Low charisma, high values

Paola Totaro, London bureau chief for the Sydney Morning Herald, is baffled as to why Gordon Brown g

The first time I saw Gordon Brown, my glasses fogged up. It was April 2008, and we were at the Gurdwara Singh Sabha in Ilford, east London, on the Ken Livingstone campaign trail for re-election as London mayor. Maybe my misty vision was less a reaction to the PM’s presence, and had more to do with the unseasonably icy weather and how, during a moment’s refuge in the toilets of the Sikh temple, I’d dropped the glasses down the S-bend. Nonetheless, that day Brown triggered a response within me that the intervening year has not changed.

I had arrived in London to take over the Sydney Morning Herald’s European bureau, smack bang in the middle of the bout for London’s mayoral chain. It was clear that the Boris v Ken show was no ordinary municipal poll; but it was the media coverage of Gordon Brown that had me mesmerised. Day after day, the papers were filled not just with shrieking economic headlines, but with a cacophony of moaning and bitching from a cabal of Labour ministers and backbenchers who seemed utterly at ease airing their despair about Brown’s leadership in public.

As a former political editor blooded by years of reporting the Labor Right – the conservative wing of the Australian Labor Party, and a rough, tough, mongrel breed, famous for their party discipline – I found this complete lack of control fascinating. Was it Brown’s lack of authority, or was this how Labour politics in the UK always played out? I was intrigued, and the mayoral campaign became my opportunity to observe Britain’s political leadership at first hand.

That morning in Ilford, Brown delivered a quiet, well-received speech about justice, notions of hard work and tolerance between communities. Later, I shadowed him as he did an awkward walk through the room, shaking hands, patting backs and doling out halting “Good to see you”s. He appeared shy – well versed in the demands of parish-pump politics, yet uncomfortable with small talk. I decided then that I rather liked him.

The weeks and months that followed turned out to be shockers for Brown. First the disastrous council elections, then poll after poll that seemed to head ever southward. Calls to backbench Labour MPs revealed no binding caucus, no ferocious factions – and no shame in bagging your leader to any journalist. Brown’s clannishness and impatience with dissent were all too visible. Labour seemed to have thrown in the towel and yet, from what I could see, the contest hadn’t really started.

Still, none of this explained the particularly virulent nature of Brown’s media coverage. Whatever his failings, he had been chancellor during a period of unmatched growth in Britain. And where is the proof that his policies – or George W Bush’s, or Kevin Rudd’s in Australia – are directly to blame for the economic troubles of the world now? Behind the scenes at the World Economic Forum in Davos, economists and observers spoke about Brown with respect. He was the first leader to take the huge step of recapitalising a bank, a strategy now followed the world over; in the United States, his speech to Congress was well received. No doubt he is a policy wonk who lacks charisma. But didn’t the British media turn on Tony Blair for being too slick, too good at communication? What is it exactly the UK wants in a leader?

When Gordon Brown delivered his keynote address to the Labour conference last September, he spoke stolidly, with no great shot of memorable brilliance or humour. But he got me. I wrote then that the impact of his speech lay in the lack of spin – and a visceral sense that he believes what he says. His delivery can be diffident, at times monotone. And that smile always looks forced and slightly canine. But his sense of civil service, the desire to see change through, the belief that poverty and problems with public health and education can be tackled successfully are all there – if just a few messengers would allow themselves to see it.

When he is outside the mainstream, Brown seems a different leader. At a couple of panel discussions in Davos, he had the audience in genuine waves of laughter (OK, it was an economist’s joke). At the party conference, he spoke with humanity about the near loss of sight in his right eye, saved by treatment provided by the National Health Service that his parents could never have afforded otherwise. His plea for a “fair” Britain can be dismissed as cynical pork-barrelling, but I have watched enough politicians of all colours to know those for whom these values mean something, personally and politically. “I know what I believe. I know who I am. I know what I want to do in this job,” he said.

