Winners, like Sir Alex Ferguson, are obsessives. David Cameron isn't. Photo: Getty
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Cameron looks like a man who has lost his desire for the job - in politics as in sport, that's lethal

In the debates, David Cameron looked peripheral, a professional who has lost hunger. That could be the end of him.

At the debate, David Cameron was out at the end of the line-up, on the far right, which is not, despite what some of his critics on the left aver, where he is usually most comfortable. On the night, however, this ought to have been an advantage. On the edge of the fray, he was in a position to wave at the pretenders to his office, turn to the camera, and raise a quizzical eyebrow - This lot? Really? It didn’t work out that way. Rather than appearing to be above it all, he seemed marginal.

Thursday was by no means disastrous for Cameron; in fact his team probably breathed a sigh of relief that Ed Miliband didn’t continue the momentum he had built up since sparring with Paxman the week before. But the Prime Minister was an oddly recessive presence, seemingly unwilling to assert his personality. After all the endless wrangling with the broadcasters, it was as if he had decided to empty-chair himself.

Cameron stuck dutifully to his key messages: long-term economic plan, don’t let Labour ruin it. Only occasionally did he attempt anything other than one of his limited but workable repertoire of expressions (<man-of-substance> face, <look-I-really-mean-this> face). Wise heads might remark that this is exactly as Lynton Crosby would have wanted; the Prime Minister simply needed this debate to pass off without incident. According to the conventional view, Cameron’s best hope of victory requires him to be as reassuring as a rock, and as uninteresting.

I’m not convinced this is right. For one thing, it’s a strategy for someone who is ahead in the polls, which the Tories are not. More pertinently, it risks amplifying a signal that I think Cameron is already sending, unwittingly. A signal that says, "I don’t want to do this job anymore".

Unlike some, I didn’t think Cameron committed a grievous mistake when he said he doesn’t want a third term. He simply answered a question honestly, something which the political classes can find hard to forgive. That is not the same as saying it didn’t hurt him, however. The problem isn’t that he made a tactical error. It goes deeper than that. The problem is that his heart isn’t in the job - and voters can tell.

Politics, like sport, runs on desire. In both fields there is a pool of people with high levels of ability and competence, and what distinguishes those who reach the highest levels – other than luck – is how much they want to get there. As Arsène Wenger once remarked, elite footballers are not highly motivated because they’re paid vast salaries; they’re paid vast salaries because they have exceptional motivation. The same is true, vast salaries aside, of politics.

One striking thing about Alistair Campbell’s memoirs is their portrait of Tony Blair. It differs significantly from the one we were familiar with when he was Labour leader: a smiling, easy-going guy. Away from the podium, Blair was an edgier and more driven presence who would think little of calling aides at 3am to discuss a policy change or rewriting a speech twenty-three times. Like Campbell’s friend Alex Ferguson, Blair was always fixated on some future goal and always worrying about how he might not reach it; each success merely brought the next opportunity for a setback into focus.

Part of the reason Blair operated at this level of intensity for so long is that he had, at his side and frequently behind his back, someone who possessed, if anything, an even more relentless drive. Having finally pushed his nemesis aside, Gordon Brown’s superhuman will to go on dragged him through humiliation after humiliation. Last week, Brown’s former aide Theo Bertram recalled how Brown had to go into the third debate with Cameron 24 hours after being pulverized by the Gillian Duffy affair. Some predicted Brown would self-destruct live on TV. But as Bertram says, he drew on “a deep reservoir of strength” to deliver a creditable performance.

You can only wonder at the Sisyphean will required to run for president, which takes at least 18 months, involves little sleep and the enormous pressure of having a big organization rely on you and you alone to perform, at or near your best, every day. The Obama-Clinton battle in 2008 was so compelling partly because it was a clash of iron wills. Or take another former presidential candidate, John Kerry, now a secretary of state with an historic deal under his belt. A diplomat told the Guardian, “A lot of the time it is not the smartest person in the room. It is question of who has the most stamina. And Kerry had an incredible amount of stamina.”

We still laugh at Thatcher for wanting to go “on and on” (Cameron used that phrase himself to encapsulate the madness of political obsessives) but we should recognize that it was precisely her excessive zeal that made her such a political giant. Politics is hard. Winning elections, and, even more so, achieving significant change once in office, requires a roaring fire in the belly.

