Mandelson scandal could be the worst yet (Image: Getty)
The attention of Parliament has turned to the Mandelson scandal once again, following the long-awaited release of the first tranche of documents revealing details of his appointment and eventual sacking. It has slowly become clear that the government would rather discuss anything else – as the Prime Minister's spokesperson's evasive riposte made abundantly plain.
But the files paint a sorry picture indeed:
• Clear evidence that Sir Keir was warned of the “reputational risk” posed by Lord Mandelson's friendship with Jeffrey Epstein.
• Warned that the appointment was “weirdly rushed” and “unusual”.
• Warned that Mandelson had stayed at Epstein's house while the financier was actually in jail.
And yet on Sir Keir pressed, appointing the noble Lord anyway, and granting him access to highly classified briefings before his vetting was even complete.
Swathes of documentation have yet to be released, and so far the Prime Minister's own views on the appointment appear mysteriously absent. But the damage, one suspects, is already done.
Scandals that capture the public imagination tend to spell doom for the occupants of No 10. When they are afforded their own name – “Suez”, “Profumo”, and now “Mandelson” – and when they captivate a sense of distrust, a feeling of dirtiness from observers, the writing appears on the wall in letters large enough for even the most optimistic backbencher to read.
Read more: Starmer breaks his silence on Mandelson files with a groveling apology
The same proved true for the Suez Crisis of 1956. Anthony Eden misled Parliament about collusion with France and Israel, and then ordered civil servants to get rid of the damaging evidence. The humiliation was total and Eden resigned within months, his reputation in tatters. As his obituary in The Times would later observe, he was “the last Prime Minister to believe Britain was a great power and the first to confront a crisis which proved she was not.”
So too with the Profumo affair of 1963. John Profumo, the Secretary of State for War, stood before the House of Commons and denied impropriety with Christine Keeler. “No impropriety whatsoever,” he declared. Weeks later the lie was exposed and he resigned in disgrace. The scandal dragged on inexorably, bringing disgrace to all associated with it. Harold Macmillan's government never recovered, and within a year the Conservatives were voted out of office.
Starmer is under pressure about his actions over Lord Mandelson (Image: Getty)
Both scandals share certain characteristics. Suggestions of dishonesty with Parliament, combined with a whiff of foreign entanglement and a sprinkling of national security concerns. Most importantly, that peculiar British combination of moral outrage and prurient fascination that, once ignited, cannot be extinguished by any amount of ministerial reassurance or damage mitigation.
Now, less than two years since Sir Keir romped home to his landslide victory, promising to restore transparency and upright morality to the halls of power, he finds himself mired in a stain of scandal that cannot be washed away. He knew about Epstein. He appointed Mandelson anyway. He granted him security clearance before vetting was complete. And when it all came tumbling down, he claimed to have been lied to.
The question that now remains is whether this scandal will claim him, as such moments have claimed those who came before. History suggests the answer may not be to his liking.