Bryan Rostron
If it’s true that the current election in the United Kingdom is all about style
over substance (that is, spin), I should immediately declare an interest (two,
actually). For several years I was a colleague of Labour’s powerful prime ministerial spin doctor, Alastair Campbell; then, during a right-wing coup at
the mass-circulation Daily Mirror, he and I were both fired by the Tory party’s
current communications director, the awesome Amanda Platell.
A glimpse at this pair of influential spin doctors reveals much about the shameless showbiz hoopla of modern politics. The irony is that both are now vying for the centre ground, desperately seeking ways of making their candidate
sound different from his opponent. Come June 7, for lack of political substance,
much credit for whichever party triumphs will be attributed to the media- manipulation skills of the winning spin doctor.
Guiding Tony Blair is the handsome Alastair, a bagpipe-playing soccer fan, while
egging on William Hague is the glamorous Amanda, an ambitious Aussie who favours
lurid lipstick and big shoulder pads.
Alastair Campbell has a huge advantage: his man is the reigning champ. Campbell
is often referred to these days, not altogether jokingly, as “the second most
powerful man in Britain”. He is one of Blair’s most trusted advisers, always by
his side, like a shadow.
When I knew Campbell a decade ago we both worked for the Daily Mirror, and he
was the political editor. He was a bit of a bruiser, something of a heart-throb,
and he never pretended to be anything but a passionately committed supporter of
the Labour Party. He gave total loyalty to his paper and party.
This, however, could be terribly misguided. He famously thumped the political
editor of The Guardian (the Mail & Guardian’s sister paper) in the Commons press
gallery for mocking him after the death of Robert Maxwell, who had briefly owned
the Mirror, and who was a vile sadist, liar and one of the 20th century’s biggest crooks.
Then, as a result of Maxwell’s death and the fact that he had plundered millions
from the paper’s pension fund, there was a sudden right-wing coup at the traditionally Labour-supporting tabloid. It was taken over by a dour Ulsterman,
hitherto a keen supporter of the Tory party, who brought in a clutch of Rupert
Murdoch-trained apparatchiks, headed by the hugely ambitious but not obviously
talented Amanda Platell.
A reign of terror swiftly ensued, one that would have been immediately familiar
to any South African used to the management style of, say, PW Botha. Those who
opposed the new regime were picked off one by one. For one crucial union meeting
the corridor was sealed off and security guards posted at either end: only five
people dared turn up, and we all had our names noted.
When my department head came to see me, he actually whispered: “Amanda’s out to
get you. She hates you. She’s determined to drive you out with no pay-off.” He
glanced fearfully over his shoulder. “Stay at home, lay low for a couple of days.”
My home phone rang at nine the next morning. “Why the hell aren’t you at your
desk?” Platell literally screamed. “I want to see you immediately!”
Rather pleasurably I was able to reply, “Firstly, I was instructed to remain
home. Secondly, you can make an appointment when I return.” She promptly hung
up.
Not surprisingly, within days I was fired (but with my lawful pay-off).
Campbell had earlier suffered the same fate (but having negotiated, at board
level, a considerably more munificent severance package). Now fate has pitted
him against Platell. They are a fine pair: both glamorous; both, in their different ways, street fighters. But, frankly, I’d put my money on Campbell.
Amanda Platell went on to edit, still without a trace of talent, two tabloid
Sunday papers.
She also wrote a “bonkbuster” called Scandal about, yup, bitchy, power-crazed
women newspaper editors; a novel whose only claim to fame was that it was shortlisted in 1999 for the Literary Review’s annual Bad Sex Prize, for the year’s worst purple erotic prose.
Platell is a power-babe for hire. When at the Mirror, which continued to support
Labour to keep its millions of readers, she was asked to go on a heavyweight TV
programme to explain Labour Party policies. She hadn’t a clue and had to rush
over to Labour Party HQ to be carefully coached. Now that she is communications
director for the Conservatives, her most famous initiative has been to convince
party leader William Hague to go the Bruce Willis route, and have his head shaven every 10 days. Ah, well, such is politics nowadays.
And Alastair Campbell? In 1994, at about the time he became Tony Blair’s press
officer, he wrote an article for The Spectator, in which he laid out his credo:
“There are few, if any, circumstances I could envisage that would lead me not to vote Labour, but if I thought Labour wouldn’t spend more on health and schools,
or that they wouldn’t adopt a more interventionist approach to the economy, or
that they wouldn’t raise my taxes, then I’d have to think a bit. It is the absolute minimum that the public will expect of Labour.”
Not anymore. I don’t believe Campbell could look at his rugged features in the
mirror today and swear that any one of those “minimums” still holds true. There
has been, in the words of Tony Blair’s recent biographer John Rentoul, “a bonfire of commitments” including all of the above, and much, much more.
Oh well, sighs an increasingly cynical electorate: such is politics nowadays.
Amanda or Alastair, Tory or Labour: is there anything to choose between them?
Well, I’d say that the difference is that Alastair Campbell and Labour have one
redeeming quality: they both still have some passion and they used, at least, to have principles. No one, as far as I know, has ever accused Amanda Platell or
the Tories of having suffered from either …
In the vacuum left by the fear of political ideas and principle, all that is
left is gossip about personalities, jockeying for position and lusting after
power. In this bleak landscape, then, Alastair and Amanda probably fully and
richly deserve each other.