RIP Blair's Project, but it died long ago

Ashdown's departure shows that the dream of party realignment is over

Knowing Paddy Ashdown a little, I have no doubt that the reasons he gave for the announcement of his resignation as Liberal Democrat leader in June are both straight and sincere. The timing of the announcement may have been a more contingent matter. He probably did not plan to scupper media coverage of Lords' reform by going public on that same afternoon of 20 January. Perhaps he did not expect to make quite such a splash; he has an understated view of his own importance.

He has caught the imagination of the people, though, as a man of courage, honesty and fundamental decency. The people, not parliament - he shares that preference with the Prime Minister, to whom he is close. And he also shared with Tony Blair "the project" which, without Ashdown and Peter Mandelson, now needs to be rethought.

The project is the realignment of the centre. The elusive dream is probably one of Blair's motive forces in politics. At any rate, much of what he does and says makes sense only if one assumes it is. It is simple really: 80 per cent of Labour (new Labour), plus 90 per cent of Lib Dems, plus 30 per cent of (one-nation) Tories equals an unbeatable new constellation. The subjects around which such a project could be built were evident: constitutional reform and Europe; or perhaps the other way round, Europe and constitutional reform.

Today, this must be said in the past tense. With Mandelson gone, Ashdown going, and Messrs Clarke, Heseltine and Patten fading, the driving forces of the project have become less visible and therefore less powerful. I think that the project collapsed much earlier, and that Ashdown's departure is an admission of defeat by a man who in most other terms had a spectacularly successful career as leader of his party.

The important date was that day in late October 1997 when Gordon Brown announced, with the consent of the Prime Minister, that the UK would not join EMU for the time being. I was certainly no advocate of EMU but it seemed to me on that fateful day that if Blair was to be a great prime minister he should have had the referendum then and there. He might have lost it, though he would probably have won; and in any case this was his chance to put his formula to work: to carry his own party, to rally the Lib Dems and fatally to split the Tories. After the referendum, he would also have been free to join euroland at a time of his choosing rather than make the momentous decision the subject of an uncertain popularity contest later.

Perhaps October 1997 was also the only time to get Ashdown into the cabinet. In any case, everything that has happened since by way of co-operation between the government and the Liberal Democrats is distinctly second best, and support for it is rapidly declining in both parties. In constitutional terms, Blair cannot give the one thing that most Lib Dems really want, which is proportional representation; and a referendum on Lord Jenkins's proposals is by no means a foregone conclusion. (Referenda now reveal one major weakness: governments cannot afford to lose. Referenda are therefore only partly about the issue and largely about the popularity of the government at a brief moment in time.) The recent widening of the remit of the joint cabinet committee has neither thrilled Blair's colleagues nor revealed any distinctive Liberal Democrat policy which could become a popular issue.

Which brings the argument to Ashdown and his party. Creating an apparently stable party with a set of agreed policies and a significant parliamentary base is one of the great successes of Ashdown's leadership. Forty-six Lib Dems - who would have thought it possible when jokes were made about the group fitting into a London taxi?

Yet it is a sign of Ashdown's stature that he realised the morning after the 1997 election that this was not due to a massive and sustainable change in electoral preferences, but rather the result of a unique constellation. He therefore asked himself one question: what could he do to make sure that as many as possible of these 46 were returned to parliament the next time round? His answer was coalition - or at any rate, an opposition sufficiently constructive to continue to make it possible for new Labour voters in many constituencies to vote tactically for Lib Dem candidates.

I think Ashdown was right, and his successor will pay a heavy price if he explicitly abandons this line. In practice, however, it has already been abandoned. One reason is that the Lib Dems are in an important sense not a national party. Menzies Campbell is one of very few Lib Dem spokespeople whose voice carries on national issues. The Lords' group apart, Lib Dems find it curiously difficult to accept the national stage. They know their way in local government, in some regions (especially the West Country, Scotland and Wales), and in Europe; but they have largely abandoned the country as a whole as a political space. In this regard Ashdown is the exception: he is actually interested in national power. Many of the rest will settle for national opposition, constructive or otherwise, in order to run local councils, share power in new assemblies and have a finger in the European pie.

So Blair will have to count out the Lib Dems in pursuing his project. He also has to accept that the grand old Tory names have less resonance in the country as time goes by. Thus his formula of new Labour plus Lib Dems plus one-nation Tories is reduced to new Labour plus very little.

This need not be disastrous for the project. Party mergers, even coalitions, are high-risk ventures. Extending the range and appeal of his own party may well be the more effective option. For Blair, it may also be a difficult option; there are times when one wonders if he likes his party enough to settle for it. However, for the Lib Dems as a national force, Ashdown's departure from Westminster highlights problems of a different order. Writing the script for his successor will be an unenviable task.

Lord Dahrendorf was Warden of St Antony's College, Oxford, 1987-97

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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