Society
A King's ransom
Published 15 November 2007
Observations on party funding
It was, said Lord Levy, enough to make him nostalgic. Not that the debating chamber of the Cambridge Union reminded him of the House of Lords; no, he had frequently come up to Cambridge when his son was there 17 years ago. This time he was back to share his views on party funding and anxious to meet someone from King's, his son's former college.
"Lord Cashpoint" didn't disappoint. After he'd waxed lyrical for a while on the need for state funding of political parties, the "art of fundraising" and "the importance of selling yourself", someone challenged him to represent the cash-strapped Oxford Union (where he'd spoken a week before) to an imaginary rich donor. Levy treated the audience to his foolproof Guide to a Political Date. "First I'd say I wanted to meet you for a coffee. You'd probably say no for a while, but I'd explain that this would need a good half an hour at least, and eventually you would succumb." If you say so.
And once he'd got his prey into Starbucks? "I'd look you in the eye, and I'd know all about you . . ." Steady on, Your Lordship, it's only the first date. What Levy meant, though, is that he'd have done his research. "The key to success is preparation, knowing what makes your donor tick. So I'd talk all about you, you'd be wooed!" It sounds romantic, but imagine "wooed" said as "deported". Levy meant business, in every sense.
And how would he sell the Oxford Union? "I'd know all the background." Levy launched into a passionate potted history: "Just think about how important Oxford is! It's famous all over the world. Albert Einstein has spoken there. If your children went there, and there were no debates at the Oxford Union for them to go to, can you imagine that?" I have no children at Oxford, or children of any kind, but I was by now terrified that they would be deprived in this way.
"And then, I'd explain the difficulties. You see, you can only have a minimal contribution from students, and all those beautiful buildings need maintenance." (I wondered how this strategy used to work for the Labour Party.) And what would be in it for me? Apparently, food. "I'd suggest a big prestigious occasion. Maybe six or seven of your friends could come for a big dinner at the Union; you could meet everyone there, get lots of great publicity and have a wonderful time."
Marvellous. Inevitably, a couple of cynics just had to ask awkward questions. One wag brandished a £10 note and asked how far in the Lords it could get him ("A couple of drinks at the bar," said Levy,) and I, announcing myself as a former King's member as tradition demands, wanted to know his views on remarks that John Yates, who led the cash-for-honours investigation, made recently to a parliamentary select committee.
Did Levy believe Yates of the Yard when he said No 10 gave "less than full co-operation"? If not, why would he say it? The Levy charm faltered. "I'm not sure I love King's so much any more." And the answer? "Well, I can't speak for Yates, and I can't speak for No 10." Really? Can't speak for No 10? Wasn't that his job not so long ago? He explained: "I wasn't allowed to talk to No 10 during the investigation." No educated guesses? "I'm afraid I just can't answer that question at all." I'd blown any chance of dinner.
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