A V- sign sign from Mo. . . and why U. S. senators didn’t like ‘ snooty’ Mandelson
MO MOWLAM reached the zenith of her powers as Secretary of State for Northern Ireland just as I arrived in America. She was an inspired choice for the job. Nobody could have been better suited to the task of winning a fair hearing in Washington for what Tony Blair was trying to do.
She had been treated for a brain tumour, which had left her bald, and she had the disconcerting habit of adjusting her wig or taking it off when you least expected it.
The first thing she did when we met was to test me either by doing the wig number or belching, I forget which. It was clear what was going through her mind: ‘ Is this a pinstriped twit or what?’
We got on quite well at that first meeting, and ended up good friends. But her visits to Washington were never easy.
There was no escaping a hard day on Capitol Hill, facing Congress’s powerful Irish lobby to rebut the latest crop of republican allegations against us.
The senators and congressmen would be primed by Sinn Fein, and if not on top of all the detail themselves, they had staff whispering in their ears who were. Mo handled this well. Her combination of candour, lack of pomposity and tough talking earned her respect and credibility on the Hill and in the administration. It helped also to be a woman in a wig.
Her skills were instinctive and political. At one point in a particularly vigorous exchange with the House Committee on Ireland, she addressed Congressman Peter King, one of Sinn Fein’s closest supporters, with ‘ Up yours, King!’ and a V- sign. A moment’s stunned silence was followed by chuckles and grins. King later invited Mowlam to join him on a visit to his Long Island stronghold.
Mo’s great gift was that she could ‘ speak’ American. Europeans divide into those who can ‘ speak’ American and those who cannot.
This is not a narrow linguistic point. It means having the ability to slip naturally into the American idiom.
Peter Mandelson, Mo’s successor as Northern Ireland Secretary, could never do it, for all his intellectual brilliance. He managed profoundly to irritate the IrishAmericans of Capitol Hill, who are ultrasensitive to any hint of being patronised by snooty Brits.
The feeling was mutual. Handling the rough and tumble of debate with IrishAmericans was not among Peter’s armoury of formidable political skills.
Mo’s finest hour was just before the Good Friday deal in 1998. As guest of honour at the embassy’s St Patrick’s Day celebrations, she was greeted by roaring applause and feted by all.
It was heady stuff. Clinton paid her particular attention over lunch next day.
At the White House reception that evening, we ran into Michael Flatley, who was at the height of his Riverdance fame. One of Mo’s staff had a camera. Flatley assumed that she would want to be photographed with him.
To his mystification, she handed him the camera and asked him to take a photo of our group. Flatley did so. Mo took back the camera, thanked him and walked off, leaving Flatley mouthing like a goldfish. Mo became particularly close to Hillary Clinton, and on one occasion I went over to the White House to pick her up after they had gathered with other members of Washington’s female elite.
As I waited outside the room where they were chatting, I heard peal upon peal of laughter. I asked Mo what had been so funny. ‘ Hillary told a dirty joke,’ said Mo, grinning. Mo blazed like a comet across the firmament, but her light was as transitory as it was brilliant.
She remarked to me that her poll ratings were higher than Blair’s. When he mentioned her in his party conference speech, Mo won a standing ovation.
‘ This spells trouble for her,’ my wife and I said to each other. It did.
In truth, her star was already burning out. There was briefing against her in British newspapers. She suspected the hand of Downing Street. She may have been right.
Clinton never again gave her the same level of attention, and her visit to Washington for the 1999 St Patrick’s Day celebrations was not a happy affair. It is a cruel city for those perceived to be in political decline.
Even in Mo’s pomp there was always a dark side to the good humour and backslapping of these Irish dinners and jamborees.
Towards the end of the Clinton years, I began to detect a resentment in the White House towards visiting Ulster politicians: so ready to take the lavish hospitality offered them, so ready to return to the ancient feuds once they were home.
I also saw, behind the masks of bonhomie, the single- mindedness of Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness in pursuit of political advantage.
They moved through Washington as smoothly as sharks in warm water. Whatever else they were, or had been, they were politicians to their wholly at ease surroundings.
It helped, of course, to have powerful friends at court. By contrast, there was something terribly awkward and admirable about the likes of David Trimble, Seamus Mallon, John Alderdice and the others who were Sinn Fein’s political opponents.
After a lunch in March 2001, attended by George Bush and leading figures from both sides of the Irish divide, I stood at the top of the Capitol steps with the other guests to bid farewell to the President.
As Bush headed down the steps to get into his car, I saw that Adams had somehow managed fingertips, in their to insert himself into the small knot of American politicians who were escorting the President. He had a brief, smiling exchange with Bush. Cameras were flashing and rolling. What a photo opportunity for Adams and Sinn Fein! What a coup!
I whispered to the other Northern Ireland party leaders, standing gauche and uncomfortable alongside me: ‘ For Christ’s sake, get down the bloody steps before it’s too late!’ It was too late. ABRIDGED extract from DC Confidential by Christopher Meyer, published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson tomorrow at £20. © Christopher Meyer 2005. To order a copy for £16 (inc p&p, please add £1.60 for overseas p&p), call 01903 828503 quoting JA006.