Starmer’s personal donor, Lord (Waheed) Alli had, according to the Sunday Times, been furnished with a Downing Street pass and allowed to organise a party in that same garden, with a guest list of other donors. This is most unusual. But when the Prime Minister was asked a few perfectly reasonable questions about the growing concerns about cronyism and jobs-for-mates, he snapped back: “most of these allegations and accusations are coming from the very people that dragged our country down in the first place!”

It’s now some weeks since the cronyism scandal first started to emerge. And, by the morning of the Prime Minister’s speech, it had built up quite a head of steam. That’s why it’s odd that Downing Street thought the Prime Minister could ignore it entirely. At that point, four of his senior ministers were understood to have overseen the appointment of donors to Civil Service jobs. The Chancellor had appointed Ian Corfield, a personal donor. The Deputy Prime Minister had appointed Rose Grayston, who seemingly doctored her LinkedIn profile to remove a reference to “Labour Together” — a sort of Labour Super PAC that donated to Angela Rayner. Peter Kyle took a large donation from Public Digital, before appointing a former Public Digital partner (and a Labour Together staffer) Emily Middleton to a very senior position. And Nick Thomas-Symonds took a donation from Labour Together before appointing Jess Sargeant.

In none of the cases has there been the slightest shred of transparency.

We do know, though, that the Chancellor failed to declare the Corfield donation to her permanent secretary, meaning she could be in breach of the Ministerial Code. She also did not declare the £5,000 donation (nor presumably his appointment) to the Civil Service Commission — Whitehall’s regulator. When the truth surfaced, Mr Corfield’s civil service role was terminated. But questions about the Ministerial Code remain unanswered. Without answers, there can be no accountability. And the termination of Corfield’s role suggests that the Chancellor realised that there might be questions to answer.

We do not know if the other ministers declared their donations to their departments, or to the Civil Service Commission. And we do not know how many other such appointments have been made, though there are likely to be many — especially at more junior levels where the roles can be signed off within departments.

I should say at this point that, having worked in and around Whitehall for nearly 15 years, I am in favour of ministers having greater personal powers of appointment. It is ludicrous that most Secretaries of State running entire department of thousands of staff, with billion-pound budgets, can appoint fewer than five Special Advisers, or spads. And even those appointments require Downing Street sign off. But that is our current system, and those in favour of change should advocate reform, not practice subversion by stealth.

Ten years ago, as a spad working in the Cabinet Office, I helped Francis Maude develop the idea of an Extended Ministerial Office. Echoing the Continental Cabinet system, ministers would be allowed to appoint a team of several dozen drawn from Whitehall and beyond. The reforms would have allowed ministers to make a few key appointments to roles such as diary management, strategy advice, speech writing, digital communications or policy advice. I had seen how difficult it was to drive change in Government — how, when a Secretary of State pulled a lever, all too often nothing happened. This reform was intended to address those problems. This would have brought the United Kingdom closer into line with other Westminster-model democracies — Australia for example. The plan was killed off by Theresa May for reasons I still do not understand, but perhaps relating to a desire to appease the then Cabinet Secretary.

The new Government has thus far shown no interest in Civil Service reforms nor in moving to an Extended Ministerial Office system. But in any case, some of their appointments are fundamentally of a different order. A function of the Extended Ministerial Office was that the personal ministerial appointments would be contained in that office, not spread throughout a department. They would not have wider responsibilities. Emily Middleton, in contrast, is being made a Director General — Whitehall’s second most senior grade. She would be expected to manage a large team, control significant budgets, and to oversee the departments’ core policy advice within her field.

Suggested reading

Keir Starmer's moral vacuum

By Kathleen Stock

A more junior but even more extraordinary appointment is that of Jess Sargeant, who had previously written about the need for “checks on power”. And yet, within weeks of Labour gaining power, she accepted a position, which was neither publicly advertised nor competed, in the heart of the Cabinet Office. Adding to the irony is the fact that she has been appointed to the Propriety and Constitution Group.

PET, as this office used to be known, runs investigations into ministerial propriety, handles the regulator of the Civil Service, decides how to handle conflicts of interest in Government, and oversees the team helping allocate honours and the committee advising on appointments to the House of Lords. It is unprecedented that a political person be given this role — which presumably was approved by the Cabinet Office Permanent Secretary. And it is shocking that she has not been removed since her presence was exposed.

