《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

33、[Special 2] S00E02 In the Spotlight

　　[Special 2] S00E02 In the Spotlight
　　Monday, 4th February, 1980.
　　In the afternoon, in a club on Pall Mall in London's St James's district.
　　Sir Albert Sackville was reclining on a Chesterfield sofa, a glass of Laphroaig in his hand, ice cubes clinking softly in the amber liquid.
　　"That one's the Victory," Sir Albert said suddenly. He was not looking at Alistair, who sat opposite him in an armchair, but at an oil painting of the Battle of Trafalgar above the fireplace. "Nelson's flagship. A great victory, but it came at a high price. Nelson himself fell on the deck."
　　"It was a high-risk manoeuvre, but one that promised decisive returns," Alistair responded, holding a glass of sherry. "Nelson knew that breaking the traditional line of battle and sailing directly into the centre of the enemy fleet was the only way to achieve a swift, decisive victory."
　　Sir Albert shifted his gaze from the painting to him. "Speaking of 'breaking the line', I hear Minister Hyde intends to stage his own Trafalgar on Newsnight tomorrow evening?"
　　"The Minister believes it is a necessary opportunity to clarify the functions of the Department of Synergy Coordination and to proactively guide public understanding," Alistair replied, repeating the standard line prepared in his official documents.
　　"Guiding public opinion?" Sir Albert swirled his drink. "I had lunch today with Sir Douglas Anson from the Treasury. He seems to have... a considerable interest in tomorrow night's programme. Especially the part about that hardship fund."
　　"Sir Douglas's attention is to be expected," Alistair said calmly. "Any proposal that could potentially affect public expenditure rightly deserves the scrutiny of the Treasury. The Minister's intention is to extend that scrutiny from a closed committee to the broader public sphere."
　　"Sounds very much in keeping with Liberal Party philosophy," Sir Albert commented, the word neutral in his mouth, a mere classification. "Turning internal, procedural matters into a public, political performance. In maintaining the smooth operation of this machine of government, that is usually considered... an element of uncertainty."
　　"Alistair, I've read the risk assessment you submitted this morning. It's impeccably written. But that report was for the record. Now, I'd like to hear the club version." He took a sip of his whisky.
　　Alistair set down his glass and leaned forward slightly.
　　"I have prepared contingency arrangements for every likely eventuality," he began, his voice lowered just enough to be clearly heard by Sir Albert but not to carry. "The Private Office of the Department of Synergy Coordination has drafted several versions of an official statement, to respond to varying degrees of... impromptu performance by the Minister. At the same time, I have also had an informal communication with the head of the No. 10 Press Office, to ensure that whatever happens, we can have a unified public explanation at the first opportunity."
　　"It sounds like you've prepared a net, ready to haul in a captain who might fall overboard."
　　"My duty, Sir Albert, is to ensure that when the Minister is fulfilling his political duties, he does not cause unnecessary disruption to the smooth running of the government machine. Regardless of the manner in which that duty is fulfilled."
　　Sir Albert looked at him, then suddenly changed the subject. "The Prime Minister has a full schedule the day after tomorrow. Economic Affairs Committee in the morning, a meeting with the visiting German Foreign Minister in the afternoon. I don't want his attention diverted by some avoidable media noise."
　　"Of course, Sir Albert," Alistair nodded gently. "I will ensure that what is presented to the Prime Minister will be a brief on 'the government's active response to public opinion', not an emergency report on 'a matter of Cabinet discipline'."
　　"Good, Ally," Sir Albert nodded slowly as well, and drained the rest of his whisky. "I should be going."
　　He stood up, his gaze sweeping over Alistair's untouched sherry, then back to Alistair's face.
　　"The sherry here is, as always, of a consistently high quality," he said finally. "Don't let it go to waste."
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　　In the afternoon, a standard safety script, slightly adjusted to incorporate the Minister's own courageous proposals, was placed on Charles's desk.
　　Alistair had kept his promise, embedding the two points he had requested—following up on the Cornwall promises and announcing the formation of the working group—within it. But they were wrapped in layers of qualifiers, disclaimers, and procedural jargon.
　　Charles rested his chin on his hand, turning the pages of the document one by one.
　　"Cyril," he said without looking up. "'The Department of Synergy Coordination is committed, within the existing framework, to providing supportive informational reference for the government's overall decision-making by optimising inter-departmental communication channels, with the aim of achieving a more forward-looking policy synergy.' Do you think, if I were to read this script, the audience would fall asleep first, or change the channel?"
