Downfall

Published on Saturday 6 June 2009 19:53

AS troubles engulf Gordon Brown, Eddie Barnes offers a devastating psychological profile of a tormented Prime Minister

'ALL human beings… are commingled out of good and evil." So declares Dr Jekyll in Robert Louis Stevenson's classic novel. To his friends, he is caring and compassionate, a towering advocate of the poor and the dispossessed. To many others, he is obsessive, paranoid, unpleasant, rude, secretive and cowardly (to name but a few). For 20 years, the contradictory Jekyll and Hyde character of Gordon Brown has fascinated British politics. This weekend, however, many Labour MPs and ministers are making it clear they no longer have the patience to let the Prime Minister sort through his demons.

Brown faces 72 hours that will determine his place in history. The results of the European elections, out this evening, must be negotiated. A backbench rebellion must be quashed. Somehow Brown must convince a doubting party that now openly questions his abilities that he has the right to continue in post. Many previous prime ministers before Brown have faced similar agonies. But rarely has it seemed so tortuous as it does with the current incumbent of Number 10. A man who has built his reputation and his own self-image on insurmountable moral strength last week found himself weakened to the point of humiliation. Consequently, the Prime Minister's fate – despite all his extravagant success and fame – is routinely and unquestioningly described as 'A Tragedy'.

The sight of the tormented Prime Minister being brought low by his Cabinet allies and party rebels has increasingly taken on the appearance of a grisly play, in which the public, unable to look away, peer on in ghoulish fascination as the flawed and complex lead stumbles towards his certain fate. To get inside that character is to come face to face with a swirling mass of contradictory impulses and instincts, which have now come to the fore in the most public and painful way imaginable.

The Prime Minister has long been a magnet for cod psychology. First cited, into cliche, is his background as "the son of the manse". The sermons from his father, John Brown, the minister of St Brycedale church in Kirkcaldy, are said to have instilled in the young Brown the stern values of the Presbyterian faith, in which careless and irresponsible lives are admonished and the values of hard work and dedication to others upheld. Only last week, Brown spoke of how his "Presbyterian conscience" had been hurt by the extravagant expense claims made by many of his parliamentary colleagues. And in his awkward press conference on Friday afternoon, he again invoked his father's teachings.

The cod psychologists have had further grist in their mill from the story of Brown's dreadful eye injury at the age of 16, following a game of rugby, which forced him to lie still for six months in a darkened hospital room. Not surprisingly, this literal dark night of the soul ensured that the teenager who arrived at Edinburgh University was unusually driven. The relentless quest for self-improvement instilled by Brown's upbringing is often cited as creating what many see as the most dominant factor in the Prime Minister's personality – his all-consuming ambition.

In government, that ambition and drive knew few limits. The diaries of former Labour minister Chris Mullin, published this year, offer an insight. After resigning as a minister in 2001, the Sunderland MP was surprised to receive a letter from Brown saying how much the Chancellor had enjoyed working with him. Then Mullin spoke to some other ex-ministers. "It seems that everyone has received an identical letter. All the new members have received letters, too. He must have been up half the night writing them. No stone is left unturned. Gordon's machine churns night and day," wrote Mullin. "He is entirely motivated by ambition to the exclusion of all things," says one Scottish Labour veteran. "It turned him long ago into a not very nice person for whom the ends always justified the means."

Never questioning the moral justification of his self-promotion, Brown muscled his way up the ladder – until he met his nemesis. Even Brown could see that, in the wake of John Smith's death in 1994, Tony Blair would score a victory over him for the succession if they went head to head. But the fact that the less clever Blair – as he saw it – took over, and then took the acclaim of the 1997 election victory, gnawed at him and that thwarted ambition was to become the leitmotif of the New Labour years.