In defence of these appointments, members of the new Government have resorted to shameless whataboutery, pointing to certain individuals elevated to the House of Lords by previous prime ministers, to a recent ambassadorial role allocated by another prime minister, and to endless other appointments to the boards of quangos and Non-Executive Director positions within Whitehall. There are doubtless interesting questions to be raised about the practice of previous administrations. But all those posts, while important, are substantively different from Civil Servants.

The last Labour Government legislated to put the political impartiality of the Civil Service on a statutory footing. Their Constitutional Reform and Governance Act 2010 also dictates that appointments to Whitehall must be by “fair and open” competition, or through an exception overseen by the Civil Service Commission. So the Civil Service is bound by entirely different rules. Ambassadorial jobs are distinct. The top quango jobs are regulated by a separate process but one which sets out that political activity should neither “affect any judgement of merit nor be a bar to appointment”. Departmental non-executives are now similarly regulated, thanks to a change made by Boris Johnson. And appointments to the peerage remain a Prime Ministerial prerogative. Those who dismiss these distinctions as sophistry are dismissing the value of Civil Service impartiality.

Civil Servants have to serve the Government of the day, whatever its political complexion. Crucially, they must also — and this is set out in the Civil Service Code — retain the ability to serve with equal commitment to a future government. That value has been traduced by recent appointments. For how could a future government have confidence in the advice of a Deputy Director in the Propriety and Constitution Group, whose previous job was working for Labour Together? How could a future Government trust the new Director General in the Department of Science, who also previously worked for Labour Together? That’s why these appointments are so injurious to political impartiality.

Suggested reading

Can Labour tame the Civil Service?

By Simon Ruda

The vast majority of Civil Servants working in the policy parts of Government, as opposed to the more frontline service delivery roles, are profoundly committed to the ethos of public service and political impartiality. Yes, most officials dress to the Left, and there is a tendency to conformism. But there are some more heterodox thinkers. Overall, though, there is a deep sense that explicit Politics (with a capital P) is not permissible. That is why so many inside government, at all levels of seniority, have been so appalled by Labour’s recent appointments.

But the toughest questions for Starmer’s administration are over the Ministerial Code. The change in Mr Corfield’s status from civil servant to Direct Ministerial Appointment, does nothing to quell the questions about whether Rachel Reeves broke the Ministerial Code by asking for him to be appointed. These are questions which demand an investigation.

Starmer has inherited an Independent Adviser on Ministers’ Interests, Sir Laurie Magnus, from the last government. He might have been tempted to appoint his own “Ethics Tsar”. But it’s too late now. Instead, he should instruct Magnus to open an investigation into Reeves, before Magnus does so himself. And the new Government should come clean. How many “exceptional” appointments have there been? If, as they claim, no rules have been broken, they should publish the names and details of all the senior roles.

I recognise that politics is a contact sport and can, often, seem a grubby business, particularly when donations are involved. Those who would argue that we should drive “the money” out of politics need to get better at making the case for taxpayer funding. Those, like me, who are thankful for political donors, need to get better at defending them, while accepting that transparency and acting with probity are vital for maintaining public confidence in politics.

I have had a front row seat for many recent political dramas. Watching them play out when you’re sat around the edge of the Cabinet Room or helping a minister prepare for an urgent Parliamentary Question is never pleasant. And so, I would offer some advice — in humility — as someone who has witnessed a scandal or two at close quarters.

In order not to wade further into the mire, Downing Street needs to recognise several things. First, in opposition it’s easy (or at least seems easy) to preach about standards and demand answers; in government you have to make decisions and account for them. Second, the Prime Minister should lose all the chippy defensiveness and understand, as a former barrister, that you must answer the case that is made against you. Third, reform of the Civil Service, ideally on the basis of a cross-party consensus, is a necessity. In order for evolution, not revolution, the case should be made for incremental changes. For, lest the government forget, the political mechanisms of accountability in our system are actually effective: over the years, they have become a ruthless ministerial career-destroying machine.

His is a murky affair. After leaving office earlier than expected, Cameron scooped up a number of lucrative jobs. As well as accepting a role in a new $1 billion Chinese investment fund, he was signed up in 2018 by Greensill Capital. The finance firm was run by the Australian financier Lex Greensill, who had worked for Cameron during the time he was at No 10.

Last year, according to the Sunday Times investigation, Cameron attempted to lobby members of the current government to give Greensill access to state-backed pandemic loans. This included texting the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rishi Sunak, arranging a private drink with Greensill and Health Secretary Matt Hancock to discuss a new payment scheme, and contacting a number of ministers at the Treasury about Greensill’s business.

