Who Runs Britain?
Christopher Hitchens
- The Enemy Within: MI5, Maxwell and the Scargill Affair by Seumas Milne
In the Thirties Wal Hannington, the Communist organiser of the National Unemployed Workers Movement, was leaving a committee meeting when an unknown comrade came up and pressed a letter ‘to be read later’ into his hand. Hannington soon removed the envelope from his pocket, opened it idly, and was astonished to find himself summoned to a secret meeting where all kinds of mayhem and sedition were on the agenda. The note was couched in terms that suggested the discussion would come as no surprise to him. He threw the letter away. Very shortly afterwards, he was stopped by the police (‘Just a routine enquiry, sir’) and given a very thorough search indeed. The investigating officers seemed to be looking for something in particular, and moreover to be disappointed at not finding it.
Of course, you may object, this story is too elaborate. Too ‘conspiratorial’. If the rozzers want to do an old-fashioned fit-up, they can simply produce the letter from one of their own pockets, hand it to the suspect so as to get some fingerprints, and then say: ‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ But where, really is the fun in that? For one thing, it means that the victim of the plant knows everything. He is not compelled to wonder which of his colleagues and brothers is the fink or the nark. For another – and call me an old sentimentalist if you will – it runs the slight risk of offending the professional pride of one of the cops involved. A real framing must allow for conscience if it is to allow for deniability. And since deniability has deposed accountability as a principle of our unwritten constitution, elegance in framing has become an art as well as a science.
The first consideration – the sowing of distrust and suspicion – is of especial salience when dealing with workers and trade-unionists. The success of a hard-fought strike, particularly in times of unemployment and declining wages, depends on the chemistry of solidarity. People really will treat each other as brothers and sisters (how one can hear the contented chortles at that old rhetoric) if they can be brought to believe that an injury to one is an injury to all. But, as we have known ever since the Judas myth, if a band of brothers can be made to start asking who is the clever-clogs insider, then the crowing of the occasional cock will be the least of it. J. Edgar Hoover used to say that FBI informers on the left didn’t have to be everywhere, just as long as they were thought to be everywhere. Leo Huberman’s classic book,
The Labour Spy Racket, detailed the brilliance of this insight as it applied to the union-busters and paid informants of the heroic period of American industrial organisation. The stool-pigeon and the provocateur act as a vicious solvent on the very notion of fraternity, which is why Jack London once famously wrote that it was only when the Creator had perfected the snake, the rat and the toad that he began work on designing the scab.
In an Edward Thompsonian echo, Seumas Milne reminds us of the British tradition of police espionage by quoting from the constitution of the London Corresponding Society, drawn up in 1795: ‘Extreme zeal is often a cloak of treachery.’ Since well before the time of Pitt, the authorities have been adept at suborning treachery, arranging for outrage and for outrages, commissioning forgers and blackmailers and recruiting degraded lumpen elements into politics.
It is the argument of Seumas Milne, in this important (perhaps very important) book, that the breaking of the coal-miners’ union over the past decade was the outcome of a concerted secret police campaign that deserves to be classed with the Cato Street ‘conspiracy’, the Zinoviev letter and the defamation/destabilisation of Parnell and Casement. Clever readers of a certain type may object that Arthur Scargill and Peter Heathfield made rods for their own backs, dug their own graves, committed various sins of hubris and all the rest of it. Milne himself takes an honest and open line in favour of the NUM’s all-out strategy for the defence of the coalfields and the union, which he regards as being virtually identical. But his unashamed – indeed almost uncritical – political stand has the same effect as all honest prose, in dispensing with needless ambiguities and in forcing attention on the chosen subject. He, at least, has no hidden agenda. And he possesses reportorial skills and tenacities which, if he can slow down his prose style just a trifle, will one day make him what he seems least to care about being – a famous and admired journalist.
Early in 1974, I went up to Grimethorpe colliery on a hunch. The Yorkshire area of the miners’ union had for decades been one of the safest baronies of the bovine, block-vote Labour Party right wing. But, in the aftershock of a local colliery disaster, a tough-minded and fluent union compensation agent named Arthur Scargill had made a bit of a name for himself. In union elections that were faintly premonitory of the coming confrontation with the Heath Government, he and a colleague named Owen Briscoe had swept the poll and begun to take over the district. After spending some quality time down the pit and taking the odd sounding at the club, I thought I realised that even the highly taciturn and conservative Yorkshire miners were ready for a change of pace. I made my way over to Barnsley, met Scargill in his office, was treated with disdain as a member of a prostituted profession but wrote nonetheless that something seismic was afoot in what had been a highly ossified union, and that there were treats in store for those who liked their politics militant. I claim this to be the first piece about the salience of Scargill, though Paul Routledge of the
Times had, it turned out, done a decent report on the election results as they occurred. In a few months such claims were moot. Scargill led a mass picket of miners to the Saltley coke depot outside Birmingham, recruited the support of the local engineers’ union and saw the thick blue line of the forces of law and order snap and the cops scamper for higher ground.
The Saltley
événements and their analogues put an end, at some remove, to the businessman’s government of Grocer Heath. By the end of the Seventies, I had seen the fruits of a Labour administration in the bare-faced Special Branch framing of two of my journalist colleagues (Crispin Aubrey and Duncan Campbell – two of the then-celebrated ‘ABC’ defendants) and had written several editorials about torture in Ulster when Roy Mason was Callaghan’s minister for the Province and a Yorkshire area-sponsored NUM Member of Parliament. Forgive me this free association; I’m getting to the point in a second. The Official Secrets Act persecution of the ABC defendants, which included warrant-free searches and seizures, the blackmailing of witnesses and the rigging of a High Court jury, exposed the complete dependence of the Labour Home Secretary Merlyn Rees on the ‘advice’ of comical yet sinister reactionaries in the security underworld – forces that had demonstrated many times that they did not care about election results and did not care
for election results that returned non-Tory governments. Roy Mason’s slavish defence of the same forces, as they busied themselves in the Six Counties, was to lead to the defection of the civilian Irish nationalists from the Labour lobby in the crucial Parliamentary vote of no confidence in 1979. Thus old British Labourism perished for ever, not in the light (as Dangerfield wrote about the last stand of the old House of Lords) but in the creepy twilight of a rotten compromise.
Milne’s narrative makes me re-live my youth, because it demonstrates the fashion in which these events were imbricated and affiliated. I thought I had been watching events carefully, but nothing like as carefully, it turns out, as the general staff of the Conservative Party. The Tories used to be fond of saying that the idea of class struggle was old hat. Believe that, sir, and you’ll be ready to credit any damned thing. Even before Thatcher carried the vote of no confidence in Callaghan, she had commissioned her friend Nicholas Ridley to design a campaign of revenge on the mineworkers, and to ensure that all the arsenals and all the tactical designs were in place in advance. Nigel Lawson, who was later to cover himself with glory as Energy Secretary in this bannered campaign, wrote in his memoirs that preparation for it was ‘just like re-arming to face the threat of Hitler in the later Thirties’. That’s quite a jest, when you remember how active the Tory Party actually was in the cause of anti-Fascism.