SPIN DOCTORING: AN EARLY CASE

There is nothing new about this form of

treatment, says Milton Shulman. He recalls

an operation he saw over 30 years ago

THE SIGHT of Barbara Castle jabbing her finger fiercely from the rostrum of a Labour Party conference put me in mind of the last time the Labour Party was on the verge of electoral victory. Harold Wil- son had just been elected Labour's leader and the next year, 1964, he would be in Downing Street. With her red hair and piquant features, Barbara had become a fiery symbol of the left wing of Wilson's shadow Cabinet.

As soon as he took on the mantle of leadership, Wilson recognised that he would need to dominate the media, partic- ularly television, if he was ever to defeat the Tories and retain his authority over the political agenda when he became prime minister. The Kennedy-Nixon television debates convinced him that the electronic image was the key to power in the future. He recognised the significance of spin doctors long before Clinton or Blair had ever heard of them. But in 1963 they were called press officers and their duty was to keep an eagle eye on any report or com- ment that reflected adversely on Wilson or the party. Polite, sometimes indignant protests would be made in rather the same manner in which Tory protests have caused the BBC to apologise recently about the manner in which Anna Ford had questioned the Chancellor, Kenneth Clarke. Wilson himself was particularly obsessed with the influence of television and he manipulated it like a virtuoso organist aware of the nuances of every pedal, lever and stop.

As a producer of a political programme called Decision for Rediffusion Television which then had the franchise for London weekday programmes, I was well aware of the attentions of the spin doctors of those days, complaining or protesting about any- thing they considered remotely controver- sial or unfair that had been broadcast. They were particularly sensitive about bal- ance — the exact amount of time or com- ment allotted equally to both parties and my researchers were frequently being harassed by the press officers, egged on by their political masters. Both parties were guilty of this harassment and pressure but Labour, because it insisted it was constant- ly beleaguered by an overwhelmingly hos- tile Tory press, felt it deserved particular fairness on state media like television and radio.

It was a programme on Decision which sparked Harold Wilson's long war against the BBC and the commercial television companies. His ultimate revenge on the BBC was taken when in July 1967 he asked Lord Hill, the former 'radio doctor' and then the chairman of the ITA, the Corporation's chief competitor, to become chairman of the BBC, 'It was like Rommel being put in charge of Mont- gomery's Fifth Army,' commented a des- perate BBC executive.

On the day that Wilson was elected as Labour's leader in Opposition early in 1963, I invited three journalists and four politicians to come to Rediffusion's studio in Kingsway to answer three short ques- tions about him for the television cam- eras. Do you think Wilson's leadership will be good for the party? Do you think he will be good for the nation? What are Wil- son's strengths and weaknesses as a politi- cal leader?

The answers that were given were not transmitted at that time. My aim was to discover a long-term assessment, and five months later the same people were brought before the television cameras again and asked, in the light of Wilson's performance in his job, whether their opin- ions of him had changed. The programme, containing both the earlier and the later interviews, was scheduled for transmission on 16 July 1963. With so many individuals involved, I was conscious of the delicate problem of balance that had to be main- tained since I had assembled a wide politi- cal spectrum of opinions. It could be said that the journalists tended to be suspicious of Wilson, but I thought their negative bias was adequately countered by a surprising eulogy from the late right-wing journalist, Henry Fairlie, who had said, 'I think it's one of the most skilful performances by any politician, certainly in my time and possibly in this century.'

Bernard Levin disagreed: 'I believed that his short-term effect on Labour's fortunes would be very good for it. But his long-term effect, both on the party and the country, will be bad and possibly disastrous.'

To fill out the rest of the 50-minute pro- gramme there was to be a discussion between the Labour MP Barbara Castle and the Tory MP Charles Curran, to be followed by a personal interview with Wil- son conducted by Kenneth Harris which would last nine minutes.

To make sure there would be no trouble about all this I sent a transcript of the statements to Wilson's press officer, or spin doctor of the day, who told me in no uncertain terms that Wilson had no inten- tion of appearing on any programme with Bernard Levin. I was told that the taboo against Levin was due to his constantly portraying Wilson in a mocking and dep- recating light in his column. I indicated that I was not prepared to drop Levin, and for the moment I heard no more about that particular demand. With his spin doc- tors I discussed other suggestions they put forward to please their master. They want- ed another pro-Wilson commentator and I inserted a respected journalist who was willing to make a brief favourable state- ment about Wilson's record. Everything now seemed to be settled. On the agreed morning, I waited with a large camera crew for Wilson's arrival.

At 9.30 a.m. I received a message from one of his spin doctors that he wasn't com- ing. Frantically, since a great deal of effort and money was now involved, I asked to speak to him personally. His voice was cold and dismissive. He said that the mat- ter had already been fully discussed with his people and that he had no intention of talking to me any more about it. If the television company wanted to know any- thing more about the reasons for his refus- ing to appear, he would only explain those reasons to Rediffusion's general manager, Captain Brownrigg, and not to me. If a meeting could be arranged, he would turn up at 10 a.m.

Brownrigg, of course, knew nothing about the details of the programme and I had to brief him in a few short minutes about all the negotiations that had taken place. I con- fessed I wasn't precisely sure why Wilson

'Wow!'

had suddenly taken this recalcitrant stand.

Shortly afterwards, in Brownrigg's office, Wilson, accompanied by two press officers, voiced his objections to the proposed pro- gramme. He pointed out that Bernard Levin had run a sneering vendetta against him, and had even written that if Wilson ever became prime minister he would emi- grate.

I defended the balance of the pro- gramme as being, if anything, too pro-Wil- son. I also warned Brownrigg that, if Rediffusion were to remove Levin at this late stage, there would be too many people who would know, including Levin himself, that the company had caved in under party political pressure. It would be impossible for such a juicy morsel to be kept out of the papers. The publicity could only be unfavourable to the Wilson image.

Brownrigg saw the merit of this argu- ment. He thought Wilson might be letting himself in for some awkward press com- ment. Was he adamant that Levin be removed from the programme? There was a long pause.

`Oh,' said Wilson airily, puffing at his pipe, 'I don't want Levin taken out. I was just explaining why I didn't like being on the same programme with him.'

That left us all baffled. What changes, asked Brownrigg, did he want then? It turns out that Barbara Castle was the one he wanted taken off the programme. I had no objections to this surprising develop- ment, but how should I explain her ejection to her at this late stage? I needn't worry about that, Wilson reassured me, he'd explain it all to Barbara himself.

The programme was duly transmitted with Levin in and Castle out. I received a letter from Wilson thanking me for my efforts, in spite of some early difficulties, and telling me that he had received extremely favourable reports of it.

No explanation was ever offered for this sudden shift in demands, but it would appear likely that the possibility of facing ridicule for censoring a programme caused him to draw back.

Castle was probably removed because she was a prominent, vociferous member of the left wing of the party and Wilson, fac- ing an early election, was, as Tony Blair is now, trying to woo the voters by cultivating a moderate image. Barbara Castle was, at that time, just too radical for his liking.

As Wilson started, so did he go on in his efforts to cajole and intimidate televi- sion executives. Of course politicians of every persuasion have used press officers or spin doctors or personal arm-twisting on the electronic media to get favourable publicity for their parties. Harold Wilson was the most efficient and ruthless of them all. His shade must be delighted at the sight of Barbara Castle, the tormentor of his left-wing conscience, so many decades later still performing the same role, harassing his successor, Tony Blair, over his socialist credentials.