In a display of candour that was as refreshing as it was deeply alarming, the Prime Minister stood at the despatch box yesterday and confirmed what many had whispered but few expected him to breathe: he knew. He knew that Peter Mandelson had maintained his personal friendship with the late Jeffrey Epstein well after the financier’s conviction for soliciting prostitution from a child. And yet, with the nonchalance of counsel advancing an implausible brief in court, the Prime Minister sent the Dark Lord to Washington anyway.
If the legislative shackles weren’t enough, the administrative ones are even tighter
The Prime Minister’s admission was met with hushed awe in the Commons. Kemi Badenoch had to put the same question to him three times before eliciting any direct response. For the Prime Minister, having a friendship with one of the century’s most notorious predators is no longer a disqualifier from candidacy for diplomatic office, but perhaps merely a complicated line on a CV quashed by some careful press briefing.
The House of Commons responded with its nuclear option: a humble motion. By the end of the day, MPs had approved a resolution instructing the government to turn over all documents relating to Mandelson’s appointment. On paper, it looks like a victory for transparency. In reality, it leaves the Prime Minister in total control of what the public is allowed to know.
The motion dictates that sensitive papers that prejudice national security or international relations shall be handed over to the Intelligence and Security Committee (ISC). It sounds robust until one notices the gaping trapdoor in the wording.
To understand why referring information to the ISC is a convenient way to bury a secret, one must understand what the ISC actually is. Broadly, the committee is the watchdog for the nation’s spies, overseeing the work of MI5, MI6, and GCHQ. A peculiar beast in the Westminster zoo, it is the only parliamentary committee with a statutory basis, meaning its existence is enshrined in law rather than just the standing orders of the House.
However, its statutory nature is less a suit of armour and more a gilded cage. Under the Justice and Security Act 2013, the ISC’s independence is an elaborate illusion. The Prime Minister holds an absolute veto over what the committee can investigate. He personally nominates every single member of the committee. It is, in essence, a jury hand-picked by the defendant. Even if the Committee manages to write a report, the Prime Minister has the final say on what is published. If a paragraph is deemed prejudicial to national security, it is simply redacted.
If the legislative shackles weren’t enough, the administrative ones are even tighter. The Committee’s Chair has recently been vocal about a rather awkward arrangement highlighted in their latest Annual Report. The ISC’s Secretariat, the very people who do the digging and drafting, are not independent parliamentary staff. They are employees of the Cabinet Office.
This means the people tasked with helping the ISC review the conduct of the government are themselves reporting to the Cabinet Office – the very department whose role (say, in appointing a controversial peer to Washington) they are supposed to be scrutinising.
After the dust settled on yesterday’s theatrical display of accountability, where do we stand? We are precisely where the Prime Minister wants us, in a state of enlightened ignorance.
As for the documents that might explain why Mandelson was appointed, they have been funnelled into a system designed to keep secrets rather than share them. We remain entirely in the dark. And in a delicious bit of irony, the only person who can decide whether to turn on the lights regarding the conduct of the Dark Lord is the man who gave him the job in the first place.
Transparency, it seems, is a dish best served not at all.
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