Quintin Jardine's blog

I began my working life sixty years ago, as a journalist. I wasn’t very good at it, but I was lucky enough to make the jump from poacher to gamekeeper, where I was more comfortable and successful.

Nevertheless I still think like a journalist. My values are based on those of the sixties, before the rising of the Sun when most newspapers were broadsheet rather than tabloid and truth, as viewed from either side of the fence, was valued above all else.

This morning, I am saddened by what I am reading. Specifically, a Daily Mail report touching on two broadcast incidents. In one, Tom Bradby, a respected broadcaster, is accused of calling Donald Trump a fascist during ITV’s election coverage. He didn’t. He quoted named people who had worked in the first Trump administration, and had used that term. Not only does the Mail distort his words, it portrays him as leading ‘the British liberal meltdown.’

In a subsequent section it refers to Emily Maitlis ‘mysteriously’ leaving C4 coverage, after being rebuked for swearing by her co-host. She didn’t … she attributed the term ‘batshit’ to others … and she wasn’t. She left the studio to record part of a podcast and resumed her role later.

The Nationalist, a fortunately little read publication, went further. It reported that she had been ‘pulled off’ coverage, a total misrepresentation, or to put it another way, a lie.

I know, we live in a different era. Today’s media has evolved beyond what was imaginable even thirty years ago. But surely standards shouldn’t have evolved with it. Surely truth should have remained truth, and respect should be constant.

But it hasn’t. I am now officially a dinosaur. 🦕 My worry is that there is another meteorite on the way. It may hit after I have gone, but it will swallow those I love and who remain.

Here’s what I see as today’s truth. The greatest threat to our society isn’t Trump, or Putin, or crazy Kim. It’s ourselves.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cp39q43976po

When I joined the Scottish Conservative Party in 1980, as its press officer, Michael Ancram was its chairman. I was 34, and so was he, a week younger than me. He smiled his way through the interview, because that’s how he was; an aristocrat, yes, a man of influence, yes, but without any side to him. He wasn’t simply a chair, he was a leader whom his entire staff, the Scottish backbenchers and most of the voluntary side, were happy to follow. He didn’t simply talk the talk. He put it on the line when he had to. At that time, the hot issue in Scotland was the future of the steel strip mill, Ravenscraig, in Motherwell, my home town. London would have pulled the plug on it in heartbeat but we had an election to fight in 1983. The STUC held a rally in protest against the feared closure. Michael went along; I was with him. We listened to the speeches, the fire, the brimstone; they had a case, in the short term at least. Michael whispered to me, ‘I’m going to do it.’ He stood up, was invited to speak, walked to the podium, and pledged his support and that of the Scottish party, to saving the plant. He put his job on the line, but he kept it. We went into the 1983 General Election with 21 Scottish seats, and we came out with 21. We knew that was a phenomenal resulting that climate, but it wasn’t good enough for Maggie, who had spent a total of 18 hours in Scotland in the entire campaign, and consequently knew as little about it as clearly she cared. Yes, she gave Michael a job in government in the aftermath, but on the lowest rung of the ladder, Parliamentary Under-secretary of State. Those of us who had worked for and with him saw that as an insult. Looking back, I believe was her way of controlling someone she knew would never be a yes man. Or maybe she was getting even for Ravenscraig.

Four years later, Michael lost his Edinburgh seat, which had always been marginal. By that time, I was out of politics and a director of a corporate communications firm in Edinburgh. I persuaded my colleagues that we had a need for the right non-executive director. They agreed, he and I had lunch, and he joined our board. Not long afterwards, he became our chairman too.

In 1992 politics called him back, inevitably, to a safe seat in England, a different Prime Minister, a proper job, and the respect his talent deserved, although not quite enough to see him win the leadership in 2001, when his colleagues made the mistake of choosing Ian Duncan Smith. Michael gave a lot to his country and he could have given a lot more.

My deepest sympathy to Jane, and to his family.