Here is interview in eminent Russian magazine with Tony Blair. Translation by the interviewer.
Tony Blair: a Decade at War
I meet Blair in a First Class lounge in Heathrow Airport. His flight is imminent. So after handshakes we begin. I ask Blair about that day ten years ago and he recounts his familiar tale: the TUC Conference speech cancelled, British air space closed, conversations with George W Bush, his determination to stand by America. Did that day justify what happened next?
“Well, just remember how we all felt then. I think I tried to describe it. ‘The kaleidoscope has been shaken, the pieces are in flux, soon they will settle.’ We needed to remake the world. And that’s what we set about doing. We degraded al-Qaeda’s capabilities, removed Saddam and we’re now better prepared than before for this kind of atrocity.”
But hasn’t the War on Terror been counterproductive and radicalised anti-Western sentiment, for example among the Shia in Southern Iraq or Iran. Blair demurs. “If if you’re suggesting Ahmadinejad is my creation, that’s simply absurd. Fundamentalist Iran predates all this and has been on a collision course with the West for years. But this is really the nub of the issue. Is it how we are that makes radical Islamists attack us, or how they are that makes them do it?”
Blair warms to his theme. Over the past ten years he’s become “increasingly aware” of how deep “this ideology of Islamic extremism” runs. He speaks of a “spectrum” with terror cells at one extreme but featuring shades of anti-Western Islamist sentiment. “We must combat terrorists unapologetically. But equally we must defeat the wider ideology with a better idea. Freedom, democracy and the rule of law.” But isn’t there huge distance between those ideas and the narratives of Afghanistan and especially Iraq, and haven’t they become divorced from their proximate cause? Isn’t his idealism masked by an easily censured reality of wrongheaded adventurism? “Look, if our ideas are so wrongheaded, what’s the Arab Spring all about?”
At this point an aide says there’s an urgent call. Blair excuses himself and takes it. I reflect that what I’ve heard so far is all of a piece with all Blair’s other commemorative interviews, which I’ve listened to in preparation. Blair seems practiced, fluent. Yet the effect is less that of an actor, as people often claim. His manner is urgent and lawyerly, looking for weaknesses in my argument. But he is also almost prophetic, unshakeably determined to show that despite appearances everything that has happened since those terrible events can be explained and shown to have underlying purpose. As he takes the call, several people from his modest entourage of nineteen or so deal with his makeup. Even though we’re not filming or doing photographs, they continually repair his foundation. Despite their efforts, the figure before me is far removed from the youthful, handsome Prime Minister I recall. Blair now seems at once perma-tanned and bloodless. Like a cross between The Hoff and John Hurt.
Blair hangs up.
“So you’re not Esquire?” he says.
“What?”
“You’re not from Esquire Magazine.”
“No.” I explain I’m from Smolensk Academy Student News. There’s been a mix up. Blair’s diary secretary booked me by mistake. Blair asks my name. I tell him. “You’re a student Arkady?” I nod. “How did you get here?” I explain that the Academy is well funded, supported by global corned beef magnate Oleg –.
“He paid for my flight.”
“So am I getting a fee for this?” Blair asks.
“Oh yes.” I name a figure that seems astronomical to me. Blair’s aides roll their eyes and move to close down the interview. Blair almost laughs. “Have you got everything you need now?” I mumble yes. He’s about to stand up when another aide whispers to him. Blair sighs.
“How long?”
“Could be a couple of hours.” Blair and I are on the same delayed connecting flight to Amsterdam. He orders some food. I hover. After an hour or so of watching them, and with no sign of our flight, I take a chance.
“Just a clarification for the interview, Mr Blair,” I say. Blair looks up, smiles. “You implied that far from radicalising Islam, your actions were part of a battle of ideas now finding expression in the Arab Spring. But don’t polls suggest that many across the Middle East, especially the emerging middle classes, have democratic values and aspirations that predate the Iraq and Afghan Wars? They liked those values but were angered by Western hypocrisy: propping up despots who denied democracy, a lack of even dealings with Israelis and Palestinians, arrogance. Iraq and Afghanistan intensified their anger. And radicalised some. But the pre-existing commitment to democracy survived in many. Amazingly. Despite your efforts.”
Blair and his party have had some wine, not much in Blair’s case, but the combination of tiredness and a few drinks has relaxed him. He smiles, seems happy to talk. As he does, the lawyer Blair recedes and the prophet Blair advances.