　　Cyril stood to one side, holding another copy. "Minister, I suppose to some extent, if the audience did indeed fall asleep, it could be considered a… strategic success? At the very least, it would effectively avoid some potentially controversial interpretations."
　　Charles let out a short snort, which could have been agreement or mockery. He flipped several pages further into the document.
　　"This 'we have begun constructive preliminary communication with the relevant departments… issued a memorandum requesting information…' My goal is to tell people what we are doing, and why. 'Constructive preliminary communication'? 'Requesting information'? It sounds like we just had a cup of tea with them. I want to use 'challenge'."
　　"Minister, the word 'challenge'…" Cyril chose his words carefully, "in the context of Whitehall, is primarily used to question a policy, a decision, or a position. It carries a strong confrontational and political connotation, but does not directly point to a formal, procedural query. If we use it rashly, it could be seen as a public accusation against other departments, thereby provoking their collective resistance. Whereas 'requesting information', though it sounds milder, is an official procedure that cannot be evaded. They can delay, but they cannot ignore. It is… more operable."
　　"Delay? I want efficiency. We should at least use 'inquiry'," Charles said with a frown.
　　"Minister, the word 'inquiry' also carries a strong investigative connotation, usually associated with a parliamentary select committee or a judicial investigation, used for a retrospective review of a failed policy or incident," Cyril continued to deliberate. "Our action is forward-looking, aimed at 'gathering information to optimise future policy', not 'investigating past dereliction of duty'."
　　He offered an alternative. "Perhaps we could use 'enquiries'. It reflects the formality of the matter and accurately represents our current procedural status, without giving other departments an easy pretext to attack us for overstepping our authority."
　　"I want a word that makes them feel pressure, Cyril. A word that lets them know we are serious. Not a weak 'request' or 'enquiry'," Charles's fingers tapped lightly on the document. "'Formal questioning'? A question. Surely a newly established department responsible for 'synergy and coordination' has the power to at least 'question' its cabinet colleagues? I am not investigating their past; I am questioning their present, and what preparations they have made for the future."
　　It was a politician's word, not a civil servant's. It did not have the specific legal framework of an 'inquiry', but it was more proactive and pointed than 'enquiries'. It implied a sustained posture of demanding clear answers, carrying strong colloquial overtones of a legal or police interrogation. Especially in public, it could easily be interpreted by other departments as a provocation, but at the same time, it could be defended as 'merely asking questions'.
　　Cyril mentally assessed the potential impact of this phrase.
　　"Minister, 'formal questioning' is not a common term in inter-departmental official correspondence," he organised his thoughts. "Perhaps we could change the grammatical structure. We could say that the DSC has 'issued a formal list of questions' to the relevant departments."
　　He paused, then added: "'List of questions' is a neutral noun. But the action 'issued' gives it an undeniable official weight. And the 'formal' qualifier ensures it is placed within the proper process, making it difficult to be easily shelved or evaded. This action fully conforms to the norms of the Civil Service, ensures procedural impeccability, and at the same time, can clearly convey our department's seriousness and expectation in this matter."
　　Charles's fingers tapped on the document again. Finally, he nodded.
　　"Very well, Cyril. We'll use that." He picked up his pen and amended the document, then turned to the section on the hardship fund.
　　"'…In order to actively respond to the legitimate concerns of the local community, and to explore potential policy optimisation paths with a prudent and responsible attitude, the Department of Synergy Coordination will, on the basis of inter-departmental consultation, take the lead in establishing a feasibility study group, to conduct a comprehensive and prudent assessment of the possibility of establishing a 'Fisheries Community Emergency Hardship Fund', for a period of no less than six months. A report containing policy options will be submitted to the relevant committee upon completion of the assessment.'" Charles read, then tapped his finger on the phrase "no less than six months."
　　"Six months? And no less than? That will probably turn into never," he frowned again. "Is this Alistair's 'Yes'?"
　　Without waiting for Cyril's reply, Charles picked up the telephone receiver and dialled the internal number for the adjacent office.
　　The call was not answered, but the door connecting to the next office was knocked and then opened.
　　His Acting Permanent Secretary walked in.
　　"Good afternoon, Minister."
　　Charles put down the receiver and leaned back in his chair. "I was just admiring your masterpiece, Alistair. I am about to propose a few constructive amendments."
　　He picked up the safety script and turned to the section on the Cornwall promises.
　　"Here…" he pointed to the amendment he had just written. "You say we have 'begun constructive preliminary communication with the relevant departments'. That's too weak. I want to state clearly on the programme that we have already 'issued a formal list of questions' to the Department of the Environment, the Ministry of Defence, and the Treasury. This is not a long-term promise; it is an action that has already taken place."
