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What Nick Clegg doesn't know can still get him into trouble What Nick Clegg doesn't know can still get him into trouble
(about 1 hour later)
It ain't what you know that gets you into trouble, as the 19th-century humorist Josh Billings once said: it's what you think you know that just ain't so. Which only goes to show what a lousy politician he would have made, since the art of not knowing seems increasingly central to contemporary leadership.It ain't what you know that gets you into trouble, as the 19th-century humorist Josh Billings once said: it's what you think you know that just ain't so. Which only goes to show what a lousy politician he would have made, since the art of not knowing seems increasingly central to contemporary leadership.
The previous director general Mark Thompson was, famously, almost the only man at the BBC not to have heard the rumours about Jimmy Savile. Bank executives paid millions for their world-class management skills didn't know, until the crash, what precisely their traders were doing to make so much money. And Nick Clegg had never heard about the women queueing up to accuse his close aide Lord Rennard of having "octopus hands" until Channel 4 News told him. Ignorance may have been bliss for them: less so the rest of us. Former director general Mark Thompson was, famously, almost the only man at the BBC not to have heard the rumours about Jimmy Savile. Bank executives paid millions for their world-class management skills didn't know, until the crash, what precisely their traders were doing to make so much money. And Nick Clegg had never heard about the women queueing up to accuse his close aide Lord Rennard of having "octopus hands" until Channel 4 News told him. Not, it now turns out, that it can exactly have been a surprise: he was finally forced to admit on Sunday night that some "indirect and non-specific concerns" did reach his office in 2008; his then chief of staff (now cabinet colleague) Danny Alexander confronted Rennard about them; and that, apparently, was that.
The twin inquiries now belatedly launched into the specific allegations against Rennard, which he categorically denies, and into the handling of the original investigation, are already stirring all sorts of dark things lurking in the undergrowth. The panel is already being asked to look more widely at everything from the late Cyril Smith's reported predilection for young boys to the Portsmouth MP Mike Hancock's tangled love life, and has also come under pressure from those who feel it should be externally led. With Vicky Pryce's retrial this week casting an unforgiving spotlight once again on Chris Huhne, Lib Dem men must long for the old days of being merely ridiculed for their sandals. What started off as a sex scandal is rapidly turning into a much bigger crisis over the Liberal Democrat leader's integrity, thanks to a statement that raises almost as many questions as it answers. What exactly did he hear, from whom? Didn't he try to nail this vague gossip down? There is an awful lot suddenly riding on the twin inquiries belatedly launched both into the specific allegations against Rennard – which he categorically denies – and the original handling of them.
But the party's current chief executive, Tim Gordon, has done the right thing in opening what is likely to be a thoroughly uncomfortable can of worms, and apologising for the way the party "did not fully live up to our political ideals" in its original scrappy handling of the affair. Whatever the truth of the allegations against Rennard, Clegg's party has mismanaged them in ways it should be thoroughly ashamed of, leaving the women feeling betrayed and humiliated and Rennard insisting that he was never aware of a single complaint against him. For that the leader should apologise himself: if he didn't know that the most pivotal figure in his political machine was accused of sexually exploiting his position, then he should have, and one can only speculate as to why those closest to him failed to tell him. Meanwhile, dark things are stirring in the Lib Dem undergrowth. The panel is already being asked to look more widely at everything from the late Cyril Smith's reported predilection for young boys to the Portsmouth MP Mike Hancock's tangled love life, and has also come under pressure from those who feel it should be externally led. With Vicky Pryce's retrial this week casting an unforgiving spotlight once again on Chris Huhne, Lib Dem men must long for the old days of being merely ridiculed for their sandals.
Labour and the Tories would be wise, however, to search for motes in their own eyes before jeering too loudly at this particular beam in Clegg's. Let's just say that over 15 years as a political reporter, a job that necessitates much getting stuck in hotel bars late at night with politicians, I've only been chased around the dinner table once or twice, but neither time involved Chris Rennard. And it's the young women with least freedom to tell such stories who usually have the most lurid ones to tell: the researcher who knows her political career is over if she complains about the MP constantly brushing up against her, the junior press officer who daren't report the senior guy's revolting late night texts. Or the Tory frontbencher's wife who once told me she had quickly learned not to stand within reach of the local party bigwig with a compulsion for pinching bottoms. This isn't just a Lib Dem thing, or a Westminster thing, or some sort of retro 70s thing that doesn't really happen any more, the myth initially peddled about the culture that protected Jimmy Savile for so long. The party's current chief executive, Tim Gordon, was right to open what is likely to be a thoroughly uncomfortable can of worms, and apologise for the way the party "did not fully live up to [its] political ideals" in its original scrappy handling of the affair. Whatever the truth of the allegations against Rennard, Clegg's party has mismanaged them in ways it should be thoroughly ashamed of, leaving the women feeling betrayed and humiliated and Rennard insisting that he was never aware of a single complaint against him. If the leader didn't know precisely what was going on with such a pivotal figure in his electoral machine, then he should have done, and one can only speculate as to why his curiosity seems to have deserted him.