Brown could not let it go. In the immediate aftermath of New Labour's historic 1997 election victory, Brown was already arranging for favoured journalists to talk up his own contribution to the victory – his eye already on the top job. Rivals to the succession, such as David Blunkett and Alan Milburn, would be "sorted" he told government whips. Brown's henchmen would persuade wavering backbenchers to rebel against Blair – for example over the issue of foundation hospitals – on the grounds that "they'd get looked after once Gordon took over". Time and time again, the Chancellor and Prime Minister would come to blows. The most infamous episode came in the summer of 2004 when Blair announced his intention to stay on for a full term, before then retiring, after the 2005 election. Brown felt betrayed, believing Blair had betrayed a pact to stand down. With almost comical melodrama, Brown was quoted by his biographer as having told Blair afterwards: "There is nothing you could say to me now that I could ever believe any more." One of his arch-critics in the party recalls: "Time and time again Gordon had the choice of doing the right thing by the party and the country, and time and time again the personal animosity he had towards Tony would win out." Ironically, it was only ambition that ended up healing matters; Alastair Campbell remarked in his diaries how Brown had only become more cooperative with Downing Street after John Prescott had warned him that only with Blair's approval would the top job be his.

Such ambition is not unusual in a politician. But what lends Brown the tragic air is the fact that it is combined with an equally strong, yet contradictory, facet: his timidity. Time and time again – most notably in the autumn of 2007 when he pulled out of an early general election – Brown has ducked away from the big decisions. One close friend says: "If only he would go with his gut instincts because usually they are spot on. He wanted to go for an early election in 2007, but then he thought about it and then he thought about it a bit more and then made the wrong decision."

A recent example is over the right of Gurkhas to settle in the UK. Last month, the actress Joanna Lumley claimed she had been snubbed by Number 10 three times as she sought to get a meeting. Only after the subsequent media clamour did Brown finally agree to meet Lumley and reverse the decision. "The real Gordon Brown would never have made the initial decision with the Gurkhas," says the friend.

The trouble, say colleagues, is that Brown's prodigious capacity for consuming the vast amounts of information that cross his desk has never been matched by an ability to decide what to do about it. It is the flaw of the massive brain: having read everything and examined issues from every angle imaginable, the great Brown brain too often seizes up. The contrast with Blair is telling. One friend says: "What you've got to understand about Blair and Brown is that Blair is passionate on the outside but cold as ice on the inside. Brown is the complete opposite." Running the government, say insiders, is often a choice "between cutting your throat and slitting your wrists". Blair had the icy detachment necessary to make those fraught choices. Brown appears not to.

It has often seemed that the Number 10 job has simply become too much. A senior Labour figure told how Brown had recently charged into his private office, stabbing a finger at his list of engagements, demanding to be told why a certain person on it had been given some face time with him. "That's your brother Prime Minister," said an unnerved member of the Downing Street staff, pointing to the name 'Andrew Brown' on the engagements page.

The thwarted ambition that darkened his moods at the Treasury may now be sated, but it has been replaced, say insiders, with paranoia and introspection.

It has become a fatal combination. Brown is said not to have spoken to the now ex-Work and Pensions Secretary James Purnell for weeks. The result? Not only did Purnell quit, he poured on the indignity by telling the media first. "The trouble is that a lot of the Cabinet don't respect him and they don't like him," says one senior government source.

Mistrustful of others, Brown now finds that lack of trust is being returned in spades. Brown's often-brutal quest for the top – a glimpse of which was revealed in the Damian McBride e-mail affair – deprives him of the friends he needs now he is in trouble. Outside his close circle of trusted allies, there are not enough of those left. Home Office minister Mike O'Brien once confided to friends: "Gordon demands absolute loyalty and if you ever let him down, he never forgives you." Now, there is precious little forgiveness in return.

"He is a man who was destroyed by politics. This is now a predictable end to a fairly tragic career," says another Scottish Labour figure. Caught between the competing demands of principle and expediency, tortured by his towering ambition and his Presbyterian instinct for doubt, his mistrust and paranoia seemingly increasing as his own sight gets worse, the Prime Minister faces another seemingly insurmountable set of challenges, where he can only expect to be tormented repeatedly for being the lamest of lame ducks.

And yet Brown's friends say he will not budge. "The only way he'll leave Downing Street is in a body bag," says one. And, remarkably, despite the apparently fatal blow landed by Purnell on Thursday night – when finally a Cabinet minister decided to openly air the private grievances that many of his colleagues share – Brown has come back off the canvas once more.

