All Out War

The Full Story of How Brexit Sank Britain's Political Class

Tim Shipman

• Publisher: William Collins
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9780008215163
• Topic: Politica e relazioni internazionali
• Subtopic: Campagne ed elezioni politiche

SHORTLISTED FOR THE ORWELL PRIZE 2017#1 SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER'The best political book of the year' Andrew Marr'A superb work of storytelling and reporting. Sets new benchmark for the writing of contemporary political history' GuardianThe only book to tell the full story of how and why Britain voted to leave the EU.

PART ONE

SKIRMISHES

FROM BLOOMBERG TO BRUSSELS

October 2011 to February 2016

1

‘My Lily-Livered Colleagues …’

It says much about David Cameron’s relationship with George Osborne that they kept a lid on it. The decision to hold a referendum on Britain’s membership of the European Union was the most important Cameron made as prime minister – and his closest political ally, friend and adviser opposed it. Not just a little bit, but profoundly and wholeheartedly – and yet the disagreement did not leak.

It was late May 2012, and Cameron was just back from a NATO summit in Chicago. In a pizza restaurant at O’Hare Airport on the way home he had called a council of war with Ed Llewellyn and William Hague, his chief of staff and his foreign secretary, and decided he had no choice but to go into the 2015 general election with a pledge to hold a nationwide vote on the UK’s relationship with the EU by the middle of the next Parliament.1 Just before he became prime minister, Cameron had remarked, ‘I don’t want Europe to define my premiership.’2 He had already discovered that was a forlorn hope.

‘The biggest advocate of the referendum was William Hague,’ a senior Downing Street official said. The foreign secretary told Cameron, ‘You need to do this. I got killed by Europe. A Tory leader needs to nail this once and for all.’

George Osborne did not agree at all. The idea that the chancellor was concerned about the prospect of a referendum became known later, but few have appreciated quite how serious was his opposition. Osborne did not just think a referendum was a bad idea, he thought it was a disastrous idea. In successive meetings he was ‘pretty hostile’ to pressing ahead because he feared the vote would be lost. He warned Cameron he was taking a major risk that several uncontrollable forces would combine in a referendum campaign: ‘anti-government sentiment, opportunism, genuine concern – and then you lose’. The picture Osborne painted was stark and prescient.

Strategically, Osborne saw three problems. The first was that the in/out question was an all-or-nothing proposition. This was not a referendum on integration or membership of the euro – Britain’s membership was on the line. There was no way back if it was lost. The second, he told Cameron, was that the campaign would ‘split the Conservative Party down the middle’. A senior Downing Street source recalled, ‘George’s view was that there’s a good chance we’ll lose, and it will destroy the Tory Party.’ Thirdly, the chancellor had what now seems a more parochial political concern, that with Labour’s Ed Balls and Ed Miliband making overtures to business, Tory support for a referendum would undermine business backing for the Conservatives in the run-up to the 2015 general election. A cabinet colleague said, ‘George’s view was, “Don’t allow your entire premiership to be held hostage to this.”’

Osborne’s plan on Europe was to do what they had done for seven years since 2005, and avoid talking about it. When forced to give firm commitments they would say, ‘No more integration, no bailouts,’ and then hold out the idea of securing some extra powers for the UK as and when the eurozone needed a new treaty change. ‘It’s not perfect, but I reckon it’s better than the alternative,’ he argued.

Given the gravity of the decision and its implications, this was the most important political disagreement Cameron and Osborne had during their six years in power. It is a testament to the strength of their political partnership and their friendship that it never became front-page news, as even minor spats between Tony Blair and Gordon Brown did. Osborne told friends, ‘My partnership with David Cameron has always been predicated on two things: one, he is the boss and I am number two. Second, that where we disagree, we disagree in private – I don’t flounce off or resign or anything like that.’ In the end Osborne could see the way the wind was blowing, and swallowed his doubts. A Downing Street aide said, ‘George is essentially a real pragmatist, so he understood that that’s where we’d end up.’ But the decision would eventually send Osborne over the top in a fight that would define his career, but which he had opposed from the start.

