Chapter 6: “A Democratic Media Policy”
February 20th 1989, London
“A what?” John Smith asked. Peter grinned. John had arranged a War Cabinet for how to continue along with their plans. There had been mutterings that the Fabians and SOGAT (one of the two big Printing Unions) had thrown there lot in with Gordon after he’d gone on an impassioned tour around many different societies, and to make things worse, Bryan had managed to assemble an awkward squad of the Left to fight John. It wasn’t working as intended, a smashing unopposed win for Smith; instead it was an awkward slog.
So Peter had decided upon a trump card.
“A Televised Labour Leadership Debate, similar to the one’s in America.” Peter announced. The War Cabinet of mainly grumpy Scots and Gerald Kaufman looked at him with a sense of confusion.
“Why though?” Donald Dewar, Smith’s Right Hand Man said.
“Because then we expose Gordon and Bryan for what they are; Awkward and Arrogant respectively.” Peter said, as he thought of all the papers saying how lifeless and robotic Gordon was and how Bryan came off as a twat.
It was a plan to say the least, have the debate make them look unqualified for leadership, and then use his media connections to finish them off. Meanwhile, Smith would come off as the sensible and moderate choice who would be respectable to the public, unlike the others.
“Hmm, it seems a bit too...American for my taste,” John wobbled as Peter rolled his eyes.
“It’s a great way to reach out beyond your little comfy group though, John, an ability to reach the Labour member in the London Suburbs as well those in your stomping grounds,” Peter grumbled as he tried to get this conservative in thought to embrace new and big ideas.
“Maybe, but I’ll only agree to one, okay? the rest of the debates will be for CLP’s and Campaign events only.” John grunted, the idea of doing a televised debate seeming like pulling out finger nails.
“It’s fine, pull it off and you’ll only need one.” Peter grinned.
“If he pulls it off...and if he doesn’t?” Donald said, giving Peter the evil eye as best as he could from behind his thick glasses.
“Well, I guess we’ll have a real problem then.” Peter attacked back in a catty fashion. Donald just rolled his eyes as John looked rather worried about how things would go.
--//--
February 22nd 1989, Birmingham
Bryan had just finished a CLP event when David called him, almost screaming that he had some important news. Bryan and his compatriot Michael quickly absconded to a quiet room cluttered with disused chairs and tables with a hastily organised speakerphone, which despite the terrible connection, still achieved the job at hand.
“What’s going on?” Bryan asked, his body filled with anticipation.
“John wants to do a televised leadership debate.” David spoke “It would be him, you, and Gordon.” he finished, trying to contain his anger.
“Why would John do this?” Michael said, rather confused “It’s rather...American.” he finished, trying to grasp at why a rather conservative person would try something so radical.
“It’s Peter’s doing.” Bryan muttered to no one in particular. All the various machinations like this screamed Peter, only someone with the relative connections could manage to sort something out like this.
“Yeah, guessed as much.” David crackled through the speaker. Michael looked at Bryan who was pondering the news.
“You’re not thinking of doing it...are you?” Michael said, already guessing the answer.
“I am actually, be a good way to get the message across,” Bryan smirked, in some ways this debate equalised the contest as it allowed the candidates equal time and space to argue their points to the members.
It certainly beat awkward campaign events in dusty halls, he thought.
“From what I’ve heard there aiming for Friday the 3rd of March for the debate to occur...live broadcast.” David mentioned.
“Excellent!” Bryan grinned, causing Michael to do a double take.
“How is that excellent?” Michael asked, confused by Bryan’s chipper expression when faced with a new possibility.
“Because, you’re talking to a former TV Eye reporter Michael, I know how this goes.” Bryan carried on, his eyes betraying his glee.
Well John, let’s hope you’re ready to deal the wonders of our media establishment, Bryan thought with a dastardly air.
It was at that point that the speaker was consumed by the crackling static of a bad connection, but Bryan and Michael were able to pick out some words from David “God you...twat...” before the static consumed the connection to the speaker.
--//--
3rd of March 1989, London
It was obvious from the set that whoever the producer was, they were certainly a fan of the Channel 4’s After Dark, though instead of a fake living room set, it consisted of 4 leather chairs, seemingly suspended in a darkened void. Of course they weren’t the camera men, production staff and colleagues on the sides of the set indicated that Bryan hadn’t just entered some never ending dimension of blackness.
Probably would be preferable to dealing with Gordon, Bryan thought with a smirk. Gordon clad in a suit who’s grey tone matched his personality, was grumpily pacing off stage with Jack Straw being his only real supporter by his side. Everyone else on Gordon’s team was trying to blend in with the background in a hope that this wouldn’t implode their careers forever.
On the other side of the stage, John was chatting to Peter, and whilst looking merry, his eyes betrayed his utter lack of interest in this whole charade. Meanwhile, Bryan only had two people with him, Philip and David; the pair providing notes and ideas throughout the final moments of possible discussion.
“Excuse me folks, we’re going to be live in about ten minutes, so if everyone can get into their places,” the production assistant said as the shows presenter, David Dimbleby, strode forward to take his place for the debate. Everyone dutifully got into their places, Bryan sat in the middle between John and Gordon, as David sat within eye line of all of them.
“So then, gentlemen, ready to make history?” David said to break the ice. The two Scots didn’t look particularly amused by it.
“Depends on what you mean by making history.” Bryan smirked. No one else did.
--//--
“Hello, I’m David Dimbleby and here this evening we are doing something a bit different” Dimbleby said before the camera cut to the three candidates. “Tonight, in the first of its kind, we will be hosting a special televised debate between the three candidates for leadership of the Labour Party.” he continued before the camera cut to John.
“With me I have John Smith, Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer,” the shot holding on annoyed John for a second before cutting to Bryan.
