And Then What? E-Book

Catherine Ashton

• Herausgeber: Elliott & Thompson
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 456

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Financial Times - BEST BOOKS OF 2023 'And Then What? is breathless and conversational — and all the more readable for that. But while her tone is down-to-earth, the events that Ashton played a part in were dramatic and often historic.' Gideon Rachman, Financial Times 'A colourful insider account of European diplomacy … It's clear our politics would have turned out better if we had had more Cathy Ashtons' Luke Harding, The Observer So much of modern-day diplomacy still takes place behind closed doors, away from cameras and prying eyes. So what does this vital role really look like in today's world –and what does it take to do it well? From 2009 to 2014, Cathy Ashton was the EU's first High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security, effectively Europe's foreign policy supremo responsible for coordinating the EU's response to international crises. Arriving in Brussels as a relative novice to international diplomacy, she faced the challenge of representing the views and values of 28 nations during one of the most turbulent times in living memory. Decades-old certainties were swept away in days. Hope rose and fell, often in a matter of hours. From the frozen conflict of Ukraine to the Serbia-Kosovo deal, there were challenges, failures and moments of success. She encountered dictators and war criminals, and witnessed the aftermath of natural disasters, military action, and political instability. Working with US politicians and counterparts including John Kerry, Hillary Clinton, and Bill Burns, she negotiated historic settlements, such as the Iran nuclear deal. An 'honest broker', she navigated the needs of opposing politicians to chart a path towards collaboration and stability. Now Ashton takes us behind the scenes to show us what worked and what didn't, and how it felt to be in 'the room where it happened'. From Serbia to Somalia, Libya to Haiti, she offers essential insight into how modern diplomacy works, examining the tools needed to find our way through the many challenges we face today. 'A riveting, absorbing account of modern diplomacy by one of the greatest international diplomats of recent times' General David Petraeus (US Army, Ret.), former Director of the CIA 'If generations of Earthlings-to-be do indeed engage in cosmic negotiations with other lifeforms, it will be because of the success of Cathy and her diplomatic compatriots in bringing us to realise we are Earth-life, together.' Rusty Schweickart, Apollo 9 astronaut 'A must for students of politics and a treat for lovers of general non-fiction.' Misha Glenny, Rector of the Institute for Human Sciences, Vienna, and author of McMafia 'riveting, deeply personal and wonderfully accessible' Sir Kim Darroch, former British Ambassador to the USA, National Security Advisor, and UK Permanent Representative to the EU 'Catherine Ashton's gripping memoirs are not only a perfect combination of very precise facts and touching personal emotions, but for all foreign policy observers they convey important lessons of the past to serve for the crises of today.' Pierre Vimont, former French ambassador to the EU and the USA

Leseprobe

‘A surprise appointment as High Representative – effectively the EU’s Foreign Minister – and initially dismissed as too inexperienced, Catherine Ashton became recognised as a brilliantly effective diplomat and negotiator, winning international acclaim for two personal triumphs: her brokering of an agreement between Serbia and Kosovo in 2013 and her leading role in the Iran nuclear deal of the same year. This riveting, deeply personal and wonderfully accessible book takes the reader inside the room during the successes, setbacks and personalities of this turbulent period of history.’

Sir Kim Darroch, former British Ambassador to the USA, National Security Advisor, and UK Permanent Representative to the EU

‘A riveting, absorbing account of modern diplomacy by one of the greatest international diplomats of recent times. And Then What? is hugely informative, full of tremendous insights, and a truly great read!’

General David Petraeus (US Army, Ret.), former Commander of the Surge in Iraq, US Central Command, and NATO/US Forces in Afghanistan, and former Director of the CIA

‘Cathy Ashton’s gripping memoirs are not only a perfect combination of very precise facts and touching personal emotions, but for all foreign policy observers they convey important lessons of the past to serve for the crises of today.’

