Review:
Politics on the Edge, by Rory Stewart
| Publisher: |
Penguin Books |
| Copyright: |
2023, 2025 |
| Printing: |
2025 |
| ISBN: |
979-8-217-06167-9 |
| Format: |
Kindle |
| Pages: |
429 |
Rory Stewart is a former British diplomat, non-profit executive, member of
Parliament, and cabinet minister.
Politics on the Edge is a memoir
of his time in the UK Parliament from 2019 to 2019 as a Tory
(Conservative) representing the Penrith and The Border constituency in
northern England. It ends with his failed run against Boris Johnson for
leader of the Conservative Party and Prime Minister.
This book provoked many thoughts, only some of which are about the book.
You may want to get a beverage; this review will be long.
Since this is a memoir told in chronological order, a timeline may be
useful. After Stewart's time as a regional governor in occupied Iraq
(see
The Prince of the Marshes), he
moved to Kabul to found and run an NGO to preserve traditional Afghani
arts and buildings (the
Turquoise Mountain Foundation, about which I know nothing except what
Stewart wrote in this book). By his telling, he found that work deeply
rewarding but thought the same politicians who turned Iraq into a mess
were going to do the same to Afghanistan. He started looking for ways to
influence the politics more directly, which led him first to Harvard and
then to stand for Parliament.
The bulk of this book covers Stewart's time as MP for Penrith and The
Border. The choice of constituency struck me as symbolic of Stewart's
entire career: He was not a resident and had no real connection to the
district, which he chose for political reasons and because it was the
nearest viable constituency to his actual home in Scotland. But once he
decided to run, he moved to the district and seems sincerely earnest in
his desire to understand it and become part of its community. After five
years as a backbencher, he joined David Cameron's government in a minor
role as Minister of State in the Department for Environment, Food, and
Rural Affairs. He then bounced through several minor cabinet positions
(more on this later) before being elevated to Secretary of State for
International Development under Theresa May. When May's government
collapsed during the fight over the Brexit agreement, he launched a
quixotic challenge to Boris Johnson for leader of the Conservative Party.
I have enjoyed Rory Stewart's writing ever since
The Places in Between. This book is no exception. Whatever one's
other feelings about Stewart's politics (about which I'll have a great
deal more to say), he's a talented memoir writer with an understated and
contemplative style and a deft ability to shift from concrete description
to philosophical debate without bogging down a story.
Politics on
the Edge is compelling reading at the prose level. I spent several
afternoons happily engrossed in this book and had great difficulty putting
it down.
I find Stewart intriguing since, despite being a political conservative,
he's neither a neoliberal nor any part of the new right. He is instead an
apparently-sincere throwback to a conservatism based on epistemic
humility, a veneration of rural life and long-standing traditions, and a
deep commitment to the concept of public service. Some of his principles
are baffling to me, and I think some of his political views are obvious
nonsense, but there were several things that struck me throughout this
book that I found admirable and depressingly rare in politics.
First, Stewart seems to learn from his mistakes. This goes beyond
admitting when he was wrong and appears to include a willingness to
rethink entire philosophical positions based on new experience.
I had entered Iraq supporting the war on the grounds that we could at
least produce a better society than Saddam Hussein's. It was one of
the greatest mistakes in my life. We attempted to impose programmes
made up by Washington think tanks, and reheated in air-conditioned
palaces in Baghdad a new taxation system modelled on Hong Kong; a
system of ministers borrowed from Singapore; and free ports, modelled
on Dubai. But we did it ultimately at the point of a gun, and our
resources, our abstract jargon and optimistic platitudes could not
conceal how much Iraqis resented us, how much we were failing, and how
humiliating and degrading our work had become. Our mission was a
grotesque satire of every liberal aspiration for peace, growth and
democracy.
This quote comes from the beginning of this book and is a sentiment
Stewart already expressed in
The Prince of the Marshes, but he
appears to have taken this so seriously that it becomes a theme of his
political career. He not only realized how wrong he was on Iraq, he
abandoned the entire neoliberal nation-building project without abandoning
his belief in the moral obligation of international aid. And he, I think
correctly, identified a key source of the error: an ignorant,
condescending superiority that dismissed the importance of deep expertise.
Neither they, nor indeed any of the 12,000 peacekeepers and policemen
who had been posted to South Sudan from sixty nations, had spent a
single night in a rural house, or could complete a sentence in Dinka,
Nuer, Azande or Bande. And the international development strategy
written jointly between the donor nations resembled a fading mission
statement found in a new space colony, whose occupants had all been
killed in an alien attack.
