The Complete Yes Minister

‘They can’t kill that many people, can they?’

‘I suppose not,’ I agreed, with a little smile to show that I realised that perhaps I’d been a bit naive.

But Vic had still not finished with the insults. He sneered at me again. ‘And you want to blow it all in a fit of moral self-indulgence.’

Clearly moral self-indulgence was the most disgusting thing Vic had ever come across. I felt very small.

He sat back in his chair, sighed, then grinned at me and offered me a cigarette. And dropped the bombshell.

‘After all,’ he smiled, ‘the PM is thinking of you as the next Foreign Secretary.’

I was astounded. Of course it’s what I’ve always wanted, if Martin’s ever kicked upstairs. But I didn’t know the PM knew.

I declined his offer of a cigarette. He lit up, and relaxed. ‘Still, if it’s martydom you’re after,’ he shrugged, ‘go ahead and press for an enquiry. Feel free to jeopardise everything we’ve all fought for and worked for together all these years.’

I hastily explained that that wasn’t what I wanted at all, that of course it is appalling if terrorists are getting British bomb detonators, but there’s no question that (as Vic had so eloquently explained it) one has a loyalty, the common purpose, and things must be put in perspective.

He nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, making a concession to my original point of view, ‘if you were at the Ministry of Defence or the Board of Trade . . .’

I interrupted. ‘Exactly. Absolutely. Ministry of Defence problem. Department of Trade problem. I see that now.’ It’s just what Humphrey had been trying to say to me, in fact.

We fell silent, both waiting, sure that the problem was now resolved. Finally Vic asked if we could hold it over for the time being, so that we could avoid upsetting and embarrassing the PM.

I agreed that we could. ‘In fact,’ I admitted, rather ashamed of my naivety, ‘I’m sorry I mentioned it.’

‘Good man,’ said Vic paternally. I don’t think he was being ironic, but you can never tell with Vic.

September 10th

Annie had spent the latter part of the week in the constituency, so I wasn’t able to get her advice on my meeting with Vic until this weekend.

Not that I really needed advice. By today it was quite clear to me what I had to do. I explained to Annie over a nightcap of Scotch and water.

‘On balance I thought the right thing was to let sleeping dogs lie. In the wider interest. As a loyal member of the government. Nothing to be gained by opening a whole can of worms.’

She argued, of course. ‘But the Major said they were terrorists.’

I couldn’t blame her for taking such a naive approach. After all, even I had made the same mistake till I’d thought it all through properly.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But we bombed Dresden. Everyone’s a terrorist in a way, aren’t they?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, and gave me a look which defied me to disagree with her.

I had overstated it a bit. ‘No, well, but metaphorically they are,’ I added. ‘You ought to meet the Chief Whip, he certainly is.’

Annie pursued me. She didn’t understand the wider interest, the more sophisticated level on which decisions like this have to be reached. ‘But someone in Britain is giving bombs to murderers,’ she reiterated.

‘Not giving,’ I corrected her. ‘Selling.’

‘That makes it okay, does it?’

I told her to be serious, and to think it through. I explained that an investigation could uncover all sorts of goings-on.

She wasn’t impressed with this argument.

‘Ah, I see,’ she smiled sadly. ‘It’s all right to investigate if you might catch one criminal, but not if you might catch lots of them.’

‘Not if they’re your Cabinet colleagues, that’s right!’ She’d got the point now. But she sighed and shook her head. Clearly, she had not yet taken my new line on board. So I persisted. I really wanted her to understand. And to agree.

‘Annie, Government is a very complex business. There are conflicting considerations.’

‘Like whether you do the right thing or the wrong thing?’

I was infuriated. I asked her what else she suggested that I could do. She told me to take a moral stand. I told her I’d already tried that. She told me I hadn’t tried hard enough. I asked what else I could do. She told me to threaten resignation. I told her that they’d accept it.

And once out of office there’s no going back. No one ever resigned on a matter of principle, except a few people with a death wish. Most resignations that are said to be based on principle are in reality based on hard-nosed political calculations.

‘Resignation might be a sop to my conscience and to yours,’ I explained, ‘but it won’t stop the arms supply to the terrorists.’

‘It might,’ she retorted, ‘if you threaten to tell what you know.’