Cameron was a pragmatist too. In opposition, the most prominent portrait on his wall was of Harold Macmillan, the one-nation Tory who had tried to take Britain into what was then the Common Market, until France’s President Charles de Gaulle – the first and most disputatious in a long line of Gallic protagonists – said ‘Non!’ Most Conservative leaders wanted to be Winston Churchill. Most Tory Eurosceptics wanted David Cameron to be Margaret Thatcher, whose best-known sentence on European integration was ‘No, no, no.’ But Cameron wanted to be Macmillan, a common-sense healer of divisions and manager of the nation’s interests. Famously, when asked what was most dangerous for a politician, Macmillan had replied, ‘Events, dear boy, events.’ In his approach to Europe, David Cameron was never more like his hero. Temperamental incrementalism, a propensity to tactically manage rather than strategically plan, and a tendency to be driven by events would all define his response to the issue that now bookends his premiership.

At around ten minutes past eight on 23 January 2013 David Cameron took to the stage at the London head office of Bloomberg, the financial news service, and said to the expectant audience, ‘This morning I want to talk about the future of Europe.’ What followed was the most significant speech given by a British prime minister since Tony Blair made the case for the Iraq War. In its consequences for Britain, it was more far-reaching than that.

In bald, spare words, Cameron sought to confront the issue which more than any other had derailed the careers of Conservative leaders in his adult lifetime. In 1975, when the British public had last been asked its opinion about Europe, Cameron had been too young to vote, and the Tory Party had been broadly united in supporting membership of what was then the Common Market. Yet now, Cameron looked down the lens of the television-pool camera and said, ‘The next Conservative Manifesto in 2015 will ask for a mandate from the British people for a Conservative government to negotiate a new settlement with our European partners … and when we have negotiated that new settlement, we will give the British people a referendum with a very simple in or out choice. To stay in the EU on these new terms; or come out altogether.’ Cameron made clear that he personally wanted an outcome ‘that keeps us in’. He concluded by saying, ‘It is time to settle this European question in British politics.’

The speech marked the end of a long, hard road for David Cameron which began with his speech to the 2006 party conference, less than a year after he won the Tory leadership, when he urged his parliamentary colleagues to stop ‘banging on about Europe’. Even at the time this was naïvely optimistic, since Cameron had already given ground to the Eurosceptics during the leadership election, matching a pledge from his Eurosceptic rival Liam Fox to take the Conservatives out of the European People’s Party (EPP), the main centre-right (but devoutly federalist) grouping in the European Parliament. The promise helped him beat both Fox and David Davis, the former Europe minister known to colleagues as ‘the Old Knuckleduster’. But in the capitals of Europe, leaving the EPP was Cameron’s ‘original sin’, proof that he was another British leader unwilling to play by the rules of the club. Eleven years later it would be a factor, albeit a minor one, in hampering his renegotiation of Britain’s relationship with Brussels. At home it was evidence for the Eurosceptics that, if they pushed him hard enough, he would retreat.

Cameron was no EU enthusiast. When seeking selection as the Tory candidate for Witney, the Oxfordshire seat he was to win in 2001, he characterised his views as ‘no to the single currency, no to further transfer of powers from Westminster to Brussels, and yes to renegotiation of areas like Fish where the EU has been a disaster for the UK’, before adding for good measure, ‘If that is being a Europhile, then I’m a banana.’3 But for the Eurosceptics his heart was not in it. To Cameron, Europe was ‘the E word’. In 2006 he described members of the UK Independence Party as ‘a bunch of fruitcakes and loonies and closet racists’. That not only made a mortal enemy of Ukip’s leader Nigel Farage, but contributed to a belief among the Palaeosceptic – a term I hope describes their longevity without implying that they were old-fashioned – old guard (not unfounded) that he viewed them the same way. Daniel Hannan, the Conservative MEP who was the intellectual godfather of what would become the Leave campaign, first met Cameron when he was running the Conservative Research Department in the early 1990s. ‘I think his view then was that Eurosceptics were like the ancient mariner,’ Hannan said. ‘They were disagreeable bores who would hold you with their skinny hand. I think he approached the European issue through the prism of party management. I don’t think he ever sat down and did a cost–benefit analysis of EU membership. He began from the position, probably true in the 1990s, that a lot of the Eurosceptics were quite difficult and obsessive people.’ Whatever concessions were extracted, the Palaeosceptics came back for more. This was the era when, as the columnist Danny Finkelstein so memorably put it, the Eurosceptics ‘wouldn’t take “Yes” for an answer’.

The issue that calcified Eurosceptic suspicion of Cameron was his ‘cast-iron guarantee’ in September 2007 that he would hold a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty, which greatly deepened EU integration. Once the treaty was ratified in every EU country, including by Gordon Brown’s Labour government, Cameron ditched the pledge, arguing that a referendum was pointless. He sought to placate the Eurosceptics with a speech in November 2009 announcing a ‘referendum lock’, ensuring a vote on any future European treaty ‘that transferred areas of power or competences’ from Britain to Brussels. It was a poor substitute for the in/out vote the sceptics craved. More importantly, as the then Tory MP Douglas Carswell observed, Cameron’s original promise, ‘although we reneged on it, established the legitimacy of a referendum’.

Even pro-Europeans look back on Cameron’s decision with regret, since it meant that if there was to be a referendum in future, it would be an all-or-nothing proposition. Tory MP Alistair Burt said, ‘I argued that the first chance the British people were going to get to vote on the EU they’d vote “No”, no matter what the question was. I would far rather have had a question on a constitutional issue than “In” or “Out”.’

With hindsight, the moment a referendum became inevitable occurred in October 2011. When more than 100,000 members of the public signed a petition demanding a nationwide vote, Conservative backbencher David Nuttall – whose name was regarded by Downing Street as eloquently descriptive – proposed a Commons motion calling for a referendum. Instead of letting the sceptics sound off in a vote that was not binding, Cameron unwisely turned the showdown into a trial of strength, ordering his backbenchers to vote it down. ‘We cannot lie down on this,’ he told his closest aides.4 It is understandable that he felt like imposing some order. By that point, seventeen months into the coalition government, Cameron had already endured twenty-two backbench rebellions on Europe, involving a total of sixty MPs.5 He ordered an ‘industrial-scale operation’ to rein in the sceptics.6 Word spread that anyone voting for the motion would be barred from ministerial office for four years, or even face deselection. Despite the threats, and to Cameron’s consternation, eighty-one Conservatives backed the motion, the biggest rebellion on Europe since the Second World War. At John Major’s worst moment during the passage of the Maastricht Bill in 1993 only forty-one Tory MPs had defied the whip. Without the heavy-handed whipping the rebel leaders could have mustered 150 votes against their own government. As young MPs, Cameron and Osborne had seen loyalty as the currency of promotion; now they were confronted by people who put principle first.

One of Cameron’s closest aides said, ‘For me the pivotal moment was the eighty-one rebellion. It was clear after that that the parliamentary party would not stand for anything but a referendum by the next election. I think the PM knew instinctively that was where he was going to end up.’ It would be another nine months before Cameron accepted that logic, and fifteen before he did anything about it.

Cameron may not have wished to focus on Europe, but the eurozone crisis ensured that he had no choice. The Greek economy plunged into chaos shortly after the ‘referendum lock’ speech, and attempts to prevent an ‘Acropolis Now’ collapse preoccupied the EU into 2012.

Two months after the Tories’ Commons rebellion, in December 2011, the nations in the eurozone demanded a Fiscal Compact Treaty to prop up their ailing currency. Cameron and Osborne sought protections for the City of London. In a strategy which he was to test to destruction, Cameron focused his negotiating efforts on Angela Merkel. They had a good relationship. The German chancellor had been to Chequers in 2010, when they kicked back watching episodes of Midsomer Murders. ‘Just think, all this could have been yours,’ Cameron had joked.7 After a lunch in Berlin, Cameron thought she was on-side, but she then went behind his back to do a deal with the French. A senior diplomat said, ‘We didn’t know what was happening, not even through covert channels. We were completely screwed over.’ Cameron, realising he had been ambushed, called to warn Merkel, ‘I’ll have to veto.’ She replied, ‘In that case I’ll have to do it without you.’8 On the evening of 8 December Cameron went alone into the summit room with twenty-six other leaders and found himself in a minority of one. At 4 a.m. he walked out.9

‘We renamed it a veto to claim it was a veto,’ one Downing Street aide recalled. Cameron’s refusal vetoed nothing. The other twenty-six nations simply signed a separate treaty outside the EU apparatus. But Cameron was lauded at home as a latterday Thatcher, standing magnificently alone against the tide of integration. A Number 10 source recalled, ‘Firstly, he never thought he was going to veto it. It was initially, “Oh fuck, what have we done?” Then the polls went up. It was a completely accidental triumph. The Foreign Office thought it was the end of the world.’ The veto affair showed all too clearly that, despite her warm words, Merkel would not deliver for Cameron if she thought Germany’s national interest and the good of the EU lay elsewhere. It was a lesson Cameron would have done well to learn there and then.

Cameron’s honeymoon with the sceptics was brief. In June 2012, with Downing Street on the back foot over George Osborne’s so-called ‘omnishambles’ budget, one hundred Tory MPs signed a letter, penned by Basildon MP John Baron, calling for legislation guaranteeing a referendum in the next Parliament. Two days later, at a summit in Brussels, Cameron rejected that plan. The Eurosceptics went into meltdown. ‘The PM and the chancellor looked like they were seriously losing authority over the party,’ a Downing Street source remembered.

In a bid to clean up the mess, Cameron wrote an article for the Daily Telegraph saying he was ‘not against referendums on Europe’, but that the time would not be right for an ‘in/out’ vote until Britain had ‘define[d] with more clarity where we would like to get to’.10 It was the first public expression of his desire for a new deal. Once again he had edged closer to a destination he did not desire, in order to placate people whose support he did not really want. Once again he had neither settled the issue to the satisfaction of his critics, nor properly confronted them. When Cameron told Nick Clegg about the article, the deputy prime minister told him he was ‘crazy’ to think he could buy off his critics. ‘I have to do this,’ Cameron insisted. ‘It is a party management issue.’11 Viewed after the political bloodbath that followed, the notion that holding a referendum might calm Tory divisions was farcically naïve.

It was the rise of the UK Independence Party (Ukip), and growing concern about immigration, that finally forced Cameron’s hand. The eurozone crisis sent unemployment soaring, inspiring hundreds of thousands of people to flock to Britain to find work. Cameron’s pledge to reduce net annual immigration to the ‘tens of thousands’ a year became untenable. The pressure this brought to bear on public services, coupled with the growing public view that yet another politician’s promise was worthless, was deftly exploited by the blokeish but charismatic Ukip leader Nigel Farage, whose ‘people’s army’ combined traditional EU constitutionalist pub bores with an anti-establishment grassroots movement that tapped into broader discontent with the Westminster elite. With the Liberal Democrats as partners in the coalition government, Farage was able to hoover up protest votes which traditionally went to the third party. By the autumn of 2012 Ukip were the third party, consistently above the Lib Dems in the polls. In November Ukip grabbed second place in two by-elections in Rotherham and Middlesbrough. Cameron decided he had to act. He would have to enter the 2015 general election campaign with a pledge to hold a referendum.

Andrew Cooper, the pollster who was a key figure in driving Tory modernisation, said, ‘Ukip, who nearly won the European elections in 2009, were very likely to win the European elections in 2014. We’d have been in meltdown and ended up being forced into a referendum commitment.’ He told Cameron, ‘Since it is a question of when, not if, let’s do it now, let’s do it calmly and set out a proper argument.’ The prime minister saw the logic in this. As another member of his inner circle put it, ‘There is an element where David thinks when the big judgement call needs to be made, “Put your balls on the line, let’s do it.”’

Once again, George Osborne was the most outspoken opponent of the idea. His father-in-law David Howell – a cabinet minister under Margaret Thatcher – told a Conservative activist that the chancellor ‘implored’ Cameron not to hold a referendum. Once again his objections were dismissed. In secret, Ed Llewellyn, the chief of staff in Downing Street, began work on the most important speech of Cameron’s career.

By now some of Cameron’s closest allies, including Steve Hilton and Oliver Letwin, were flirting with leaving the EU altogether. Most significantly, at the party conference in October, education secretary Michael Gove told journalists from the Mail on Sunday that on the current terms of membership he would vote to leave. Despite his resolute Euroscepticism, Gove, like Osborne, was a firm opponent of a referendum. He had two concerns. Even at this early stage he was worried that he ‘would have to stand on a different side to the prime minister’, which would be ‘painful’. He also felt that Cameron had not worked out what his strategy was, and what Britain wanted out of Europe. Gove saw a pattern where the prime minister sought confrontation with the sceptics, told them ‘You’re all lunatics,’ refused their demands, and then ‘caved in’. A source close to Gove said, ‘Throughout the time, Michael thought this whole thing was a recipe for disaster. What we’re not doing is thinking through what Britain will be outside the EU, we’re adopting a bunch of tactical strategies to stave off either Ukip’s growth or our backbench problems.’

Gove went so far as to put these concerns in writing, emailing Cameron before the speech to tell him, ‘You don’t need to do this, you don’t need to offer a referendum.’

‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,’ came the breezy reply.

Angela Merkel’s views were assiduously sought before the big speech. A Downing Street aide recalled, ‘We were paranoid about this thing going off completely half-cocked, with Merkel and [French President François] Hollande going out the next day to say, “This is a pile of absolute shit, Britain is going to get nothing from this.” A lot of work was going into at least making sure th...