Second, Stewart sincerely likes ordinary people. This shone through
The Places in Between and recurs here in his descriptions of his
constituents. He has a profound appreciation for individual people who
have spent their life learning some trade or skill, expresses thoughtful
and observant appreciation for aspects of local culture, and appears to
deeply appreciate time spent around people from wildly different social
classes and cultures than his own. Every successful politician can at
least fake gregariousness, and perhaps that's all Stewart is doing, but
there is something specific and attentive about his descriptions of other
people, including long before he decided to enter politics, that makes me
think it goes deeper than political savvy.
Third, Stewart has a visceral hatred of incompetence. I think this is the
strongest through-line of his politics in this book: Jobs in government
are serious, important work; they should be done competently and well; and
if one is not capable of doing that, one should not be in government.
Stewart himself strikes me as an insecure overachiever: fiercely
ambitious, self-critical, a bit of a micromanager (I suspect he would be
difficult to work for), but holding himself to high standards and appalled
when others do not do the same. This book is scathing towards multiple
politicians, particularly Boris Johnson whom Stewart clearly despises, but
no one comes off worse than Liz Truss.
David Cameron, I was beginning to realise, had put in charge of
environment, food and rural affairs a Secretary of State who openly
rejected the idea of rural affairs and who had little interest in
landscape, farmers or the environment. I was beginning to wonder
whether he could have given her any role she was less suited to
apart perhaps from making her Foreign Secretary. Still, I could also
sense why Cameron was mesmerised by her. Her genius lay in exaggerated
simplicity. Governing might be about critical thinking; but the new
style of politics, of which she was a leading exponent, was not. If
critical thinking required humility, this politics demanded absolute
confidence: in place of reality, it offered untethered hope; instead
of accuracy, vagueness. While critical thinking required scepticism,
open-mindedness and an instinct for complexity, the new politics
demanded loyalty, partisanship and slogans: not truth and reason but
power and manipulation. If Liz Truss worried about the consequences of
any of this for the way that government would work, she didn't reveal
it.
And finally, Stewart has a deeply-held belief in state capacity and
capability. He and I may disagree on the appropriate size and role of the
government in society, but no one would be more disgusted by an
intentional project to cripple government in order to shrink it than
Stewart.
One of his most-repeated criticisms of the UK political system in this
book is the way the cabinet is formed. All ministers and secretaries come
from members of Parliament and therefore branches of government are led by
people with no relevant expertise. This is made worse by constant cabinet
reshuffles that invalidate whatever small amounts of knowledge a minister
was able to gain in nine months or a year in post. The center portion of
this book records Stewart's time being shuffled from rural affairs to
international development to Africa to prisons, with each move
representing a complete reset of the political office and no transfer of
knowledge whatsoever.
A month earlier, they had been anticipating every nuance of Minister
Rogerson's diary, supporting him on shifts twenty-four hours a day,
seven days a week. But it was already clear that there would be no
pretence of a handover no explanation of my predecessor's strategy,
and uncompleted initiatives. The arrival of a new minister was
Groundhog Day. Dan Rogerson was not a ghost haunting my office, he was
an absence, whose former existence was suggested only by the black
plastic comb.
After each reshuffle, Stewart writes of trying to absorb briefings, do
research, and learn enough about his new responsibilities to have the hope
of making good decisions, while growing increasingly frustrated with the
system and the lack of interest by most of his colleagues in doing the
same. He wants government programs to be successful and believes success
requires expertise and careful management by the politicians, not only by
the civil servants, a position that to me both feels obviously correct and
entirely at odds with politics as currently practiced.
I found this a fascinating book to read during the accelerating collapse
of neoliberalism in the US and, to judge by current polling results, the
UK. I have a theory that the political press are so devoted to a
simplistic left-right political axis based on seating arrangements during
the French Revolution that they are missing a significant minority whose
primary political motivation is contempt for arrogant incompetence. They
could be convinced to vote for Sanders or Trump, for Polanski or Farage,
but will never vote for Biden, Starmer, Romney, or Sunak.
Such voters are incomprehensible to those who closely follow and debate
policies because their hostile reaction to the center is not about
policies. It's about lack of trust and a nebulous desire for justice.
They've been promised technocratic competence and the invisible hand of
market forces for most of their lives, and all of it looks like lies.
Everyday living is more precarious, more frustrating, more abusive and
dehumanizing, and more anxious, despite (or because of) this wholehearted
embrace of economic "freedom." They're sick of every complaint about the
increasing difficulty of life being met with accusations about their
ability and work ethic, and of being forced to endure another round of
austerity by people who then catch a helicopter ride to a party on some
billionaire's yacht.
Some of this is inherent in the deep structural weaknesses in neoliberal
ideology, but this is worse than an ideological failure. The degree to
which neoliberalism started as a project of sincere political thinkers is
arguable, but that is clearly not true today. The elite class in politics
and business is now thoroughly captured by people whose primary skill is
the marginal manipulation of complex systems for their own power and
benefit. They are less libertarian ideologues than narcissistic
mediocrities. We are governed by management consultants. They are firmly
convinced their organizational expertise is universal, and consider the
specific business of the company, or government department, irrelevant.