“I also have Bryan Gould, Shadow Secretary of Trade and Industry,” the shot holding on the smirking Bryan before finally cutting to Gordon.
“And finally we have Gordon Brown, Shadow Chief Secretary to the Treasury.” the shot holding on the ever dower looking Gordon. The camera cut back to the livelier Dimbleby.
“So then gentlemen, the first topic up for discussion is of course public ownership, now two of the gentlemen here have announced that they won’t bring various industries back into public ownership.” Dimbleby said before he pointed at Bryan “Whilst one has, so I think we should ask Bryan Gould first why he doesn’t agree with his colleagues on this issue.” he smiled before everyone looked at Bryan.
“Well David, I do certainly have a habit of being the odd one out in situations like these,” Bryan chuckled before he leaned forward “The reason why I disagree on this issue with my colleagues is a simple one; I believe that Public Ownership is the best way to run and manage certain industries.” he continued preparing to make his point.
“Yes because the people want to see a return to the 1970s, don’t they?” John Smith grumbled causing Bryan to stop and turn for a second.
“And may I ask who was a member of that cabinet?” Bryan smirked as John sharply stared at him.
“As I was saying, of course I don’t recommend a return to that Crosland style Consensus, it was certainly a flawed system and Thatcher’s victory’s showcase this.” he continued “But I do think that these natural monopolies we have, were owned by the people that need them instead of those who would prefer to make a profit from them.” he leaned back in his chair as he considered where else to go.
He shifted his eyes to the side and saw Peter grinning like a maniac.
God, he’s going to try and make me look like a lunatic, he thought as the conversation went onto other topics.
--//--
“David, I don’t particularly care to the insinuations that I’m not fit for the job, I intend to be the healthiest leader that Labour has had in a while... it’s why I’m planning to reduce my alcohol allowance to two pints a day.” John grinned as the other debaters chuckled.
Damn you John, Bryan thought as he twiddled his hands. Once his engine had been started it was hard to stop the barrage of witticisms and Scottish charm.
“Now, this is the first of our audience questions, sent in before the beginning of the show, and this one is aimed at all of you,” Dimbleby stated “this one has been sent in from Fern in Manchester and she asks, if you were elected Leader of the Labour Party, would you ensure to help change the abortion law in this country?” he said seriously.
The three debaters looked at each other wondering who would go first, each rapidly formulating an answer in their head.
“Shall we go to Gordon Brown first?” Dimbleby said as he went to Brown.
“Of course David, if the mandate was there, and the people wanted us to change it then I pursue that agenda.” Gordon said, his entire tone and answer being the kind of middle of the road answer you’d expect from him.
“Now to Bryan Gould quickly,” Dimbleby rattled through, ensuring to keep an eye on the time.
“Well David, of course I would change those laws and...” Bryan started to say before a flash of brilliance came into his head “and I would openly ensure I will do everything in my power as leader of the Labour Party to change those laws...unlike some of my colleagues here.” he said smiling before looking at Smith.
Within an instance, all of John’s genial, affable air dissipated into the ether and was replaced by a furnace of annoyance and anger.
“May I ask what you’re trying to insinuate, Bryan?” John asked through gritted teeth.
“Well the fact is John is that you have stakes in this game that may mean you’d be biased to certain ideas, whilst I’d be a less biased in general.” Bryan tongue tied his way through the sentence.
“Are you saying that I would impose my beliefs on others?” John said, sounding wounded “I would never do such a thing.” he continued.
“Of course you wouldn’t John, but at the end of the day, it’s not what you would do as leader, it’s what you represent.” Bryan continued “In recent months I have heard from various women that they feel that you would be danger to them due to your beliefs... have you factored that into your plans as leader, John?” he finished, staring at John, the man’s face going through a variety of different emotions.
“As a father of four, intelligent and beautiful daughters I find the idea that I would be a danger to women and their beliefs to be ridiculous and offensive” John grunted in frustration.
“Being a father to four daughters doesn’t mean you’re an expert on women John, I'm married and have a daughter too John... doesn’t mean I’m an expert on women” Bryan smirked, pushing the knife a bit further in.
“Could we try and get the subject back on hand gentlemen.” Dimbleby said trying to get the show back on the road.
“Of course, David, I was just making a point is all.” Bryan smirked as he leaned back in his chair. John looked flummoxed as Gordon raised his hand.
“Gordon Brown” Dimbleby said, exasperated.
“Whilst Bryan and I don’t agree on a lot of things,” Gordon said, indicating to Bryan, “I do understand where he’s coming from here, and I agree with what he just said.” he said, finishing and leaning back into his chair. Bryan looked at John who resembled a confused goldfish and then looked to the side.
Peter was off to the side, silently swearing a blue streak. The image of John that had appeared; a flustered, burnt out man barely recovered from a few months ago was not one he wanted to present to anyone.
Excellent, Bryan thought as they prepared to continue with the audience questions, Bryan already knowing what would be mentioned in tomorrow’s papers.
--//--
Peter was walking with John who was furious.
“What were you thinking?” John grumbled at Peter, a man not particularly used to people answering back to him.
“It’s not my fault you shit the bed, I told you to be prepared!” Peter answered back “You can’t blame me for your woeful ability to keep it together.” he finished. John swivelled around and stared him down, Peter feeling very small against the large man before him.
“You can’t piss on me Peter and say its rain.” John grunted as he leaned closer “This is your fault, Peter, and if this leads to me fucking up, well...there’ll be hell to pay.” he finished before walking away from Peter in a huff.
Peter stood in the hallway of the BBC building and stared ahead, wondering what to do now. Everything he’d conceived wasn’t going to plan, and after this debacle, he may have to get another job.
“Fuck him, fuck him...fuck him!” he swore impotently before he kicked a wall and left to ruminate on what to do.
