The Complete Yes Minister (15 page)

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:
¹

Jim Hacker always gave me the credit for this brilliant ploy, because of the unintentional double meaning of my remark, ‘it’s been announced, it’s in the programme’.

However, I personally believe that Hacker was inspired by Edward Heath’s famous manoeuvre when he was Prime Minister and wanted – in the teeth of Civil Service opposition – to announce a new £10 Christmas bonus for the Old Age Pensioners. After many weeks of obstruction within Number Ten he simply appeared on
Panorama
and announced it as a
fait accompli
. It happened. It happened late, but it happened.

I well remember that Humphrey Appleby’s face was a picture when Jim made his statement – especially at the moment when he said that his Permanent Secretary had staked his reputation on it.

He turned to me and said: ‘It can’t be done.’ I made no reply.

Then he said to me: ‘Well Bernard, what do you make of the Minister’s performance?’

I was obliged to say that, in my opinion, it was checkmate.

Today was my happiest day since I became a Minister.

‘Did you see me on the box last night?’ I asked Humphrey cheerfully as he gloomed into the office looking like Mr Sowerberry at a funeral.

‘Of course,’ he replied, tight-lipped.

Actually, it didn’t matter whether he’d seen me or not, because my TV appearance was completely reported in this morning’s press.

‘How was I?’ I asked innocently. ‘Good?’

‘A most remarkable performance, Minister, if I may say so,’ he answered with studied ambiguity.

‘You may, you may,’ I said, affecting not to notice it.

‘Minister, we have been working very hard all night, and I’m happy to be able to inform you that we have come up with some draft proposals that would enable you to achieve your desired objectives by the stated dates.’

In other words, he spent five minutes digging out from the files the proposals agreed last year when Tom was Minister.

‘Well done, Humphrey,’ I said ingenuously. ‘You see, I told the nation how splendid you are and I was right. I had every confidence in you.’

‘Quite so, Minister,’ he said through clenched teeth.

He got out a folder containing his proposals.

‘Are those your proposals?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Here are mine,’ I said, and produced a folder too.

‘You have proposals too?’ He was surprised.

I told Humphrey to read his proposed safeguards. Then I would read mine. And we would see how they compared.

Humphrey started reading. ‘One – Personal Data –1 A. Safeguards must be applied with reference to . . .’

I could resist it no longer. Reading from my folder, I joined in, and together, in unison, we read: ‘. . . two criteria – the need to know and the right to know. 1.A(i) the need to know. Only those officials for whom the information was submitted may be deemed, prima facie, to have a need to know.’

We looked at each other.

‘We seem to be of the same mind,’ I remarked.

‘Where did those proposals come from?’ he demanded. I said nothing. After a few moments he repeated, ‘Where did those proposals come from?’

‘Humphrey,’ I replied in a tone of slight reproof, ‘my lips are sealed.’

¹
In conversation with the Editors.

5

The Writing on the Wall

The help that I received from Tom Sargent in the matter of the National Data Base might seem unusual to those who are outside the extraordinary world of politics. Strange though it may seem to those members of the public who read numerous abusive speeches in which members of the two main political parties revile each other as incompetent, dishonest, criminally stupid and negligent, cross-party friendships are extremely common. In fact, it is much easier to be friends with a member of the opposite party than a member of one’s own party – for one is not in direct personal competition for office with members of the Opposition in the way that one is with one’s colleagues.

All my Cabinet colleagues and I were naturally in bitter competition with each other during our years in Opposition. In the last three months we’ve all been so busy trying to deal with the
real
opposition – the Civil Service – that we’ve not had any real time to do-down each other. But I have a hunch, from the recent atmosphere in Cabinet, that some political manoeuvring is in the air again.

There are still numerous other matters concerning me, about which I have also had a little time to reflect this weekend. I realised early on (in my first week as a Minister, in fact) that Open Government presents real problems. It was made clear to me that if people stop having secrets they stop having power.

In fact, paradoxically, government is more open when it is less open. Open Government is rather like the live theatre: the audience gets a performance. And it gives a response. But, like the theatre, in order to have something to show openly there must first be much hidden activity. And all sorts of things have to be cut or altered in rehearsals, and not shown to the public until you have got them right.

The drawback with all this is that it begs the question – which is that the Civil Service keeps secrets from Ministers. They say they don’t, but I’m sure they do. I’m now all in favour of keeping secrets from the public of course, for the reasons I’ve just given, but it should be
my
privilege, as the people’s elected representative, to decide when to keep the people in ignorance. It should not be up to the Civil Service to keep
me
in ignorance.

Unfortunately, it is pretty hard to get this across to them.

I have also learned a few general lessons. I must never show my hopes or fears to Humphrey, if I can avoid it – especially party fears. If you give away your political weaknesses, they’ll destroy you. You have to keep them guessing.

I now realise that I should always get civil servants to commit themselves first. Never say, ‘I think . . .’, but always say, ‘What do
you
think . . .?’

I’ve also learned about ‘yes’ and ‘no’. You can always turn a ‘no’ into a ‘yes’ – but not vice versa. Furthermore, when you say ‘no’, let the Private Office say it for you – but when you say ‘yes’, pre-empt the Private Office and phone up yourself. That way,
they
get the blame and
I
get the credit.

