The Complete Yes Minister

‘Quite, quite,’ agreed both Humphrey and Bernard.

‘But it’s the principle of the thing!’

I stopped. I waited. The ball was in his court. Surely Sir Humphrey would have something to say. But no explanation or justification was forthcoming.

Sir Humphrey just sat there, head sympathetically inclined to one side, listening, for all the world like a Freudian psychoanalyst who has been sitting at the head of a couch listening to the rantings and ravings of a neurotic patient.

After he’d said nothing for quite a long time, I realised that he didn’t realise that the ball was in his court.

‘Why?’ I asked.

Sir Humphrey jumped, and focused his eyes in my direction. ‘Why what?’ he replied. ‘Why surveillance, or why you?’

‘Both.’

‘In any case,’ he smiled blandly, ‘it’s the same answer.’

My blood boiled. ‘Then why,’ I snapped, ‘did you split it into two questions?’

There was no reply to that.

[Sir Humphrey could hardly explain to Hacker that he did not want to risk answering a question that Hacker had not asked – Ed.]

Then Humphrey began his general explanation. ‘I should have thought it was perfectly obvious. Before the election it was rumoured that you might be appointed Secretary of State for Defence. If the PM were to consider giving you Defence, you can surely see that it would be in the national interest for MI5 to satisfy itself that you were not a security risk?’

‘But my privacy was invaded,’ I pointed out.

He smiled his smuggest smile. ‘Better than your country being invaded, Minister.’

I must say, I could see that point. There was a valid argument there.

But I was sure that Humphrey had never experienced the feeling that I was feeling. And democracy is about the feelings and rights of the individual – that’s what distinguishes a democracy from a dictatorship.

I said to him: ‘Have you ever been under surveillance, Humphrey?’

He was astounded. ‘Me?’

‘You. You, Humphrey.’

He got on to his highest horse. ‘I am a civil servant,’ he said, as if that absolutely closed the discussion.

‘So were Burgess and Maclean, and Philby,’ I observed.

He was rattled, but he swiftly produced a counter-argument. ‘They were not Permanent Secretaries! One becomes a Permanent Secretary only after a lifetime of personal responsibility, reliability and integrity. The most rigorous selection procedures winnow out all but the most upright, honourable and discreet of public servants.’

I noted the emphasis on ‘discreet’. The secrecy thing again, here openly acknowledged. I also noted that in giving this glowing description of Permanent Secretaries he thought that he was, in fact, describing himself. And I also noted that he had begged the question: even if Permanent Secretaries are never security risks, Humphrey said that he had never been bugged. But he hasn’t been a Permanent Secretary all his life, has he?

As Humphrey had described the qualities of Permanent Secretaries in a way that argued that they need not be subject to surveillance, I inquired how he felt about Ministers. It was as I expected.

‘Ministers,’ he said, ‘have a whole range of dazzling qualities including . . . um . . . well, including an enviable intellectual suppleness and moral manoeuvrability.’

I invited him to explain himself.

‘You can’t trust Ministers,’ he said bluntly. I was appalled at his rudeness. ‘I’m being quite candid now,’ he added unnecessarily. Bloody insolent, I’d call it. ‘I don’t mean, by the way, that we can’t trust you, Minister – of course we can. But in general terms Ministers, unlike civil servants, are selected completely at random – by Prime Ministerial whim, in recognition of doubtful favours received, or to avoid appointing someone of real ability who might become a threat – not you, of course, Minister. You can certainly be trusted. You might almost be a civil servant yourself.’

[Sir Humphrey almost certainly meant this as a compliment. Indeed, the ultimate compliment. However, Hacker should certainly have taken this as a hint that he might be house-trained. Regrettably, he allowed the flattery to get the better of him – Ed.]

I was mollified. I didn’t think he was bullshitting.

I let him continue. ‘Minister, would you trust every one of your Cabinet colleagues never to betray a confidence?’

I couldn’t really give an answer to that, without appearing somewhat disloyal to my Cabinet colleagues.

‘And what about all the Opposition Front Bench?’ he asked.

That was an easy one. ‘You certainly can’t trust that lot,’ I exclaimed.

‘Quite so,’ he said, checkmating me neatly, ‘and you were on the Opposition Front Bench at the time.’