Sending alarm signals

PAGES of newsprint have been devoted to the conviction and jailing of Lord Archer for perjury. This is not surprising. Jeffrey Archer - the novelist whose books have been best sellers, but have gained no critical acclaim, leading figure in the Conservative Party (of which he was for a time deputy chairman), Conservative candidate for the post of Mayor of London, until his dodgy record caught up with him - has been a high-profile figure. A millionaire, who earlier went bankrupt, he has been exposed as a serial liar.

Self-publicist, fantasist of Walter Mitty proportions, cultivator of the establishment, Archer was notorious for inventing, and reinventing, himself. He lurched from dubious deal to dubious deal, not hesitating to threaten and bully those who dared to try to expose him.

Inevitably when he finally fell - his offence described by the High Court judge who tried him as one of the worst cases of perjury in British criminal history - there were many who were only too happy to put the boot in. Not many people have much sympathy for him, and that is wholly understandable.

The Archer case, however, raises a number of serious issues. Above all, it calls into question the judgment of a succession of leading figures in the Conservative party. Lady Thatcher, former Prime Minister, was a fan and supporter. John Major, former Prime Minister, recommended Archer for peerage. William Hague, recent leader of the party, expressed total confidence in his probity and integrity when he wanted to stand as Mayor of London. In 1999, Archer stood down when the accusations of which he has now been convicted were made public.

All this might be explicable if Archer's dubious activities had been unknown. They were not. Doubts were raised time and again about his activities, his work for charities and his share dealings. They were sufficient to cause alarm signals to sound. Alarm signals did sound in some quarters, but not apparently in the higher reaches of the Conservative establishment.

It was not only politicians in his own party (from which he was eventually expelled) who allowed themselves to be hoodwinked by his wealth and his flamboyant personality - or, more accurately, who chose to ignore the unsavoury truth about him. Many others of "the great and the good" did the same. His lavish annual parties at Grantchester, near Cambridge, were happily attended by business people, and leading academics of the University of Cambridge, as well as by Conservative politicians. Jeffrey Archer's champagne and shepherd's pie became a noted feature of the social scene.

Why are people taken in? The answer is that great wealth seems to cause people to suspend judgment. It confers a patina of glamour - and enables the possessor to enjoy the protection of many people who ought to know better, who indeed probably do know better.

In the case of Jeffrey Archer, the suspension of critical judgment is particularly inexcusable, simply because the doubts about him went back many years (in fact, certainly to the 1960s). One of the snide jokes about him went like this: "Why do you take an instant dislike to Jeffrey Archer?" Answer: "Because it saves time." Snide it was, but it reflected more than a grain of truth.

The Archer case is especially devastating for the Conservative Party, which has already had a former minister, Jonathan Aitken, jailed for perjury, and which is still riven with discord over its leadership election. The implications, however, are far wider.

The late Robert Maxwell, for example, newspaper proprietor, robber of his firm's pension fund, and large-scale crook, had been a leading Labour MP. He too blustered and bullied his way into acceptance - even after a Government inquiry found him unfit to hold office as a company director.

In recent months, there have been a number of scandals, and gross errors of judgment, in the British financial world. Of course there will always be examples of people who fail to live up to the high standards which can reasonably be expected of them. That is why regulatory bodies exist. It is also a good reason why power and success should not blind people to the possibility that the powerful and successful may be incompetent, or dishonest.

That is not a plea for paranoia. It is, however, a suggestion that politicians and others in positions of influence should be careful not to be uncritically persuaded by people's assessments of themselves, no matter how much they are able to support those assessments with champagne.

BILL KIRKMAN

The author is an Emeritus Fellow of Wolfson College, Cambridge. E-mail him at wpk1000@cam.ac.uk

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