In fact, the point about making your own phone calls is crucial. The whole system is designed to prevent you from doing anything yourself. As far as the Civil Service is concerned, you must never make a phone call, or sort out a problem. Woe betide any Minister who lifts the phone to try to sort out a foreign trade deal, for instance. Civil servants will come at you from all sides mouthing phrases like, ‘it’s an FCO matter . . . correct channels . . . policy hangs by a thread . . . you
do
realise, don’t you? . . . what if something were to go wrong? . . . on your head be it, Minister!’ and many others.

This is all very squashing to the morale of an important public figure such as myself. If you’re not careful they’ll eventually have you in such a state that you’ll be frightened to phone Potters Bar.

Furthermore, everything that one does is carefully watched and supervised. Bernard listens in to all my phone calls, except the ones that I make on the private line. The theory is that he can make useful notes on my behalf, and is fully informed about my views and activities – true! But, as we know, information is a double-edged sword. [
It’s no accident that most of the really powerful offices in the world are called ‘Secretary’ – Secretary of State, Permanent Secretary, General Secretary, Party Secretary, etc. ‘Secretary’ means the person who is entrusted with the secrets, the information no one else knows – the élite – Ed
.]

I must say, though, that I find it an invaluable way to pass on criticism of my permanent officials, knowing that Bernard is listening in to my every word!

Tonight, in one of my red boxes, there is a third redraft of a report to the Think-Tank on Civil Service overmanning. [‘
Think-Tank’ was the colloquial name of the Central Policy Review Staff – Ed
.] I’m still not pleased with it. I shall have a lot of questions to ask about it tomorrow morning.

We had a meeting about the Think-Tank report. I told Humphrey that I still wasn’t happy with it, and he obligingly offered to redraft it.

This hardly seems to be the answer. I pointed out that he had redrafted it three times already.

Bernard argued about this. ‘That’s not quite correct, Minister.’

I told him I could count. And that this was the third draft. ‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘It has been drafted once and redrafted twice.’ A typical piece of boring pedantic quibbling. Bernard has an idiotic obsession about using language with accuracy – it’s fortunate he’s not in politics.

I told him not to quibble, and Humphrey said placatingly he would be happy to redraft the report a third time. Of course he would. And a fourth time, and a fifth no doubt. ‘And a sixth,’ I went on. ‘But it still won’t say what
I
want it to say, it will say what
you
want it to say. And I want it to say what
I
want it to say.’

‘What do you want it to say?’ asked Bernard.

‘We want it to say what you want it to say,’ murmured Humphrey soothingly.

‘I’m sure,’ wittered Bernard, ‘that the Department doesn’t want you to say something that you don’t want to say.’

I tried again. For the fourth time in as many weeks I explained the position. ‘Six weeks ago the Think-Tank asked for our evidence on Civil Service overmanning. Three times I have briefed a group of civil servants in words of one syllable – and each time I get back a totally unintelligible draft which says the exact opposite of what I have told them to say.’

‘With respect, Minister,’ countered Sir Humphrey (untruthfully), ‘how do you know it says the opposite if it is totally unintelligible?’ He really is the master of the irrelevant question-begging answer.

‘All I want to say,’ I explained plaintively, ‘is that the Civil Service is grossly overmanned and must be slimmed down.’

‘I’m sure we all want to say that,’ lied my Permanent Secretary. ‘And that is what the report says.’

‘No it doesn’t.’

‘Yes it does.’

Then we said, ‘Oh no, it doesn’t,’ ‘Oh yes, it does,’ ‘Oh no, it doesn’t,’ at each other for a while. Then I quoted phrases from the draft report at him. It says, for instance, that a phased reduction of about a hundred thousand people is ‘not in the public interest’. Translation: it
is
in the public interest but it is not in the interest of the Civil Service. ‘Public opinion is not yet ready for such a step,’ it says. Translation: Public opinion is ready but the Civil Service is not! Then it goes on: ‘However, this is an urgent problem and we therefore propose setting up a Royal Commission.’ Translation: This problem is a bloody nuisance, but we hope that by the time a Royal Commission reports, four years from now, everyone will have forgotten about it or we can find someone else to blame.

[
Hacker was beginning to understand Civil Service code language. Other examples are:

‘I think we have to be very careful.’ Translation: We are not going to do this
.

‘Have you thought through all the implications?’ Translation: You are not going to do this
.

‘Not entirely straightforward.’ Translation: Criminal
.

‘With the greatest possible respect, Minister . . .’ Translation: Minister, that is the silliest idea I’ve ever heard – Ed
.]

Humphrey could see no way out of this impasse. ‘Minister, I can only suggest that we redraft it.’ Brilliant!

‘Humphrey,’ I said, ‘will you give me a straight answer to a straight question?’

This question took him completely by surprise, and he stopped to think for a brief moment.

‘So long as you are not asking me to resort to crude generalisations or vulgar over-simplifications, such as a simple yes or no,’ he said, in a manner that contrived to be both openly ingenuous and deeply evasive, ‘I shall do my utmost to oblige.’

‘Do you mean yes?’ I asked.

A fierce internal struggle appeared to be raging within. ‘Yes,’ he said finally.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Here is the straight question.’

Sir Humphrey’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I thought that was it.’

I persevered. ‘Humphrey, in your evidence to the Think-Tank, are you going to support my view that the Civil Service is overmanned and feather-bedded or not? Yes or no! Straight answer!’

Could I have put this question any more plainly? I don’t think so. This was the reply: ‘Minister, if I am pressed for a straight answer I shall say that, as far as we can see, looking at it by and large, taking one thing with another, in terms of the average of departments, then in the last analysis it is probably true to say that, at the end of the day, you would find, in general terms that, not to put too fine a point on it, there really was not very much in it one way or the other.’