And it's not even just a woman thing, as the four priests now accusing the leader of the Catholic church in Scotland, Cardinal Keith O'Brien, of inappropriate advances suggest. (O'Brien has denied the allegations.) One wonders whether those dinosaurs who regularly ask why women can't maintain a sense of humour about these things – oh, the hilarity of a hand shoved down one's dress! – find it quite so funny when it happens to men. Labour and the Tories would be wise, however, to search for motes in their own eyes before jeering too loudly at this particular beam in Clegg's. Let's just say that over 15 years as a political reporter, a job that necessitates much getting stuck in hotel bars late at night with politicians, I've only been chased around the dinner table once or twice, but neither time involved Chris Rennard. And it's the young women with least freedom to tell such stories who usually have the most lurid ones to tell: the researcher who knows her political career is over if she complains about the MP constantly brushing up against her, the junior press officer who daren't report the senior guy's revolting late night texts. Or the Tory frontbencher's wife who once told me she had quickly learned not to stand within reach of the local party bigwig with a compulsion for pinching bottoms.
Things might have been different if women weren't so hopelessly outnumbered in the Liberal Democrat party, of course, although it's worth pointing out that the initial efforts to investigate Rennard beneath the radar seem to have involved the two women closest to Clegg, his chief of staff Alison Suttie and his protege Jo Swinson. But merely propelling more women into positions of power, where they can huddle together for safety, isn't enough. Sexual harassment is not just about sex but about the one thing politicians are supposed to understand, the use and abuse of power: as one of the priests accusing O'Brien put it, a bishop "has immense power over you ... he controls every aspect of your life". This isn't just a Lib Dem thing, or a Westminster thing, or some sort of retro 70s thing that doesn't really happen any more, the myth initially peddled about the culture that protected Jimmy Savile for so long. It's not even just a woman thing, as the four priests now accusing the leader of the Catholic church in Scotland, Cardinal Keith O'Brien, of inappropriate advances suggest. (O'Brien has denied the allegations.) One wonders whether those dinosaurs who regularly ask why women can't maintain a sense of humour about these things – oh, the hilarity of a hand shoved down one's dress! – find it quite so funny when it happens to men.
Things might have been different if women weren't so hopelessly outnumbered in the Liberal Democrat party, of course, although it's worth pointing out that the initial efforts to investigate Rennard beneath the radar seem to have involved the two women closest to Clegg, his chief of staff Alison Suttie and his protege Jo Swinson. But merely propelling more women into positions of power, where they can huddle together for safety, isn't enough. Sexual harassment is not just about sex but about the one thing politicians are supposed to understand, the use and abuse of power: as one of the priests accusing O'Brien put it, a bishop "has immense power over you … he controls every aspect of your life".
Whatever turns out to be the truth of that case, it is rarely a good idea for anyone to wield great power without scrutiny, or for any one person in an organisation to become essentially too big a star to fail. Rennard was a legend in his time, the man whose money the bookies wouldn't take because of his uncanny ability to tell which way an election was blowing, and successive leaders from Charles Kennedy onwards leaned heavily on him. That proves nothing about his guilt or his innocence, but it suggests a powerful motive for tiptoeing around any awkward allegations.Whatever turns out to be the truth of that case, it is rarely a good idea for anyone to wield great power without scrutiny, or for any one person in an organisation to become essentially too big a star to fail. Rennard was a legend in his time, the man whose money the bookies wouldn't take because of his uncanny ability to tell which way an election was blowing, and successive leaders from Charles Kennedy onwards leaned heavily on him. That proves nothing about his guilt or his innocence, but it suggests a powerful motive for tiptoeing around any awkward allegations.
And in any industry where the stakes are high, egos powerful and management weak – whether it's politics or Premier League football, showbusiness or banking – it's possible for talent to begin to think itself untouchable. Some will invariably take advantage, whether by groping or bullying underlings or breaking the law. And so a sex scandal can really be a canary down the mine, a visible symptom of an intimidated leadership that has lost control of an organisation, with repercussions that may go far wider than the immediate victims. With hindsight, the sexism rife in the City before the crash was a flashing neon warning sign of a culture where traders felt they could do what the hell they liked so long as they were making money.And in any industry where the stakes are high, egos powerful and management weak – whether it's politics or Premier League football, showbusiness or banking – it's possible for talent to begin to think itself untouchable. Some will invariably take advantage, whether by groping or bullying underlings or breaking the law. And so a sex scandal can really be a canary down the mine, a visible symptom of an intimidated leadership that has lost control of an organisation, with repercussions that may go far wider than the immediate victims. With hindsight, the sexism rife in the City before the crash was a flashing neon warning sign of a culture where traders felt they could do what the hell they liked so long as they were making money.
Politics has long had a culture of deniability, whereby leaders' offices are carefully shielded from the dirtier aspects of the business on the grounds that what they don't know they can't be asked about: it would be naive to think that will ever die. But as this affair is now proving, what you don't know can still get you into trouble if it turns out you really should have known. So the five-strong panel asked by Tim Gordon to investigate their party's murkier recesses should take the brief at face value and get digging before someone else does. It's one of the times when Billings was right: you really can't know enough. Politics has long had a culture of deniability, whereby leaders' offices are carefully shielded from the dirtier aspects of the business on the grounds that what they don't know they can't be asked about: it would be naive to think that will ever die. But as this affair is now proving, what you don't know – or only half-knew – can still get you into trouble if you really should have known. Clegg now needs to get the whole truth out there before it's dragged from him, because this is one of those times where Billings was right: you really can't know enough.
• This article will be opened to comments in the morning • This article was updated at 20:40 on 24 February 2013 in the light of Nick Clegg's statement
• Comments will be opened in the morning