Fraser Nelson

Iain Duncan Smith must have dreamed about the moment he would stun the Blair government into silence. Derision was the government’s main response to his interventions when he was Conservative leader and, even a year after his ‘quiet man’ conference speech, Labour MPs still amused themselves by saying ‘sshh’ when he rose to speak in the Chamber. Now, after three years spent thinking and rebuilding his political identity, he has returned to the front line with a report on social breakdown — and one to which Labour seems quite unable to respond. IDS’s Social Justice Commission was set up to address the break-up of families, a social trend which has vastly accelerated under Labour.

When Ernest Bevin was appointed to run Britain’s wartime economy, he saw his chance to fix policy for decades. When Ernest Bevin was appointed to run Britain’s wartime economy, he saw his chance to fix policy for decades. ‘They say Gladstone was at the Treasury from 1860 to 1930’, he declared. ‘Well, I will be at the Ministry of Labour from 1940 to 1990.’ Bevin was out in five years, and dead in another six. But Gordon Brown is made of sterner stuff. The Chancellor firmly intends to be at the Treasury — spiritually, if not physically — from 1997 until 2017, and he started legislating with that goal in mind nine years ago.

Fraser Nelson reveals the mounting fury within the intelligence community at ministers’ failure to set in place a serious framework for smashing Islamic terrorism. Too little too late is the angry verdict of the spooks Throughout their history, James Bond films have shown an eerie ability to predict national security threats. Dr No (1962) looked beyond the Cold War towards a new brand of international terrorism. In Goldfinger (1964) the menace was rogue nuclear weapons, and in Moonraker (1979), biological warfare. In Casino Royale, released this week, Bond fights terrorists by cutting off their sources of funding — precisely the mission which Gordon Brown has set himself in real life. The tragedy for Britain is that this time both 007 and the Chancellor have got it wrong.

The most famous political quotations come not from politicians but the wickedness of headline writers. Although Jim Callaghan never said ‘Crisis? What crisis?’, the phrase stuck because it seemed to sum up perfectly his psychological denial during the Winter of Discontent. It was a newspaper, not Thomas Jefferson (or even Thomas Paine), which declared ‘that government is best which governs least’. So it scarcely matters that David Cameron never actually said ‘hug a hoodie’ — the words seemed a credible summation of his approach to crime. It is enough, anyway, for Labour to declare war.

There is something comically surreal about the ten-year plans Tony Blair has commissioned across his Cabinet. A Prime Minister who will not last another ten months is asking his Cabinet to agree a strategy in four areas of policy. No one engaged in the process is in any doubt about its futility. Soon Gordon Brown will be prime minister and his own, deeply personal strategy will be the only one that matters. All activity until then is hopelessly cosmetic. It is in this spirit that ministers are preparing for the Queen’s Speech on 15 November.

The perfect political U-turn is formed by an arc that curves so gradually that it is difficult to perceive any change of direction. Even now it is hard to pinpoint when, exactly, the British government gave up on Iraq. But in Westminster the mood change is discernible and the new direction clear. An inflection point has been reached where hope of a democratic, stable country — the original vision at the time of invasion — has been abandoned. The mission is now defined as handing over Iraq to the Iraqis, whether stable or not. The pace is being set in Washington, as it was in the months before the invasion.

The idea of cultural wars is as alien to the British nation as the word Kulturkampf is to the English language. In America, of course, such conflict is routine, as parties clash over issues like gay marriage, abortion and affirmative action. But Britain has never had much time for such confrontation. From time to time, specific loyalties divide the country — Charles or Diana, Thatcher or Kinnock, Mods or Rockers, Roundhead or Cavalier — but never before a clash of civilisations. Yet many in Westminster believe that culture wars are about to become an integral part of our politics. Jack Straw, the minister who started the present row about the Muslim veil, flatly denies accusations of bravery.

The House of Commons has scarcely been back a week and already opportunities are falling from the sky for David Cameron. Government failures are spectacular and ubiquitous. Prisons are overflowing, hospital wards are closing and unemployment is rising. Casualty rates are high in Afghanistan and Britain has effectively lost Basra to warring militias. On every front Labour looks embattled, exhausted — and there for the taking. This is happening at a rather inconvenient time for the Conservatives. It has not yet finished its image makeover, the policy review is a year away and Mr Cameron is adamant that he will not bring forward the timetable. But, at Tory headquarters, there is an acceptance that firm proposals are needed to take on an imploding government.