Pierre Vimont, former French ambassador to the EU and the USA

‘As I read And Then What? I couldn’t help but think of the bar scene in Star Wars. A prerequisite for future diplomacy among such characters, including our progeny, is the success of diplomacy such as Cathy Ashton reports here, in lieu of war and a dead-end future. If generations of Earthlings-to-be do indeed engage in cosmic negotiations with other lifeforms, it will be because of the success of Cathy and her diplomatic compatriots in bringing us to realise we are Earth-life, together.’

Rusty Schweickart, Apollo 9 astronaut

‘Cathy Ashton was not a diplomat, but she became the EU’s top diplomat overnight in 2010 and was immediately plunged into a host of global crises. Her account of some highlights of her time in and away from Brussels makes fascinating and illuminating reading. From Haiti to Libya, reconciling Serbia and Kosovo, the Iran nuclear deal and the start of the Ukraine drama, she was immersed in the hard grind of global crisis management. Modest but highly professional, she made a major impact – and this book is truly remarkable history.’

Lord (George) Robertson, Former Secretary General, NATO

‘This is not an ordinary diplomatic memoir. Cathy Ashton worked tirelessly to mitigate the devastating consequences of real and political earthquakes while the EU’s de facto Foreign Minister. She combines acute analysis with moving portraits of the many people she engaged with, from dictators to shopkeepers; from overworked civil servants to distressed toddlers searching in vain through rubble for their parents; from the revolutionary youth of Tahir Square to jaundiced negotiators who wanted a deal but didn’t know how to strike it. During her time in office, Ashton eschewed the limelight. While avoiding self-promotion and deflecting the arrows of appalling misogyny from the quivers of the media as well as of some of the EU’s male establishment, she was at the heart of at least two of the most important international agreements of the early twenty-first century, the Iran nuclear deal and the first major step towards rapprochement between Kosovo and Serbia. Perhaps most surprising is her story-telling ability – each episode in this book has the element of a thriller combined with that of the most perceptive travel writer. And together it throws an entirely new light on the monumental political processes that shook the globe in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. A must for students of politics and a treat for lovers of general non-fiction.’

Misha Glenny, Rector of the Institute for Human Sciences, Vienna, and author of McMafia

To Robert and Rebecca, who finally knowwhat I was doing all those years

CONTENTS

        Foreword

        Introduction

1      The Journey to Brussels

2      Somalia and 21st-Century Pirates

3      Natural Disasters: Haiti and Japan

4      The Arab Spring I: Egypt and the Fall of Morsi

5      The Arab Spring II: The Collapse of Libya

6      The Western Balkans: Serbia and Kosovo Dialogue

7      The Iran Nuclear Negotiations

8      Revolution in Ukraine

        Afterword

        Acknowledgements

        Index

FOREWORD

When I was a little girl, I had a blue plastic pencil case on which I wrote my name and address. After the usual street number and name, village and county, I wrote England, UK, Europe, The World, The Universe. I wasn’t an aspiring internationalist, just a small child in a sleepy village near Wigan in the north-west of England writing down what was obvious then and now. For good or ill, we are all connected to each other.

Decades later I would be given the chance, first through trade negotiations and later through diplomacy, to connect with more than a hundred countries across every continent, and to represent the views and values of twenty-eight nations. It was a tall order. The period involved, from 2009 to 2014, was one of the most turbulent in living memory. What had seemed certain for decades was swept away in days. Hope for better things rose and fell regularly – sometimes several times in a matter of hours. I struggled, along with everyone else, to respond effectively while working with the smartest, most dedicated diplomats and politicians it has been my privilege to know. I encountered dictators and murderers aplenty, but the overwhelming majority of people I met just wanted a better life. In the pursuit of that for themselves and their families I witnessed bravery and determination that left me in awe.