　　"Minister, as a matter of convention, the details of internal inter-departmental communication are not usually disclosed prematurely in the public media, to avoid causing unnecessary pressure on the relevant departments, or being interpreted by the outside world as a sign of inter-departmental disagreement," Alistair said, walking to Charles's desk but not sitting down.
　　"I will not disclose details," Charles said. "I will only state a fact—that the Department of Synergy Coordination is fulfilling its duties. Is that not a fact, Alistair? Or are those memoranda you had Cyril send out just another form of… ceremony?"
　　Alistair did not answer the question directly. "Mentioning the list of questions already issued can indeed demonstrate the department's proactivity. But the host will very likely follow up with, 'And what if those departments do not respond, or their response is not to your satisfaction?' How will you answer?"
　　"I will answer: 'I am confident that my cabinet colleagues and the excellent civil servants they lead will, in the common goal of serving the public, provide a positive and constructive response. This is the very embodiment of the spirit of synergy of this coalition government.'" Charles gave his answer almost instantly. He had clearly rehearsed this step.
　　"A very proper response, Minister," Alistair conceded, which was tantamount to agreeing to Charles's first amendment.
　　"Good." Charles turned the document back to the page on the hardship fund and then set it down. "Now, for the second point—the Fisheries Community Emergency Hardship Fund. We both know that if we follow the normal procedure, the application for this 'feasibility study' will sit in the Treasury's In-tray for a few months, and then be politely rejected by a memorandum dozens of pages long, citing countless precedents and regulations, on the grounds of budget constraints and unclear responsibilities. So I intend to use public opinion to force the procedure, to announce the formation of this study group on the programme. But…"
　　He leaned forward slightly, his fingers interlaced on the desk, his head tilted back. "The 'no less than six months' assessment period you've given it is a death sentence. Is this the support you're giving me?"
　　"'No less than six months' is for the Treasury's benefit, Minister," Alistair said calmly. "It is the necessary timeframe to ensure this proposal succeeds, rather than merely being proposed. It assures the Treasury that we respect their approval process and have no intention of launching a budgetary ambush. This assurance will buy us their tacit approval at this moment, allowing us to establish the fact of the study group first."
　　"A 'fact' bought with a six-month suspended sentence?"
　　"Once the study is initiated, it takes on a life of its own. It will generate documents, hold meetings, form preliminary reports. It will become… an established fact within the system. Minister, it is procedurally far more complex to terminate an existing project than to veto a proposal that has not yet begun."
　　Charles unlaced his fingers. One hand's fingers tapped lightly, the other supported his chin.
　　"A… rather ingenious arrangement, Alistair," he said after a moment's silence, his gaze returning to Alistair.
　　"So, I have to read out this timescale as though I were passing sentence, in front of a national audience?"
　　"No, Minister. Before the live cameras, you need only announce the initiation of the study," Alistair's lips curved slightly. "You can choose not to mention the specific timeframe written in the internal document."
　　"Not mention it? And what if the host asks?"
　　"You can answer in the way you do best, Minister," his voice took on a guiding tone. "You could say: 'For those facing hardship, any wait is a long one. Therefore, I have instructed my department to advance this study with the utmost speed. Our goal is to produce a viable plan as quickly as possible, to be submitted to the Cabinet for a decision.'"
　　"I see," Charles paused. "I accept your logic, Alistair. Externally, to the Treasury, to the parliamentary record, the timeframe is 'no less than six months'. That is our gesture of respect for procedure. I agree."
　　"But—"
　　He met Alistair's grey-green eyes and added, enunciating each word, "Three months. I want an interim progress report on the fund's establishment model, a preliminary discussion of funding sources, and an analysis of legal obstacles. I need a specific, public deadline. Evidence to show the media and the fishermen that we are taking action, if the host presses me on this during the interview."
　　This was procedurally reasonable. It would not touch upon the final budget approval, but it was enough to create a political pressure point the Treasury could not ignore.
　　"Yes, Minister," Alistair nodded slowly. "We can include the clause 'an interim progress report to be submitted in three months' within the terms of reference for the study group."
　　He watched Charles pick up his pen and write a line in the corresponding section of the document:
　　"And will release an interim progress report to the public within three months."
　　The full stop was placed, but then the nib moved to the blank space beside it and continued.
　　"And," Charles turned the document towards him, tapping the addition he had just written. "Internally, for me, I need an internal report on the 'preliminary feasibility and framework proposal for establishing the hardship fund'. In six weeks. On my desk."