Cameron’s lobbying was a spectacular failure: Sunak and others remained unmoved by Cameron’s pleas; Greensill was denied the government-backed loans and the company ultimately collapsed. The whole sorry saga appeared to be another demonstration of the former prime minister’s negotiation skills.

It is hard not to conclude that, while the fall-out of Greensill’s collapse will no doubt affect thousands of investors, Cameron is the biggest loser. For although it seems he neglected to inform his former colleagues, Cameron held significant share options in Greensill. And he reportedly boasted to friends that he stood to gain up to $60 million from his share-options, a figure he has since disputed.

But whatever the rough number, it seems Cameron expected to become very rich off the back of his involvement with the firm. Today that investment is worthless — and the former PM has proved himself not just incompetent, but also greedy, lazy and somewhat entitled: someone used to the idea that he can somehow make money easily without having to do much more than lift a finger and dial.

Yet as so often with scandals of this type, it is what it reveals about an underlying culture that is of more importance than simply one person’s behaviour. And that picture is even uglier.

In recent days, a number of Cameron’s predecessors have been careful to come out and highlight the importance of “integrity” in public life, particularly when it comes to former prime ministers cashing in on their connections. John Major, for instance, seems to be revelling in Cameron’s downfall, publicly calling for an overhaul of the ethics rules that bind former prime ministers.

Further reading

What's David Cameron hiding?

By James Hanning

It’s not clear why we should pay the slightest attention to what John Major thinks when it comes to post-prime ministerial ethics. He may have been one of post-war Britain’s worst and weakest prime ministers, but he has still managed to spend the recent decades quietly going about the business of self-enrichment.

It is surely undeniable that this enrichment has come as a result of the office that he held. If Major had not been able to make use of contacts that he made while in Downing Street, why, for instance, would he have ever been made European Chairman of the Carlyle Group, a global investment firm? For Major, as for others, his market-value after leaving No 10 came not just from his judicious insights but from the fruitful introductions and door-openings he could offer.

It is the same with Major’s successor, Tony Blair, who blighted his own legacy after leaving office by deciding to become as rich as his high-flying circle of friends. Like Major, Blair took up numerous lucrative roles after leaving politics. From the US to the Middle East and Kazakhstan, Blair and his entourage have made considerable fortunes from his Downing Street “expertise”.

And now Cameron. The cronyism and corruption of public life are obviously worrying aspects to this sorry saga. But there are other fears which are less often noted. The concern, for instance, that those who have held high public office in our country think that they are somehow “owed” for the service they have done. This may seem like an understandable instinct. But it is also an ignoble one — for the simple reason that it suggests that public service at the highest level in the land is not an honour or a duty, but rather some sort of burden. That after holding such an onerous position there is something not only right but justified in senior politicians finally being rewarded for their sufferings.

Further reading

The hypocrisy of David Cameron

By Peter Franklin

And then there is another, deeper, fear; one which is rarely spoken about. It is the fear that when former prime ministers behave as Cameron appears to have done, it is because they know something that the rest of us do not.

The prime ministerial salary is not small, and while it is true that the heads of many companies earn more than £150,000 a year, most British families can only imagine earning that kind of money. It is the same with the lucrative book deals that Cameron, Blair and others have received once they left office. Most people could be forgiven for thinking that after receiving a nest-egg of a few million for writing your memoirs, it should be possible to sit back for a bit, stretch your legs and retire.

Of course, one of the reasons that these scandals seem to descend on our recent political leaders is that in recent decades Britain has been subjected to a spate of youngish senior politicians, thrown out of office relatively early when they still have another act left in them. Nick Clegg, for example, chose to sell out by going to enrich himself at Facebook.

Further reading

Who's paying our politicians?

By Oliver Bullough

But a deeper, more disconcerting problem looms over a question about why, given there are so many ex-leaders knocking about, our recently departed politicians feel the need to be so rich. After all, David Cameron comes from a particularly well-off family, while the others were certainly never going to struggle. So why do they need so much money? What exactly is it that these ex-politicians think that they are escaping from?

Certainly these are turbulent times; the global economy, ravaged by a pandemic, has never looked so vulnerable. If a financial crisis were to occur, it hardly needs saying that one way to avoid it would be to pole-vault into a stratosphere of extraordinary wealth. There, one’s standard of living isn’t so dependent on day-to-day trivialities like the survival of Britain’s high-street banks and the introduction of negative interest rates.

Obviously we ordinary voters can never know Cameron’s true motivation. But either way, the Greensill affair seems to confirm a suspicion held by many: that a disturbing number of our former political leaders are willing to destroy their reputations simply in order to escape the rest of us.