I have often been asked in the ensuing years whether I enjoyed my time as the first High Representative for Foreign and Security Policy/ First Vice President of the Commission (yes, the longest job title in history, so from now on HRVP for short). The answer was no. There were moments of deep satisfaction, even joy, and I made some of the best and closest friends of my life. But it was relentless. There was no time to be complacent – always another problem to try to solve. I was admired and hated in equal measure every day, and the hate got to me much more than the admiration. I dreaded the press, feared the news, worried about my diplomats all over the world, hoped for good news that seldom came. I visited some of the worst places on earth, saw children living in terrible misery, heard the stories of destruction, cried alongside the bereaved and injured from earthquake or war and wondered at our capacity for evil. I saw acts of bravery and kindness in unlikely places and watched the infinite willingness of children to learn in dusty, crumbling school rooms or tents in refugee camps. I did everything I could to help, knowing it was never going to be enough, and worried that a better person than I could have done much more.

There were moments of success like the Iran Nuclear Deal, or the Serbia–Kosovo agreement. They seem fleeting now, not nailed down when they should have been. Failures still loom large: unresolved tragedy in Syria, the chaos of Libya, the horror of war in Ukraine. In between there were times when life got a bit easier for some, and sparks of hope flashed on the horizon.

This book has taken a long time to compile. My initial determination to put the past behind me gave way to curiosity about the way things had been. I found that people asked me to tell my stories and, when I did, urged me to write them down. I wanted to describe what it was really like to be in the middle of events as an ordinary person given an extraordinary role to play. Each chapter is based on interviews my husband Peter Kellner conducted with me at the time. I would sit in his study in my jeans and talk about the weeks that had gone before. Peter would ask questions, helping to tease out the details – what did I say? what did the place look like? how was the mood? – that colour in the black-andwhite outline that press reports provide. Transcribing them took me back to those places and times. I was surprised at the level of detail I had forgotten in the meantime and felt exhausted just thinking of the thousands of miles I travelled every week. I have chosen only a few of these stories for this book and they are not in any way comprehensive histories of the time. There are many better analysts and historians who can do justice to this period in ways I never could. But I hope my memories shed some light on the complexities of diplomacy in the twenty-first century and remind us that what I wrote on my pencil case over half a century ago remains true today.

INTRODUCTION

The word ‘diplomacy’ conjures up a range of images, from palatial buildings filled with cocktail-sipping occupants in black tie and ballgowns to earnest discussions around paper-strewn tables, or exhausted people emerging from grubby hideaways after weeks of negotiation. These three comprise the most obvious elements of diplomatic activity: representing a nation or organisation, managing international relations, and preventing or resolving conflict. It is often described as an art form, one that relies on the skills and commitment of individuals backed by the determination of the people they represent.

There is no certain path to success for a diplomat. Most of the time they work quietly, keeping relations steady, but crises can spring seemingly out of nowhere, changing dramatically in the course of hours or days and engulfing communities and sometimes countries. Some solutions require long-term, patient action, building coalitions and working through existing structures. Others need immediate attention, despite the information available being at best sketchy and incomplete.

In any event, solutions rely on the same range of personal skills, tact, sensitivity, determination and, most of all, judgement. They rely on the same essential tools to achieve change: dialogue and negotiation with incentives. Even when diplomacy fails and situations descend into chaos, or become frozen in conflict, ultimately the only way out is diplomacy. It is, in my view, the ultimate ‘weapon’ in the arsenal of international relations – and it is underrated and undervalued.

The European Union (EU) was not a conventional power like the USA, Russia or China. Its decision to create a new foreign policy service – the European External Action Service (EEAS) – brought together the resources of the Commission and Council in a new hybrid structure, strengthening its common foreign policy, and using its economic clout as a soft power tool.

During the years that I led European foreign policy efforts, I learnt that some common elements improved the chances of a successful outcome. I also came face to face with some of the real dilemmas of foreign policy – above all that decisions are rarely clear-cut and easy to take. So often there is no perfect solution. I have tried to capture something of what it was like to be there and how small pieces of history are made. Every week was different, usually involving thousands of miles of travel in a relentless, exhausting schedule. My ability to withstand jet lag successfully was in part because the time of day meant very little. I slept when it was dark and worked when it was light.

