Walter Humes
The sad puzzlement of Gordon Brown

Have you noticed the look of sad puzzlement that sometimes appears on Gordon Brown's face when he is caught unawares on camera? The current prime minister, unlike his predecessor, to whom polished insincerity came naturally, is not a comfortable media performer. His best look is when he puffs out his chest, holds his head high and pronounces authoritatively in a manner that is almost statesmanlike. He also comes across reasonably well when engaging in the cut and thrust of parliamentary debate, though the mobile lower lip as he delivers the punch-line can be a little disconcerting. His efforts to smile more often, doubtless on the advice of some overpaid image consultant, have been utterly disastrous, the cringe-making rictus that resulted provoking universal ridicule. Common sense should have suggested that years of Tony Blair's cheesy grin had ensured that smiling politicians would go out of fashion for a while.
     But it is the look of sad puzzlement that intrigues me. Here is a man who has spent most of his life in politics, who has worked hard to achieve high office, who has shown courage and resilience in the face of harsh criticism, not only from the opposition but also within his own party, and who has to shoulder immense responsibilities on a daily basis, including the terrible burden of managing a military campaign. His motivation to enter politics was evident from his student days and a desire to promote greater social justice has been a recurring theme of his speeches.
     I have recently been looking at the book he co-edited with the late Robin Cook, entitled 'Scotland: the Real Divide'. It was published in 1983, in the early years of the Thatcher government, and expresses a deep concern that issues of poverty and deprivation would be sidelined as the ideology of the New Right gained ascendancy. Brown's own chapter exhibits the features we have become used to in his later pronouncements as chancellor and prime minister: an impressive command of the statistics on welfare benefits, unemployment and the distribution of wealth; a defence of the public sector and an attack on the Tories' zealotry in promoting 'the market' as the solution to all problems; a passionate commitment to reducing inequality and improving opportunities.
     He poses the question: 'How much support is there for an egalitarian ideology that argues people are, by nature, more cooperative than they are appetitive, and suggests people's aspirations are shaped less by the desire for wealth, status or power, than by a desire to gain job satisfaction, to serve the community, or to develop their own potential?' I wonder how he would answer that question now, in the light of his experience of more than a decade in government and the fall-out from the culture of greed which triggered the banking crisis.
     Let me suggest one possible explanation for the confused expression that surfaces from time to time. He has come to realise that even the power that goes with the highest political office in the land cannot command the social revolution that he wished for as a young man. For Tony Blair that was not a problem, since he never espoused the kind of idealism that was the driving force for Gordon Brown. Moreover, Blair's narcissism means that, even though his standing has fallen dramatically among the public, he can convince himself that he was right all along, albeit with the aid of conversion to a forgiving brand of religion.
     Brown, for all his faults, was always more principled in his thinking and actions, and this means that the questions 'Has it all been worthwhile?', 'Have I made a difference?' will always trouble him much more. No doubt his upbringing as a son of the manse has contributed to this. So when he sees that in important respects multinational companies, global financiers and media magnates exercise more power than he does, it is bound to be rather depressing.
     Similarly, his failure to reduce significantly the gap between the rich and the poor, and between those youngsters who do well at school and those who do not achieve their potential, must be a source of real disappointment. Thus, in those rare quiet moments as he moves from one appointment on his busy schedule to the next, he is bound to reflect on how far he has failed to live up to his youthful ambitions. It is perhaps at such moments that the look of sad puzzlement comes unbidden to his face.
     Politicians often say that their trade is about policies, not personalities. I beg to differ. Much of what happens in politics can be explained by the deepest needs of driven individuals – for recognition, for respect, for power – and by the conflicts which arise when strong characters confront each other. I am not just thinking of extreme psychopathic personalities, such as Hitler or Stalin. Those who are subject to the constraints of democratic systems of government are also worthy of psychological analysis. In Brown and Blair we have two interesting, and contrasting, case studies. And, of course, on mainland Europe we have the fascinating example of Berlusconi.