossier originated from within the JIC machinery. Campbell later had a further “judgement” added to the summary, after the JIC’s oversight of the document had ended. This was the claim that Saddam would use weapons of mass destruction against his own Shia population.

The Tribunal accepted the Cabinet Office’s case that it had no record either of who had drafted the summary or who had made changes to it. But in doing so, it criticised the absence of a proper audit trail, particularly given the significance of the dossier. In its ruling it observed: “we are not very impressed by the quality of the record keeping… this was on any view an extremely important document and we would have expected, or hoped for, some audit trail revealing who had drafted what.”

The dossier formed the basis of the government’s case to Parliament for invading Iraq. It subsequently emerged that Iraq did not have WMD at that time and that the dossier’s claims were expressed with significantly more certainty than the intelligence on which they were said to be based.

The new judgements included the claim that Iraq could deploy WMD within 45 minutes and another false claim that it was continuing to produce chemical and biological agents. Both were opposed by intelligence experts at the Defence Intelligence Staff (DIS). The Butler Inquiry later criticised the government’s failure to make the intelligence behind the latter claim available to the DIS: “The fact that it was not shown to them resulted in a stronger assessment in the dossier in relation to Iraqi chemical weapons production than was justified by the available intelligence.”

Liberal Democrat foreign affairs spokesman Ed Davey told the New Statesman: “The absence of any audit trail for the substantial changes to the Iraq dossier is perhaps not surprising. The government’s spin doctors must have known what they were doing was dodgy and would not be approved by the intelligence experts. No wonder they left no fingerprints.”

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State