For the first time in perhaps a decade, not a drop of blood has been shed on the floor of a Conservative party conference. What was for so many years a vicious gladiatorial arena this week turned into a serene botanical garden. According to precedent, this should have been the conference when David Cameron faced protest from a party which he has dragged through all manner of ideological contortions. But instead, he received the polite applause of an optimistic audience. It is not at all natural. Nor was it particularly helpful. The script which Conservative managers had written for the week was one where Mr Cameron and his lieutenants would demonstrate his steely resolve by facing down the wicked ‘Tory Right’.

Conservatives can send only one official observer to the Labour party conference, which is a shame because a few days in the febrile, fratricidal atmosphere in Manchester would have been a tonic to Tory spirits. From the bar of the Radisson hotel, one could witness plotting of the most poisonous and spectacular kind. Rival camps would nod to each other across the room, even as they cheerfully briefed against each other. The instinct for self-preservation seemed to be draining from this party, leaving behind the most extraordinary opportunity for David Cameron. As they gather for their conference next week in Bournemouth, the Conservatives intend to move to a new phase which they describe, rather obviously, as a ‘focus on Britain’ rather than the party.

Naming the likely winners and losers in a Gordon Brown government has become a favourite parlour game among the political class. Enthusiastic supporters of Tony Blair’s agenda are routinely tipped for a long spell in political Siberia. Anyone with a Scottish accent or an aptitude for statistics is tipped for the top. Brownite MPs have found themselves being asked what the future holds — as if they were keepers of a great secret. The blunt truth is that everyone is in the dark. Or almost everyone, anyway.

Given the choice between a drunken Charles Kennedy and a sober Sir Menzies Campbell — to adapt the Times’s famous comparison of George Brown and Harold Wilson — we now know that the Liberal Democrat high command chose the former. There were four frontbenchers gathered in a room in March 2004 when they received first-hand confirmation that they were indeed being led by an alcoholic. This explained his mysterious absences, his slurred words in morning meetings and general level of inactivity. So the quartet, including Sir Menzies, took a unanimous decision: to do nothing. It mattered little. Leadership is not so important to today’s Lib Dems, who have become more of a shapeless organism than a structured political party, thriving in places where one would not expect.

Each autumn the Labour party performs a ritualistic drama. First, trade unionists and left-wingers talk darkly about insurrection at the annual party conference. Blair must go, they say. At conference fringe meetings, such whispers become a full-blown war cry. Next Gordon Brown gives a rousing speech, laying out his rival vision of the future. There is talk of mutiny even as the Prime Minister comes on stage. But as he starts his oration, his audience is quickly spellbound. Rebels fall silent. Then applaud. Then coo. Then everyone boards the train back to London and the new parliamentary term begins. This year the show has finally moved on.

Last weekend I was sternly assured by a shadow Cabinet member that the Conservatives would resist the temptation to attack the government over the terrorism arrests. ‘The only people who benefit when an opposition starts playing politics with the issue are the terrorists,’ he declared. Things must have seemed rather different in David Cameron’s holiday villa in Corfu. A few hours after he arrived at Gatwick airport, partisan hostilities were resumed. Labour’s complaint — that the Tory leader was ‘playing politics’ with terrorism — was as predictable as it was sanctimonious. Since the alleged terrorist plot came to light at 6 a.m. on 10 August everyone has been playing at politics, with varying degrees of success.

Since David Cameron announced plans to change the Conservative party’s logo, derisive suggestions have come pouring in. A white flag to depict ideological surrender, perhaps, a spinning weathervane or a sinking Titanic. There have been so many spoofs that the favourite to succeed the ‘torch of freedom’ — a green tree — also looks like a hoax. It is intended to represent security, environmentalism and Englishness. It is simply bad luck that it is so similar to the national flag of Lebanon. Perhaps there is a subliminal message here. Last weekend, Mr Cameron firmly backed William Hague in saying that ‘elements of the Israeli response [to Hezbollah] were disproportionate... and I think the Prime Minister should have said that’.