Defiance gives way to pleading of a baby vole blinking under torchlight

It was a masterclass in crisis mismanagement. On Saturday, Mark Goldring, the chief executive of Oxfam, gave an interview to The Guardian, in which he responded to the Haitian prostitutes scandal by painting Oxfam as the victim. The “ferocity” of the “attacks” on Oxfam was “out of proportion”, he said. After all, it wasn’t as if his staff had “murdered babies in their cots”.

As defences go, it was like a burglar in court saying, “Jeez! Get over yourselves! All I did was rob your house! It’s not like I set fire to it too!”

In the days, since, however, it seems that Mr Goldring has realised his mistake, or at least had it pointed out to him. Yesterday, a select committee of MPS summoned him to Parliament to explain himself – and the change in his approach couldn’t have been more pointed. This time, he was in full grovel mode.

“I do apologise,” he said, right at the start. “I was thinking under stress... I should not have said those things... I wholeheartedly apologise…”

The interrogation lasted two hours, and he spent most of it saying sorry.

Either he’d thought long and hard about what he needed to say or he’d been rigorously well-drilled. Again and again he repeated that what had happened was “unacceptable”, and that “I don’t defend it”; any time he offered context or background, he would hastily add that “That’s not an excuse”. Was this really the man who’d protested defiantly in The Guardian?

It hardly seemed possible. He looked such a meagre, helpless sort of creature: bald, pink, soft and meekly blinking. It was as though a policeman were shining a torch in the face of a baby vole. What struck me most, though, was his nodding. Every time he spoke, he nodded almost continuously. The nods were tiny and rapid. Nod-nod-nod-nod-nod-nod. There was something pleading about it – as if to say, “I agree with everything you’ve just said, and whatever you’re about to say. Please don’t hurt me.”

Pauline Latham (Con, Mid Derbyshire) was his most effective interrogator. She didn’t rant or grandstand; she didn’t so much as raise her voice. She spoke simply and plainly, a vision of quiet disgust. “You, as an organisation, are dealing with these women and girls as if they’re just trinkets,” she said. “You’re all supposed to be good people, trying to help the world. But it would appear that you’re not as good as you should be.” Mr Goldring blinked miserably.

By the end, Stephen Twigg, the committee chairman, seemed almost to take pity on him: “It’s striking how often you’ve apologised over the last two hours. There was a lot to apologise for – but I do appreciate your tone.”

The small, helpless creature thanked him quietly and stumbled off, back to its burrow.