The Loneliness of the Long-Distance First Minister

Desmond Clifford

Rhun ap Iorwerth is the seventh First Minister in this, our seventh Senedd. He posed with his new team in traditional fashion on the steps of the Welsh Government building at Cathays Park in Cardiff.

They had that slightly nervy first-day-at-school look, delighted with their new uniforms but anxious about double maths followed by French. Only the stone-hearted or deeply antagonistic (there are plenty of both!) could fail to wish them well as they start their work.

For a long time, I was a Welsh Government civil servant and worked closely with the first four First Ministers: Alun Michael, Rhodri Morgan, Carwyn Jones and Mark Drakeford.

One way or another, I’ve known all seven of our First Ministers and, overwhelmingly, it has been a privilege. As a result, I understand better than most the attrition of the job and its personal toll.

The pressures are great. It’s a job for the energetic, though hard work alone guarantees nothing; in the history of Welsh politics no one worked harder than Alun Michael.

First Ministers have advisers, supporters, civil servants, drivers and people who can do things for them.  Doors open and people clamour to meet them.

Even so, it’s fundamentally a lonely position. They alone sleep with the full weight of the nation’s government on their shoulders, and it’s waiting there again when they wake up.

If they’re lucky, they may have a supportive family, but First Ministers aren’t exempted the ordinary travails of domestic life.

Aging parents, poorly children, family issues – all these are waiting at home.  Unlike most countries – including Scotland – Welsh First Ministers actually do go home at the end of every day.

This helps keep their feet on the ground no doubt, but also means household duties mount on top of the day job. Who puts a First Minister’s bins out and calls the plumber?

Previous First Ministers all lived in Cardiff, except for Carwyn in Bridgend. Rhun lives in the centre of Ynys Mon, almost as far from Cardiff as it’s possible to get, and so has the added challenge of a long weekly journey to and from the capital.

There really ought to be a First Minister’s official residence in Cardiff, but good luck to anyone who suggests that from public funds.

First Ministers are up early.  The days of government red boxes are gone but the lap-top never stops.  Day and night files drop into the in-box, many of them marked “urgent”.

Skip them at your peril, even the boring ones!  The one you miss is exactly the one that’ll come back and bite you at First Minister’s Questions.

A car will arrive and take you where you need to be. At the office, a diary written up on a white board will account for every minute of the day: Cabinet, Senedd debates, committees, ministerial one-to-ones, correspondence, phone calls, meetings – a sandwich at the desk if you’re lucky.

When the Senedd business is done, usually around 6 or 7pm, as often as not there will be a dinner/event for the First Minister to attend with a speech to give, hands to shake, conversations to maintain, so no rest there. Then you go home and do it all again the next day.

You’re always on duty.  If you’re unpleasant to anyone – maybe you’re tired or not feeling great – it’ll end up online.

In fairness, most people want to be pleasant but social effort can be exhausting. Sometimes, you just want to rest and relax. If you smile too readily, some will say you’re arrogant and crave attention. If you don’t, some will say you’re cold and aloof.

You’ll be phoned at all hours of the day and night by your office. If something important happens, you’ll be among the first to know, and often you’ll have to respond with only minimal information.

Even on holiday you’re not fully on holiday. You must remain contactable by your office, and they will call you in an emergency, whether you’re able to do anything about the matter or not.

Tensions

Politics is uniquely strange. Even in a well-functioning and united party, tensions are never far away.

Your colleagues are also, in some circumstances, your rivals.  Some want to be where you are, convinced they’d do the job better. Some will resent you because you didn’t give them the job they wanted, or a job at all. Some will resent you because you gave them a job they didn’t want.

In time, you’ll have to move people on to make room for fresh blood – and then those people will resent you too. Some of them may be old friends and warriors from days when Plaid’s prospects looked thin.

It’ll be tough.

Ministers, because they’re only human, will want validation and support for their work and it’s the First Minister’s job to give it. Occasionally you’ll do it through gritted teeth wishing there was someone better you could rely on.

Sometimes you’ll have doubts about your own performance. It’s only natural, but outside your family it’s not so easy to look to others for a comforting word. But you’re only human, too. That’s the loneliness of office.

No one in politics can complain much about criticism. If it bothers you unduly, you’ve made the wrong choice in life. But does it take a toll?  Of course.

Above board criticism in the Senedd or the media has a certain performative structure – and you give it as well as take it. Much worse, and more insidious, is the anonymous abuse online.

Insults

Technology has revolutionised political communications, but some insults and threats are deeply unpleasant.  Some are illegal and result in prosecutions – but small comfort.

By now, you may be wondering why anyone actually wants this job!  Certainly, a First Minister needs a vast reservoir of resilience.

In addition to the multiple daily tasks and the circus trick of rotating plates on sticks all at once, a First Minister must leave some room for the most important task of all – thinking.

People have elected you to run the country, and this requires constant thought. It’s hard to use the brain at all when run ragged but an effective First Minister must remain clear-sighted and critical.

They must retain a sensitive political antenna to pick up changing currents.

Being First Minister is a job description for Superman/Superwoman.

No one gets it right all the time – how can they? The important thing is getting it right when it matters.  And when you get it wrong, say so.

The public is much more understanding of error than politicians generally think. People admire self-knowledge and willingness to learn from mistakes. What riles them is arrogance and complacency, the guy who’s never wrong, never listens and always knows what’s best.

Spare a thought too – after congratulations – for our new ministers. It’s a tough gig.

They’ll want to do more than they’re able to. They’ll be fighting for money with their colleagues.

Elin Jones is a great pick for Finance Minister but it’s a good way to lose friends! The ministers who get the money will think it’s not enough, the ones who don’t will feel marginalised.

Yet they all need to maintain a brave and supportive face in public.  They know this is how politics must work but they’ll ache inside at giving bad news to good and purposeful causes who hoped for better.

Even the most dynamic and determined ministers will be frustrated at how long things take.

The ministerial announcement is the easy bit but then you discover planning restrictions, environmental regulation, judicial review, employment law, competition issues – a bucketful of things to slow your progress.

New ministers will be vaguely familiar with these frustrations because as opposition spokespeople they heard ministers bang on about them.

They rolled their eyes, huffed and airily dismissed ministers as slackers.  Now someone else will be doing the huffing and eye-rolling in their direction.

As Rhun mused out loud in the Senedd, “I wonder if answering the questions will be as much fun as asking them?!”

Honourable 

But here’s the upside. Everyone who put themselves forward for election on 7 May, win or lose, did something honourable and worthwhile.

The 96 who won Senedd seats earned the high privilege of representing fellow citizens in our country’s democracy. Those appointed Ministers have the powers to change Wales.

Like an Olympic medal, the achievement remains after the games are over, and the privilege never goes away.

The greatest privilege of all is to be elected First Minister with a popular mandate. Against all-comers, Wales has chosen you to lead the country and to be its representative at home and abroad.

No greater honour is knowable or available – and let that be the comfort.