　　"This is not for public disclosure, not for submission. It is solely for my own internal assessment, as Minister, of the first phase of this study group. I imagine that requesting a preliminary progress report six weeks into a six-month project would not be considered an overstep of authority within your beloved 'protocol and red tape', would it?"
　　"As you wish, Minister."
　　"Good." Charles leaned back in his chair. He turned to his PPS, who had been making himself inconspicuous. "Well then, Cyril, please redraft a final version of the safety script for me, based on the consensus we have just reached. Ensure every word is precise."
　　"Yes, Minister."
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　　The following evening.
　　A black Jaguar official car was driving smoothly from Whitehall to the Lime Grove Studios.
　　The London twilight was a blurry wash in the cold early February rain, the glow of the streetlamps dragging long orange streaks across the car window.
　　The heating inside the car was on full. Charles leaned against the left rear seat, his gaze on the view outside, but his focus was clearly not on the rain-streaked streets.
　　He did not speak, his fingertips occasionally tapping lightly on the document on his lap. It was the standard safety script prepared by the private office, densely filled with cautious officialese and evasive phrasing.
　　Charles was wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit, his tie changed just before leaving to a blue and white polka dot. The gold-striped Liberal Party tie had been left in the office—Alistair had removed this potential target with a suggestion to "avoid unnecessary visual distraction." He knew, of course, that a determinedly hostile host would not change his mind because of a tie, and the safety script had a response prepared for that anyway, but he had changed the tie.
　　Cyril sat to Charles's right, holding a copy of the same document.
　　"Minister, regarding tonight's host, Peter Paxman, he is known for opening with seemingly innocuous factual questions, then quickly cutting to the core conflict, pressing repeatedly until he gets a clear answer, or exposes a contradiction in the interviewee's statements. He is particularly adept at interrupting long-winded answers that attempt to evade the question," Cyril began his final briefing, opening the document. "Our recommendation is to keep your answers as concise as possible, sticking closely to the established core messages. For example, when he asks about the Cornwall incident, you should immediately turn the topic to…"
　　"…the positive follow-up actions the government is taking," Charles finished for him, his gaze shifting from the window to his Principal Private Secretary.
　　"I know, Cyril. I've read it many times." He took the safety script from his lap and flipped through it casually. "I recognise every word, I know the position of every symbol, but you can't expect me to memorise it verbatim. Besides, there's no fixed script for an interview."
　　"Minister, we've prepared corresponding answers for all the questions the host might raise. It's always useful to be more familiar with them," advised the accompanying press officer, who was sitting in the front passenger seat.
　　"I am familiar with them, Denis," Charles said, looking at the man who had turned around. "The last dozen minutes in the car won't make a difference."
　　He tapped a phrase on the page. "I don't need to memorise the answer to every question, as long as I know how to apply the right formula. I remember the pattern—"
　　"Do not directly deny or evade a question or feeling based on facts presented by the other party. If you deny, you appear arrogant and out of touch; if you evade, they will keep pressing. So, first, politely 'Acknowledge' the existence of the problem or the questioner's concern," Charles held up his index finger. "Acknowledge the legitimacy of the problem, the validity of the concern, but do not admit to the accusation."
　　"Second, 'Reframe' the question. Do not answer within the framework set by the other party; do not let them dictate the format of the answer. Interpret from a different perspective, change the context of the conversation, complicate simple questions, abstract specific ones. Don't answer the question you were asked. Answer the question you wish you were asked."
　　"Then, 'Control'," he made a 'three' with his fingers.
　　"Control the narrative, maintain the image, mitigate risk, advance the agenda. Seize control of the narrative, guide the focus of the question to the area we wish to expound upon. An interview is a performance, not a conversation. Remain calm and professional, control your body language, ensure your words do not stray from the core message."
　　"Finally, when faced with an extremely tricky or unanswerable question, make a necessary 'Pivot', to a prepared, more advantageous and safer topic. Do not be led by the other party's emotion or rhythm."
　　Charles snapped the document shut and leaned back into his seat.
　　"Rest assured," he said, holding out a hand. "I am ready."
　　"A perfect summary, Minister," Denis Mawer said after a moment's silence.
　　Charles watched the press officer turn back to the front, then looked at his PPS, who was still holding the document.
　　"You can put that away too, Cyril," Charles said.
　　"Rest for a bit. I imagine you have work tonight? With a certain someone we've left behind at the office." He raised an eyebrow slightly as he mentioned him.
　　"Yes, Minister. And… thank you, Minister," Cyril said, seeing the confidence in his eyes. He nodded and closed the document as well.