leader. Michael Howard was sure that if we were robust and effective, we could make a fairly traditional Conservative message work. He also felt he had to be true to himself. I was already convinced that we had to change, but I understood Michael’s position. I owed a lot to him, and wanted to help him make his chosen strategy as successful as possible.
The manifesto itself was short and focused, but it was lacking in policy detail. With Michael’s permission I drafted in Michael Gove – who I had helped to persuade out of journalism and into politics, and who was standing in the super-safe Conservative seat of Surrey Heath. We sat in my pokey House of Commons office for several days, dividing the chapters up between us and writing one each before passing what we had done to the other for polishing and improving. We were already friends, and this work brought us closer.
The policies may have been rather workmanlike, but they did actually work. We know this because, while Labour derided our manifesto at the time, they copied and implemented many of its most significant proposals straight after the election. The points system for immigration; the proposals on school discipline. Tony Blair pursued his usual tactic of trashing his opposition, and then coopting any idea that was halfway sensible.
But in modern elections the campaign itself is what matters, and the tone of ours was set not only by Michael Howard, but also by someone I’ve come to admire as one of the great political campaigners: the Australian Lynton Crosby.
Lynton’s hard work is combined with great leadership skills. Twice – in 2005 and 2015 – I’ve seen him build the happiest, most cohesive, most hard-working teams in Conservative Central Office that I have ever known. His strongest weapon is plain common sense. What’s the target? What are your strengths and weaknesses? What are those of your opponents? What, given those things, is the best route to victory? Above all, what’s the plan?
In 2005, Lynton came in at a relatively late stage. His view was that the best chance Michael had to win the election, or at least to deprive Tony Blair of another massive victory, was to focus on some straightforward issues that people cared about, while encouraging them to take out their frustrations with the government by voting for the Conservatives.
The famous poster slogan ‘Are you thinking what we’re thinking?’ fitted with this strategy. It was punchy, and it channelled frustration with Labour. It focused minds on down-to-earth-issues: clean hospitals, more police, ‘It’s time to put a limit on immigration,’ and so on. But the tone reinforced the problem with the Conservative image. It was mean-spirited. Too many people answered the question ‘Are you thinking what we’re thinking?’ with ‘Well, even if I am, I’m not voting for you lot.’
Added to that, in my view the campaigning on immigration went too far. The message wasn’t an unreasonable one. Indeed, I was a strong supporter of immigration control, and had been closely involved in drafting the proposals we put forward. And you could argue that, in the light of what subsequently happened, the decision to make this issue a central one was prescient. But its domination of the early part of our campaign was too much. It felt wrong. It appealed to voters we already had, but made some of those we needed to attract feel uncomfortable – even those who agreed with the policy itself.
The result was the fourth-worst Conservative performance for a hundred years. While we gained thirty-three seats, we only increased our share of the vote by 0.7 per cent, a smaller increase than William Hague had achieved in 2001. Overall, we got fewer votes in 2005 than we did in 1997 – 8.8 million versus 9.6. We won some of our target seats, but even then more than half of those only came to us because of Labour voters switching to the Liberal Democrats, rather than directly from Labour to us.
One other polling figure tells the true story. When people were asked whether a party ‘shares your values’, the Conservatives came off worst, at around 36 per cent, while Labour and the Lib Dems were at around 50 per cent. Maurice Saatchi put it crisply when he said: ‘More anger at the problems of the world we live in is not enough to convince voters that the Conservative Party is fit to solve them.’ The problem went much deeper. We needed to change.
Michael announced that he wouldn’t stand down until there had been a review of the leadership rules. He favoured a system where if more than half of the parliamentary party settled on one candidate, there would not be a vote of the party membership. In the event this proposal went down badly with both the membership and a significant number of MPs, and wasn’t adopted. But the delay in the leadership election that it caused would make all the difference.
If it had taken place sooner after the general election, there can be little doubt that the favourite, David Davis, would have been elected. He had a machine in the parliamentary party, and something of a public profile. There wasn’t an obvious challenger. Before one arose, the contest would have been over.
Instead, the party would wait until just before the party conference in the autumn before candidates’ declarations were made. A formal campaign would then be held during and after the conference, with the results in December.
But before any of this got under way, Michael needed to appoint a new shadow cabinet. He wanted to give newer MPs a chance, and sounded out both George Osborne and me about what jobs we most wanted to do. I was in no doubt: I wanted to be the shadow secretary of state for education. It might not have been seen as one of the ‘big jobs’, but for me it stood out above all others. So much depended on it: the life chances of our young people, the future of our country. Our party’s prospects too rested on the answers we came up with on such policy challenges, and I wanted to be one of the people driving them.
But choosing the education role wasn’t, of course, the most important decision I took after the election.
Slightly to my surprise, and certainly to the surprise of many others, I found myself running for the leadership.
Perhaps for others, deciding to run for such an office comes swiftly, and with few doubts. That is not how it happened for me. Everyone said that I was too young. That I had no ministerial experience. And that I had only been in Parliament for four years. I could be a candidate, maybe a credible candidate, but would I be a credible leader? Would I be part of the party’s problems rather than a solution?
During those pizza evenings in Policy Exchange before the election, one of the things our small group of modernisers had discussed was how we might persuade our future leader to act. But nothing we came up with had seemed convincing. We knew, partly from experience with Michael Howard, that it wouldn’t be enough to persuade a new leader to mouth words about modernisation. We needed someone who really believed in it, and embodied it in the way they talked and acted and felt.
Gradually some of the group began to feel that maybe the answer was to try to capture the leadership rather than merely influence it. We didn’t spend a lot of time on what, at that stage, seemed a little presumptuous and some way off. The moment the election was over, however, it all suddenly seemed more real, and more possible. But was it right?
George’s wife Frances was particularly outspoken. The daughter of Margaret Thatcher’s cabinet minister David Howell, she knew the brutality of modern politics, but wasn’t in any doubt. The four of us were having dinner together at our house in North Kensington shortly after the general election when she looked at her husband and me and asked, ‘Well, are you men or are you mice?’
From the moment I really looked at it properly, I thought that I could win. Not because of any special brilliance or powers I possessed; I just saw that all the other potential candidates had flaws that made them eminently beatable.
Ken Clarke had popular appeal, but as the Conservative Party had become a Eurosceptic party, he would find it very hard to win.
Liam Fox, a strong speaker and media performer, was, when you scratched the surface, a pretty unreconstructed Thatcherite. I was fairly sure the party was looking for something else.
That left the favourite, David Davis. He had a great back story, growing up on a council estate, brought up by a single mother and making his own way through business and the Territorial Army to Parliament. He was Conservative aspiration personified. Yet he was another