“Look,” he begins. “You’re a Russian. Think of the fundamentalists on your doorstep. Think of your wars. Our very existence is under threat. When that happens, people like me, we have to take action. Sometimes it seems extreme, more extreme even than the provocation. Because we have to make people understand the scale of what we’re dealing with. Our very legitimacy depends upon getting people to wise up to what’s going on. And after a while, that calculation becomes a cause, a mission. Because the actions were right. The forces we’ve unleashed haven’t eradicated the threat. They’ve exposed how deep it is. So the answer isn’t that we were wrong to do what we did. The answer is that we need to do more of it.
“We’re fighting for freedom. And human rights. To defend our freedom it must be right to bring freedom to those who want freedom and to those who threaten freedom. Facilitating it in ways that sometimes seem to compromise freedom. Not that I’m saying that happens. Because it wouldn’t be right for me to allow myself to be seen to allow that. All I am saying is that we should trust the people charged with defending and facilitating freedom with their fundamental human right to defend and facilitate freedom (and human rights) in whatever way they think is human and right. We have to lead people to freedom and human rights, willingly wherever possible but in chains where necessary. Their freedom guarantees our freedom. A freedom that is our fundamental human right. And ultimately their fundamental human right. Right?”
I sense Blair is losing focus, but keep pressing. “But does that justify rendition, torture, Guantanamo?”
“Look. I said earlier. The kaleidoscope had been shaken, the bowels were in flux, my pants were on fire. This was serious. And we had to act. I had to act. And, you know what? I don’t make predictions. I never have. And I never will. But I think people will come to understand that what I did was right and I made sacrifices to do it.”
“Hasn’t the greatest sacrifice been hundreds of thousands of dead civilians and thousands of dead and mutilated soldiers?”
“Well look, I’ve shown what I think of our forces with the memoirs and the royalties. And I mean just imagine what it was like getting that past Cherie. Scars on my back. To keep her happy, I even asked them to increase the prize for the Bad Sex Award to, you know, £10 million or so, for that bit, erm…”
“I needed that love Cherie gave me, selfishly,” I start to recite from memory. “I devoured it to give me strength. I was an animal –”
“Yes, that bit,” interrupts Blair. “Although I have to say I think it was rather good sex, you know, I don’t think my WMD was ready to launch for at least 45 minutes. Anyway, I’ve sacrificed too, that’s what I’m saying. And people will come to understand this. I mean, imagine what spending a night on George’s ranch is actually like. Dick Cheney waterboarding himself to show it’s no biggie. Rumsfeld wondering if China could be caught with a surprise attack. Everyone pretending they were asleep when Colin spoke. And don’t talk to me about extraordinary rendition. I had to sit through George singing ‘Moon River’. That’s an extraordinary rendition. But I sat through it all. Because it was necessary. It was my destiny.”
“But if you think you need to go further in the War on Terror, why did you prop up of dictators whose very existence rallied extremists. And why did you befriend a known backer of terrorism like Gaddafi?”
“Well we don’t have unlimited resources. Not even America. So we have to pick our battles carefully, in sequence. But other forces come into play here. You see,” he pauses, then speaks softly. “That day ten years ago. I didn’t just feel the Hand of History. I became the Hand of History. Everything I’ve done since is part of a purpose, a providence. It all works in mysterious ways, as Benedict says, ways that are unexpected, nothing to do with mere evidence. Things that sometimes mean I must martyr myself. My reputation. Mostly I only understand all this afterwards…”
“I don’t…”
“Look. I backed Gadaffi. It intensified the hatred his people felt for him. So they rose up.”
“What?”
“Seriously. It’s true. Without my calls for orderly transitions, respect for existing institutions, my photocalls with Hosni and Muammar, the smiles and handshakes, frankly there’d be no Arab Spring. The Saudis won’t allow me in Riyadh in case I spark a revolution. Sarko’s the same.”
“So why not do it again? With Syria. With Iran.”
“I might with Assad. But the US will do Iran. Eventually. Saudis and Israel will make sure of that.”
“And what about the Israel issue? What’s your answer there?” Blair looks solemnly into the distance.
“Look, I completely understand the Palestinians’ anger and concerns. But Israel must feel secure too. So I have a plan.”
“What?” Blair hesitates.
“Well. The state of Israel was founded because an oppressed people sought to leave the scene of its oppression and start a better life elsewhere. So. I’m going to learn from that history. I’ll propose we relocate the Palestinians.”
“Where?”
“Helmand.”
I tell Blair this all sounds less like liberal interventionism and more like liberal imperialism, a re-enactment of the Palmerstonian Great Game.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Is it how they are that makes us attack them, or how we are that makes us do it?”
“Don’t you mean the other way round.” Just then our flight is announced. Blair smiles, gets up, shakes my hand. My eyes follow him as he heads towards the VIP boarding gate. And in a moment, he is gone.