When Boris Johnson appeared before the privileges committee in March, he was asked by the Tory MP Alberto Costa if he would characterise the inquiry as a “witch-hunt” or a “kangaroo court”.
The former prime minister replied he would reserve judgment until he saw the committee’s conclusions. “I will wait to see how you proceed with the evidence that you have,” he said.
Later, he appeared to have second thoughts about not distancing himself from attacks by some of his allies on the cross-party group of MPs, which critics had decried as Trumpian, and wrote to the committee to clarify his position.
He told them he was concerned he had not been emphatic enough. “I have the utmost respect for the integrity of the committee and all its members and the work that it is doing,” he insisted.
That respect did not last long. After the committee published its excoriating report, which concluded Johnson repeatedly lied to parliament over the Partygate scandal and would have faced a 90-day suspension if he were still an MP, he erupted in fury.
“This is rubbish. It is a lie,” he said of the cross-party committee’s conclusion that he had deliberately – and repeatedly – misled the house, and that this offence was all the more serious because he was prime minister at the time.
Lies are indeed the golden thread that runs through the privilege committee’s report, but they are those of Johnson himself rather than of the MPs. The man who was sacked from the Times as a reporter for making up a quote and from the Conservative frontbench for lying about an affair, has long had a relaxed relationship with the truth.
Last July, the Labour MP Dawn Butler was thrown out of the Commons for saying “the prime minister has lied to this house time and time again”, and refusing to withdraw her remarks. Now a committee of the whole house has in effect concluded the same.
While the committee does not actually use the words “lie” or “liar” – the language would be considered unparliamentary – there are 92 mentions of “mislead” or “misleading” in the report. “He misled the house on an issue of the greatest importance to the house and to the public, and did so repeatedly,” it said.
Those who know Johnson best have long claimed that even he manages to deceive himself into believing – in the moment – that he is telling the truth. The committee alludes to this. “The frequency with which he closed his mind to those facts and to what was obvious so that eventually the only conclusion that could be drawn was that he was deliberately closing his mind,” they wrote.
With its laser-like focus, the report, which demolishes Johnson’s character and conduct on every one of its 106 pages, goes to the very heart of our democracy, which relies on MPs and the public being able to trust that ministers are telling the truth.
It was not – despite the claims of Johnson allies – about the Partygate breaches themselves. However, there was a reminder in the additional bundle of evidence published by the committee about how Johnson ended up here in the first place.
No 10 was “like an island oasis of normality” during the pandemic with birthday parties, leaving drinks and wine-time Fridays continuing throughout, one unnamed official revealed. Staff were warned to be “mindful” of the cameras outside but that was “all a pantomime”, they added, “part of a wider culture” of rule-breaking.
Rishi Sunak, despite his own fine for breaking the Covid rules, has tried to keep his head down throughout, following due process and saying as little as possible. No 10 would not even say whether he planned to vote on the report when it comes before the Commons on Monday.
The prime minister is walking on a political tightrope. On the one hand, a loud but small group of Johnson loyalist MPs, and a larger chunk of the party membership, believe he has been treated appallingly. A campaign is under way to vote against the report, threatening deselections for any Tory MP that votes for it.
On the other hand, the public believes Johnson is bang to rights, with a YouGov poll showing that 72% thought he was dishonest after his appearance in front of the committee in March, while the vast majority of Tory MPs are desperate for the saga to end.
They concluded, rightly, that with people across the UK worried about paying their bills, the price of the weekly shop and spiralling mortgage rates, the unedifying prospect of yet more Tory infighting will give the firm impression that they were more concerned about their own positions than anything else.
Yet Johnson plans to go down fighting. In his latest podcast, former No 10 aide Guto Harri recounted how the then prime minister told MPs who were urging him to resign with dignity last summer that “dignity is a grossly overrated commodity and that I prefer to fight to the end”.
It has long been Johnson’s instinct when faced with trouble to double down, deflect, deny – and to attack. It is why he is claiming that the committee report with its “trumped up” charges has dealt the “final knife-thrust in a protracted political assassination”.
He still cannot see that his response throughout to the Partygate affair has made his situation worse. It could have turned out very differently for Johnson, for the Tory party and for the country, if he had accepted responsibility from the start.
But that would go against every one of his instincts. He has run head first into reality and found himself out of frontline politics, out of parliament and out of favour. And while it is always unwise to write off Johnson, his chances of once again staging a frontline political comeback now look vanishingly remote.