The next general election is not expected until 2010. Ultimately, the key to Brown’s chances is the economy. During the next 12 months, there are three possible scenarios, two of which favour Labour. A deepening crisis, with rising unemployment, foreclosures and bankruptcies, would allow him to argue that handing the nation to the untried opposition is just too much of a risk. The second scenario sees the tide turning, but only just. With the stock market steadying and liquidity beginning to return, unemployment may still be a burgeoning problem – but economists are starting to say that the worst may be over. Brown can then campaign on the message that his strategies have started to reap reward, but the country isn’t out of the woods yet. Again, a change of leadership and policy could threaten what has been achieved.

The third set of circumstances is the most difficult for Brown – but the most unlikely. If the economy reaches the road to recovery before the election, he can take credit for the upturn. Recent polls show that the public acknowledges his strengths. Yet voters have an undeniable sense, too, that David Cameron can be a leader for the future.

Brown’s current position reminds me of the situation that once faced Paul Keating, the Australian prime minister of the early and mid-1990s. He, too, was an ambitious former treasurer who replaced an enormously popular and charismatic PM, Bob Hawke. Like Brown, Keating had been an architect of his predecessor’s success – and he then governed through a recession before winning an election that everyone, and most particularly the media, thought he would lose.

Brown urgently needs to follow Keating’s example and start showing more of his innate strengths – and must remember that self-belief can be perceived as arrogance. Who knows? Then he might emulate Keating and pull off his own “sweetest victory of all”.

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Campbell guest edit

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The war on poaching

More than 1,100 rhinos were killed for their horns in Africa in 2016. Quasi-military conservation units are trying to stop the slaughter.

The Savé Valley Conservancy, 900 square miles of pristine wilderness in the Lowveld of south-eastern Zimbabwe, seems like a paradise.

Drive along its dirt tracks, past flat-topped acacias and vast-trunked baobab trees, and you scatter zebras and warthogs, impalas and wildebeest, kudus and waterbuck. Elephants lumber through the bush, leaving destruction in their wake. Giraffes placidly return your stares. Baboons cavort in the trees. A crowned eagle flies overhead with a rock rabbit in its talons. A pack of exquisitely patterned wild dogs lie on the warm red earth. There are lions and leopards, too, but out of sight.

My guide and I meet Bryce Clemence, the stocky, bearded outdoorsman who heads the conservancy’s Special Species Protection Unit (SSPU), by a muddy waterhole so that he can show us the most special of those species. He and a couple of his armed men lead us a few hundred yards into the bush before silently motioning us to stop. We wait, move on, stop again. Clemence points. Thirty yards away stands a two-tonne rhinoceros, a 15-year-old bull. It cannot see us, for rhinos have poor eyesight. It cannot smell us because we are downwind. But it senses our presence. Its ears revolve like miniature satellite dishes.

As we study this magnificent, primeval beast through our binoculars, one thing quickly becomes apparent. It has no horns. Normally it would have two, weighing seven kilos or more, but they have been removed in an effort to protect it. Rhino horn fetches around $60,000 a kilo in China and other east Asian countries, where it is considered an aphrodisiac and a cure for diverse ailments. This animal’s horns would have been worth more than $400,000 – a fortune in Zimbabwe, where the average household income is $62 a month and unemployment exceeds 90 per cent.

Sadly, not even de-horning works. Poachers will kill de-horned rhinos for any residual horn. In February 2015 they shot a six-month-old calf for just 30 grams of horn, Clemence tells me.

Savé Valley may look idyllic, but it is a front line in a war against rhino-poaching. More than 1,100 of the animals were killed across Africa in 2016, leaving barely 20,000 white rhinos, classified as “near threatened” by the International Union for Conservation of Nature, and 5,000 “critically endangered” black rhinos. What distinguishes Savé Valley is that it has begun to turn the tide, but only because it has access to the sort of funding that most African national parks can only dream of.

Clemence’s quasi-military operation consists of 35 highly trained men, all expert trackers, supremely fit and equipped with semi-automatic rifles and radios. Working in pairs, they do ten-day stints in the bush, monitoring the conservancy’s 168 rhinos from dawn to dark and endlessly searching for human tracks – or “spoor”.

They are supported by a canine unit whose two Belgian Malinois dogs can track at night and over rocks; a substantial network of paid informants in the surrounding communities and beyond; four 4x4 vehicles and 12 motorbikes; and nearly 100 armed scouts employed by the two-dozen private ranches that make up the conservancy.

Even that force is insufficient, Clemence says. The poaching gangs are growing more sophisticated. They now use high-powered hunting rifles with silencers to shoot the rhinos, and AK-47s to ward off the rangers. Sometimes the poachers use AK-47s against rhinos too: in 2014 one was hit 23 times.

They have begun using poison. One poacher was caught after laying oranges and cabbages laced with the pesticide Temik in the path of a rhino – Temik is nicknamed “Two-step” because that is how many steps an animal takes before dying. Another poacher planned to poison a waterhole, but was thwarted by an informer. “Poisoning is disgusting because it’s totally indiscriminate and has the potential to do massive harm,” Clemence says.

He has also caught poachers preparing to use the sedatives ketamine and xylazine. Having darted a rhino, they would then hack off its horns before it woke. They once hacked off the horns of a rhino that had been knocked out by a bullet and it woke with half its head missing. The creature survived for a week before Clemence’s unit found it. Vets had to put it down. “When you catch a poacher you want to beat him to death with a pick handle and very slowly break his bones, but you have to be professional,” says David Goosen, manager of the 230-square-mile Sango ranch, which forms part of the conservancy.

The odds are stacked against the SSPU in other ways, too. The poachers are paid well by the syndicates that run them – perhaps $5,000 each for a kilo of rhino horn. And even if caught, their chances of escaping punishment are high. Thanks to bribery or incompetence, just 3 per cent of prosecutions for rhino poaching in Zimbabwe end in convictions.

“You have to virtually catch them in the field red-handed, and even then they often get away with it,” Goosen says. “As soon as they get to the police station, a well-connected lawyer turns up, which means someone higher up is looking after their interests.” The maximum sentence for intent to kill a rhino is nine years for a first offence – less than for stealing cattle.

The SSPU is prevailing nonetheless. In the first three months of 2012, when Clemence arrived, the conservancy lost 14 rhinos. In 2015 it lost 12, last year three. It has also defeated Zimbabwe’s most notorious rhino-poaching gang.

Tavengwa Mazhongwe learned his craft from his older brother, “Big Sam”, who was killed poaching in 2009. Mazhongwe was responsible for at least 150 rhino killings, including many in Savé Valley. In December 2015 Clemence learned he was planning another attack and put his rangers on alert.

They found the gang’s spoor at 6.30 one morning, and tracked the four armed men in intense heat for nine hours. The gang took great care to cover their tracks, but late in the afternoon the rangers found them resting in a river bed. The rangers opened fire, killing one and seriously wounding a second. Mazhongwe and one other man escaped, but he was arrested near Harare two weeks later and given a record 35-year sentence for multiple offences. A judge had to acquit an officer in Zimbabwe’s Central Intelligence Organisation who drove the gang to the conservancy in a government vehicle because, he complained, the police did not dare investigate govenment officials. The rangers recovered an AK-47, a Mauser rifle with silencer, an axe, rubber gloves, a medical kit, tinned food and a phone-charger pack.

“You’ll never get to where you say ‘we’ve won’, but we have won in the sense that we’ve brought poaching down to a manageable level,” Clemence says. “We’ve taken out some of the most notorious syndicates. Victory will simply be breeding more than we’re losing and having sustainable numbers to pass to the next generation.” He hopes that the conservancy’s rhino population will reach 200 within two years, enabling it to relocate some animals to other parts of Zimbabwe where the battle is going less well.

The SSPU’s success comes down to skill, motivation, organisation and – above all – resources. The unit costs $400,000 a year, and is funded mainly by foreign NGOs such as Britain’s Tusk Trust. It receives practical support from the conservancy’s private ranches, some of whom – given the dearth of tourism – have to generate the necessary funds by permitting limited elephant and lion hunting for $20,000 an animal.

Zimbabwe’s national parks have no such resources. That is why private conservancies have 80 per cent of the country’s rhinos but 1.5 per cent of its land, while the parks have 15 per cent of the land but 20 per cent of the rhinos. Within a few years most of those parks will have no rhinos at all.

Martin Fletcher’s assignment in Zimbabwe was financed by the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Campbell guest edit