From the archive: Inside the mind of Tony Benn

July 1977: What is it like to be a tribune of the left?

In July 1977, Tony Benn and five other Labour MPs defied James Callaghan’s leadership by voting against the European Assembly Elections Bill. The rebellion prompted the writer James Fenton to wonder: what was it like to be Tony Benn?

At about ten to eight last Friday morning a grey-haired gentleman, with features expressive of permanent surprise, could be seen walking along Holland Park Avenue, carrying a large bundle of newspapers. He was clearly engrossed in what he was reading, and a curious observer might have followed him all the way to his front door without arousing any suspicion. The eyes of the grey-haired gentleman searched hurriedly through each of the newspapers. They were plainly looking for something; and, when they found it, the something they were looking for was, as often as not, accompanied by a small photograph. From the small photograph a grey-haired gentleman gazed out at Holland Park Avenue, with features expressive of permanent surprise. Tony Benn was reading his reviews.

What does it feel like to be Tony Benn? What’s it like to wake every morning inside Tony Benn, to shave Tony Benn’s chin, to eat Tony Benn’s breakfast, to kiss Tony Benn’s wife, to go to work in Tony Benn’s car, to sit in Tony Benn’s office twiddling Tony Benn’s thumbs, to consult the charts on Tony Benn’s walls, to be blamed for Tony Benn’s errors of judgment, to be praised by Paul Johnson for Tony Benn’s good qualities, to argue Tony Benn’s case in cabinet and quite another case outside, to consult with Tony Benn’s conscience about whether to resign – and to do all this not once or twice, but all the time, without ever letting up? You or I would, I suppose, occasionally get pretty fed up with it. We would be tempted to behave out of character. At about the thousandth mug of tea, we would be hit by a great wave of nausea. For Christ’s sake, we would exclaim, bring us a large brandy and soda, and take this muck away! We would lose our tempers, kick over the chairs, abuse our subordinates, storm out of the office and go to a film. The job would simply get us down.

But Benn apparently never loses his temper. Indeed I have heard this cited in criticism of him by a former colleague. What sort of a person is it, the argument went, who never even lets off steam? Exemplary behaviour always arouses suspicions, and there exists a group of rumours about Benn which have obviously grown from the general disbelief that Benn’s public character can bear any relation to his private life. Not long ago I was questioned by a property developer on this point. “What’s he really like?” “Oh, frightfully nice,” I said, and laid on the praise with a trowel. “Oh good,” said the man, pensively, “then at least that means that awful story I heard can’t be true.” “What story was that?” “Oh, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t repeat it.” “Go on.” “No, really, it was too frightful.” “Was it anything to do with animals?” I asked. The man gave me a startled look. “Because,” I continued, “If so, I’m afraid it’s probably a myth.” And I proceeded to tell him one or two versions of the myth – for instance that the way Benn lets off steam is by stuffing his Wellington boots with live canaries and stomping off round Holland Park. The man’s face fell, and he admitted that the story he had heard must belong to the same category. Interestingly enough, it came complete with circumstantial detail and an attribution to the Metropolitan Police – a story so appalling that I could not possibly reproduce it here either whole or in part (except to say that it involves the violent death of a rabbit).

Rabbits apart, it seems that Benn’s favourite way of letting off steam is to do something pretty naughty, but not naughty enough to get him the sack. He would prefer a good resignation to a sacking. But he has left it rather too late in his career to resign. To do so nowadays would be interpreted as a leadership bid rather than as a genuine resignation on a matter of principle. Nevertheless he often thinks about resigning, and sometimes takes advice on the matter. Perhaps the nearest he has come to giving notice was over the Lib-Lab deal. On the day that the details were finalised it happened that Benn was due for a 2.30 meeting with his minister of state, Dickson Mabon. Mabon went in to see him, but Benn was unusually unwilling to talk. He’d had a terrible cabinet meeting, he said, and he wanted now to be alone. Mabon insisted that the meeting was urgent – there were things they had to decide. Benn insisted on being left alone. As Mabon went out of Benn’s office, he noticed Ian Mikardo, waiting to go in.

This story, put around (we assume) by Mabon and his chums, is interpreted by the Right of the party as follows. Benn was genuinely wondering whether to resign, and had invited Mikardo around to learn whether his action would receive the support of the Tribune Group. Mikardo, being a canny operator, sensed that the Lib-Lab pact was considered an insignificant evil in comparison with political annihilation. He therefore said no, he couldn’t deliver. Benn’s failure to resign at this point is considered by some members of the Right as proof of the man’s perfidy. Surely now it is time that he was sacked.

The fact that Benn was not sacked after his last week’s performance is in part, no doubt, an indication of the weakness of Callaghan’s position. Clearly, though, the honeymoon that began after Wilson’s resignation is now over, even if divorce proceedings haven’t yet even been initiated. From Benn’s point of view the events of the past few days show that there is, after all, some point in his remaining in the cabinet, rather than mooching off into the political wilderness. The Left appear to have scored a neat little victory in the direct elections row – a row which may be supremely uninteresting to many people but about which Benn himself feels very strongly. Benn sees the emergence of an elected European Assembly as a threat to the sovereignty of Westminster, as a move towards federalism and as part of a process whereby specifically British traditions of socialism may come to be replaced by a European style, a foreign style, to which he is opposed. He considers that there is no commitment to the introduction of direct elections, apart from one made by Harold Wilson in Rome – a commitment which had not at the time been discussed in cabinet. If, after his press conference statement last week, Benn received some pretty sharp critical notices, he has nevertheless returned to the centre of a political debate which is of passionate interest to the Labour Party – and done so without losing his job.But the trouble is, such brinkmanship will not always pay off. It may well be that the Labour Party will get fed up with Benn’s Squirrel Nutkin technique; it’s rather like grandmother’s footsteps – every time Callaghan turns round, there is the innocent, surprised, stationary Benn, every time a little nearer. But whatever the virtues of playing such games are, it does not seem that Benn has succeeded yet in winning the deeper loyalties of the Labour Left. The more ingenious the manoeuvre, the less convincing it is. Benn is a supremely popular speaker, and he is the one figure of prominence with any appeal to the young Left in the party. At times he can flatter the party in such a way that, gazing into Benn’s eyes, they see their own reflection, and are delighted at the way they look. Yet in comparison with other Labour leaders, Benn lacks the ability to command a very deep personal loyalty. Perhaps he does not give enough of himself in return. Certainly there’s a feeling that he leads the Left faute de mieux – and, who knows, mieux may be on the way. For Benn the problem is how to extricate himself from the present government without incurring the charge of treachery, how to keep the affections of the Left while reaching also to the Centre of the Party, how to hang on to power and retain a political identity, how to go into the wilderness on a return ticket. Benn has found it easy to become the bogeyman of the property-developing classes. To become the hero of Left, the heir apparent, has proved more difficult. Something more than a gesture is needed. Whatever his advisers may say, this is not the time for a futile gesture.