I can’t imagine that Cameron would have displayed the bloody-minded decade-long persistence required to see the Northern Ireland peace process through. He would have given it a jolly good go, before concluding – as indeed most rational people did, over the years – that it was impossible. To characterize Cameron as lazy is itself lazy. You simply don’t get to do the job he has without a big appetite for work. But it is true that he doesn’t seem to have the exceptional drive of his predecessors.

Voters want politicians with heart for the fight. Presidential primaries are almost designed to test for it. In the town halls of Iowa or New Hampshire even the most experienced, professionally-trained, amply funded politicians can be exposed as lily-livered. We have fewer opportunities to probe for it here, but in the last two weeks we’ve had a couple, and they have been telling. Ed Miliband, on Paxman night, didn’t say anything new. He will never look like a natural in front of the cameras. But he successfully conveyed a burning desire to win, and I think that accounted for his bounce in the polls.

On that night and during the debate, Cameron has performed like an animatronic, lacking in animus. It’s sad to see. Most of us have been in jobs where we end up just going through the motions, and it doesn’t feel good.

If Cameron loses, he can reflect that it could have been worse. He could have won.

Ian Leslie is a writer, author of CURIOUS: The Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends On It, and writer/presenter of BBC R4's Before They Were Famous.

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As Donald Trump once asked, how do you impeach a President?

Starting the process is much easier than you might think. 

Yes, on Friday, Donald Trump will be inaugurated as the 45th President of the United States. And no, you can’t skip the next four years.

But look on the bright side. Those four years might never happen. On the one hand, he could tweet the nuclear codes before the day is out. On the other, his party might reach for their own nuclear button – impeachment. 

So, how exactly can you impeach a President? Here is our rough guide.

OK, what does impeachment actually mean?

Impeachment is the power to remove an elected official for misconduct. Here’s the relevant clause of the US Constitution:

“The President, Vice President and all Civil Officers of the United States, shall be removed from Office on Impeachment for, and Conviction of, Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors.”

Impeachment is actually a legacy of British constitutional history, and dates back as far as 1376, but according to our own parliamentary website, in the UK “this procedure is considered obsolete”. 

It’s up to the US Congress to decide whether to impeach and convict a President. Both houses are controlled by the Republicans, so impeaching Trump would mean turning against one who is – technically at least – one of their own. Since he’s already insulted the neighbouring country, supported discrimination against Muslim immigrants and mocked a disabled reporter, their impeachment threshold seems pretty high. But let’s imagine he surpasses himself. What next?

The impeachment process

Members of the House of Representatives – the lower chamber of the Congress – can start the impeachment process. They in turn may be encouraged to do so by voters. For example, there is a whole Wikipedia page dedicated to people who tried to impeach Barack Obama. One Impeach Obama supporter simply gave his reason as stopping the President from “pushing his agenda”. Another wanted to do so on the grounds of gross incompetence...

But for an impeachment attempt to actually work, the impeacher needs to get the support of the house. If a majority agree with the idea of impeaching the elected official, they nominate members to act as prosecutors during the subsequent trial. This takes place in the Senate, the upper house of Congress. In most impeachments, the Senate acts as judge and jury, but when a President is impeached, the chief justice of the United States presides.     

Two-thirds of the Senate must vote for impeachment in order to convict. 

What are the chances of impeaching Donald Trump?

So if Trump does something that even he can’t tweet away, and enough angry voters email their representatives, Congress can begin the process of impeachment. But will that be enough to get him out?

It’s often assumed that Richard Nixon was kicked out because he was impeached for the cover up known as the Watergate Scandal. In fact, we’ll never know, because he resigned before the House could vote on the process.

Two decades later, the House got further with Bill Clinton. When it emerged Clinton had an affair with Monica Lewinsky, an intern, he initially denied it. But after nearly 14 hours of debate, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives decided to impeach him on grounds including perjury and obstruction of justice.

In the Senate trial, Clinton’s defenders argued that his actions did not threaten the liberty of the people. The majority of Senators voted to acquit him. 

The only other Presidential impeachment took place in 1868, when President Andrew Johnson, removed a rabble-rouser from his Cabinet. The guilty vote fell short of the two-thirds majority, and he was acquitted.

So, what’s the chances of impeaching Trump? I’ll leave you with some numbers…

 

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines.