CAMBRIDGE LETTER
Poll speak and Churchill
BILL KIRKMAN
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There are some interesting lessons for today's politicians in the Churchill Museum, London.
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THE HINDU PHOTO LIBRARY
Churchill
AS I write this, no date has been announced for the British general election — but you might be forgiven for doubting that. Election fever has certainly burst upon us. The party leaders are producing what amount to sections of manifestoes, and in the process vying with each other in what they are promising.
The language of political persuasion has a particular flavour. It is notable for verbless sentences, and promises which sound good while avoiding precision. Conservatives will be "tough on yobbery and crime", their leader, Michael Howard, declares. They promise more police, and less "political correctness".
`Pledge cards'
The Prime Minister, Tony Blair, on a lightning tour of the country on his way to the Labour Party spring conference, has launched Labour's campaign with six "pledge cards". Labour did the same in the last two elections, but this time the pledges have to take account of the fact that Labour has been in power since 1997. Innovation in such circumstances is a bit difficult; after all, if the ideas are good, the electorate may wonder why they have not been produced before. The pledges, therefore, are encouraging but rather vague: On the economy: "Your family better off". On health: "Your family treated better and faster".
Inevitably, a party which has been in power for eight years, and has a large majority, must avoid seeming to be complacent, and a principal opposition party (the Conservatives), which has failed so far to show up well in the opinion polls, must try to present itself as a dramatic innovator. The result, equally inevitably, is that they both provoke a fair amount of sceptical reaction.
On Saturday I stepped back 65 years in time, and was reminded that political promises are not always vague, and political rhetoric does not always sound like an advertising slogan.
The Churchill Museum
REUTERS
Political leaders could learn from their predecessors like Churchill who had the courage to face people with unpleasant facts.
I visited the Churchill Museum, located next to the Cabinet War Rooms in Whitehall. The War Rooms have been open to the public for many years. They are in what was in effect a large underground bunker close to both 10 Downing Street (the Prime Minister's official residence) and the Houses of Parliament. They remained secret throughout the Second World War. The museum, established on the 40th anniversary of Churchill's death in 1965, was opened by the Queen, two days before my visit.
A major feature of the museum is extracts from Churchill's speeches. A great orator, he used the English language as a weapon, as he led the country in the darkest early days of the war. His first speech as Prime Minister contained the famous words: "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat". Equally famous was his promise "We shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender." My favourite example of Churchill's approach — favourite because I remember hearing it as an eight-year-old — was his broadcast after the defeat of France in 1940: "The news from France is very bad," he began.
I cannot think of any politician today who would give bad news so baldly. News, bad and good, tends to be tempered with qualifications. Promises are vague and hedged about with caveats. It would clearly be absurd to expect any political leader today to employ the Churchill approach. In 1940 the country's very existence was threatened, and political disagreements had been submerged in a fight for survival under a leader who would certainly not have carried people so firmly with him in peace time — who indeed did not do so.
Yet I cannot help feeling that any political leader who had the courage sometimes to tell things as they are, to be straightforward about problems, to face people with unpleasant facts, might earn a great deal of credit.
I was certainly conscious, even as a child, that the fall of France speech was, in an odd way, a huge boost to morale. Nothing was hidden. There was no pretence that this was anything but a disaster. We knew what the position was, and we knew that Churchill was determined to do something about it.
There could be some interesting lessons for today's politicians in the Churchill museum, I felt as I finished my visit. But then of course, I am not a politician, and as we move towards the election, I doubt if rhetorical styles will change.
Bill Kirkman is an Emeritus Fellow of Wolfson College, Cambridge, U.K. E-mail him at: wpk1000@hotmail.com
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