Along with that ambition and that contradictory timidity, is a stubbornness and a persistence that defies belief. Brown, joke Tory opponents, is like one of those inflatable toys which, no matter how often you hit it, always rights itself to the vertical. "He still thinks he is the best man to lead the party," says one ally.

After the events of the past seven days, there is a danger that this defiance risks looking pathetic. But Brown looks set to press ahead regardless, weighed down by his flaws and contradictions, yet just as determined as ever to carry them onwards, forever onwards. The Tragedy of Gordon Brown looks set for a few more scenes yet.

Seven days that brought Brown to the brink

Sunday

A poll puts Labour in third place for the first time in 25 years. Speculation emerges that Brown will replace Alastair Darling with Ed Balls as Chancellor. Appearing on the Andrew Marr show, Brown is asked whether he would stand down if cabinet members said it would help Labour's chances. "No, because I am dealing with the issues at hand. I am dealing with the economy every day." He declares his "presbyterian conscience" has been offended by the expenses affair, and proposes a new code of conduct for MPs.

Monday

Now on the sofa at GMTV, Brown insists again he's the right man for the job. Alastair Darling denies a report in the Daily Telegraph, accusing him of claiming for two homes. Brown - having got assurances the story was wrong – backs the Chancellor as well. Then Darling admits that - actually – there was one charge for service costs he'd claimed. Technically, he had been double-dipping. A distressed Chancellor apologises on BBC TV. The obituaries get written. Ed Balls begins to measure the curtains.

Tuesday

The attention moves to Home Secretary Jacqui Smith. It emerges she is going to quit at the reshuffle, after suffering a humiliating few weeks after the details of her husband's porn habits. The intrigue builds...how did the news leak out? Communities Secretary Hazel Blears is accused of having done the deed, in order to destabilize the PM. There is talk of a "Pugin Room plot" involving Blears and Europe Minister Caroline Flint. The joke is that the WAGS (Women Against Gordon) are out to get him. Blears, meanwhile, has a private meeting with Brown. It goes badly and Blears goes home to draft her resignation letter.

Wednesday

The Communities Secretary quits on the eve of Brown's make-or-break Euro elections in a move seemingly calculated to hole his premiership. She heads off for her constituency wearing a broach with the words "Rocking The Boat" etched on it. Brown heads to Prime Minister's Questions to hear claims his government has fallen to pieces. Privately, he asks Celtic chairman John Reid to return to the cabinet, telling him the Labour party needs him. "John replied that Celtic need him more," says a friend. Meanwhile, Work and Pensions Secretary James Purnell rings a few select allies to ponder his future.

Thursday

A false peace breaks for Brown as the polls open. He spends the day at Downing Street putting the finishing touches to his reshuffle (which includes a job offer for

Sir – soon to be Lord – Alan Sugar). The political village counts down the hours to close of polls when further rebels are expected to emerge. On the BBC news at 10 o'clock a startled Nick Robinson reads incredulously from the front page of the Times. Purnell has quit – and is urging Brown to do the same. Downing Street, caught completely on the hop, is given the news by a reporter.

Friday

Finally some good news for Brown. The crucial triumvirate of Alan Johnson, David Milband and John Hutton all pledge that he's the man for the job. Back in their constituencies, even Labour rebels concede that, with no-one apparently following Purnell over the top, the insurrection may have faltered. Then Brown speaks to Flint to offer her a puffed-up Europe job. Flint flies off in a rage, and quits, just two hours after calling for unity. She accuses the PM of treating women "like window dressing". Alastair Darling comes back from the dead to keep his job. Brown vows to "fight on". Labour backbenchers call on him to quit. The pantomime goes on.

Saturday

Brown gains some respite as he heads to Normandy for the D-Day commemorations. Looking tired, he attempts to shrug off his terrible week. "In these unprecedented times, you are bound to have ups and downs," he declares. Back home, Neil Kinnock offers his support and loyalists attempt to play down the extent of the rebellion. But back in their constituencies, MPs are weighing up whether or not to sign a letter calling on him to go. For many, the answer lies in the locked ballot boxes being kept in council rooms across the country, marked by voters on Thursday, but which will finally be counted this evening. Brown returns from Normandy for London to await his fate.