Given that context, I found Stewart's instinctive revulsion towards David
Cameron quite revealing. Stewart, later in the book, tries to give Cameron
some credit by citing several policy accomplishments and comparing him
favorably to Boris Johnson (which, true, is a bar Cameron probably flops
over). But I think Stewart's baffled astonishment at Cameron's vapidity
says a great deal about how we have ended up where we are. This last quote
is long, but I think it provides a good feel for Stewart's argument in
this book.
But Cameron, who was rumoured to be sceptical about nation-building
projects, only nodded, and then looking confidently up and down the
table said, "Well, at least we all agree on one extremely
straightforward and simple point, which is that our troops are doing
very difficult and important work and we should all support them."
It was an odd statement to make to civilians running humanitarian
operations on the ground. I felt I should speak. "No, with respect, we
do not agree with that. Insofar as we have focused on the troops, we
have just been explaining that what the troops are doing is often
futile, and in many cases making things worse." Two small red dots
appeared on his cheeks. Then his face formed back into a smile. He
thanked us, told us he was out of time, shook all our hands, and left
the room.
Later, I saw him repeat the same line in interviews: "the purpose of
this visit is straightforward... it is to show support for what our
troops are doing in Afghanistan". The line had been written, in
London, I assumed, and tested on focus groups. But he wanted to
convince himself it was also a position of principle.
"David has decided," one of his aides explained, when I met him later,
"that one cannot criticise a war when there are troops on the ground."
"Why?"
"Well... we have had that debate. But he feels it is a principle of
British government."
"But Churchill criticised the conduct of the Boer War; Pitt the war
with America. Why can't he criticise wars?"
"British soldiers are losing their lives in this war, and we can't
suggest they have died in vain."
"But more will die, if no one speaks up..."
"It is a principle thing. And he has made his decision. For him and
the party."
"Does this apply to Iraq too?"
"Yes. Again he understands what you are saying, but he voted to
support the Iraq War, and troops are on the ground."
"But surely he can say he's changed his mind?"
The aide didn't answer, but instead concentrated on his food. "It is
so difficult," he resumed, "to get any coverage of our trip." He
paused again. "If David writes a column about Afghanistan, we will
struggle to get it published."
"But what would he say in an article anyway?" I asked.
"We can talk about that later. But how do you get your articles on
Afghanistan published?"
I remembered how the US politicians and officials had shown their
mastery of strategy and detail. I remembered the earnestness of Gordon
Brown when I had briefed him on Iraq. Cameron seemed somehow less
serious. I wrote as much in a column in the New York Times,
saying that I was afraid the party of Churchill was becoming the party
of Bertie Wooster.
I don't know Stewart's reputation in Britain, or in the constituency that
he represented. I know he's been accused of being a self-aggrandizing
publicity hound, and to some extent this is probably true. It's hard to
find an ambitious politician who does not have that instinct. But whatever
Stewart's flaws, he can, at least, defend his politics with more substance
than a corporate motto. One gets the impression that he would respond
favorably to demonstrated competence linked to a careful argument, even if
he disagreed. Perhaps this is an illusion created by his writing, but even
if so, it's a step in the right direction.
When people become angry enough at a failing status quo, any option that
promises radical change and punishment for the current incompetents will
sound appealing. The default collapse is towards demagogues who are
skilled at expressing anger and disgust and are willing to promise simple
cures because they are indifferent to honesty. Much of the political
establishment in the US, and possibly (to the small degree that I can
analyze it from an occasional news article) in the UK, can identify the
peril of the demagogue, but they have no solution other than a return to
"politics as usual," represented by the amoral mediocrity of a McKinsey
consultant. The rare politicians who seem to believe in something, who
will argue for personal expertise and humility, who are disgusted by
incompetence and have no patience for facile platitudes, are a breath of
fresh air.
There are a lot of policies on which Stewart and I would disagree, and
perhaps some of his apparent humility is an affectation from the
rhetorical world of the 1800s that he clearly wishes he were inhabiting,
but he gives the strong impression of someone who would shoulder a
responsibility and attempt to execute it with competence and attention to
detail. He views government as a job, where coworkers should cooperate to
achieve defined goals, rather than a reality TV show. The arc of this
book, like the arc of current politics, is the victory of the reality TV
show over the workplace, and the story of Stewart's run against Boris
Johnson is hard reading because of it, but there's a portrayal here of a
different attitude towards politics that I found deeply rewarding.
If you liked Stewart's previous work, or if you want an inside look at
parliamentary politics, highly recommended. I will be thinking about this
book for a long time.
Rating: 9 out of 10