During hundreds of visits to countries around the world, I stepped inside magnificent palaces and visited the poorest neighbourhoods. I saw for myself the skyline of tents for refugees fleeing war and the beauty of buildings newly restored after years of conflict. I had the chance to use all my senses – taste the air; smell the decay and neglect; hold the frightened child; hear the noise of those giving excuses or shifting the blame elsewhere; see the devastation of earthquake and disaster. Most of all I met people face to face, to try to better understand what was happening and why, and to look for answers. To sit down with people with whom one has little in common, or worse where there exists a deep distrust and bitter anger, provides the chance to find ways to – at the very least – stop things deteriorating. If we could achieve that, there was hope that we could move on to looking for longer-term answers.

Diplomacy is not an easy subject for journalists to cover. It is often painstakingly slow, requires everyone to remain tight-lipped, and mostly happens behind closed doors. It was not so unusual to read a story of what was happening in a place in which I was standing and not recognise anything of what was being reported. But while some reporters drove us quietly nuts, others took the time to get facts right and to offer an independent perspective rather than an editorial bias.

In each chapter of this book I have tried to bring out what worked, what didn’t, and what could have made a difference. Diplomacy has no clear-cut end points; even when an agreement is reached, outside forces, political changes or simply just ‘events’ can blow it off course. It requires vigilance and nurture. Hindsight should never be the only reckoning – although it has its part to play. Some of my observations and conclusions may seem naive and badly misplaced, or suggest a certainty I did not feel at the time. I include them here rather than edit them out because that is the reality of the job. I learnt a great deal from the best in the business, from diplomats, activists, politicians, aid workers, military and civilian missions; and I learnt a lot more from the people who worked tirelessly for a better life for themselves, their families and their countries. I also learnt from the actions of the despicable, willing to cause chaos and destruction, wrecking the lives of others in pursuit of their own entirely selfish gains. Overall, it was staggering to see what we are prepared to do for people we have hardly met, and terrifying to witness what we are able to do to those we have lived beside for generations.

Sometimes I was frustrated by leaders who simply preferred to do nothing, passing the problem on to their successors or ignoring it altogether. For others, I recognised the agony of their choices – to compromise risked losing office or worse, with no guarantees that their efforts would be respected by those who followed. Why risk it all for something that might not work? Some were the creators of chaos, prepared to put personal gain ahead of any interest in lessening the plight of their people. I sat down with them all, shook their hands, posed for the photo. My job was not to like them but to work with them to find a way forward. Ultimately, the point of diplomacy is to bring people together and keep them in the room until you get somewhere.

There are broader lessons, too. For every challenge, the number of immediate responses is limited – negotiation, mediation, military intervention, sanctions, monitoring missions, pressure and so on. These options form the basis of the ‘diplomatic tool kit’. As time went by we sought better, nuanced and longer-lasting solutions without forgetting some of the basic lessons about what works.

Some believe it is not the job of individual nations to sort out underlying problems elsewhere. Their argument is that each nation’s responsibility is to protect its own interests, no further. If you seek a monument to that lack of vision, you need simply look around: countries scarred by years of neglect, dying infrastructure where it exists at all, corrupt governance and lack of opportunities. Failing to tackle these problems is to risk their spread. Crises suck up energy and resources like wildfire: left unresolved, they return with the roar of newly invigorated flames, hotter and more toxic, engulfing everything in their path. Preventing them or stopping them is an imperative that should be at the top of every political agenda. Collaborating with others to achieve this should be the number-one tool in the tool kit.

There is no issue we face today that we can tackle alone. Even powerful nations cannot unilaterally cope with challenges such as climate change, terrorism or disruptive technologies. The spread of Covid-19 demonstrates the speed with which danger can arrive at everyone’s shore, wrecking lives and economies in weeks. We act as if these are unexpected crises, even if they have long been anticipated by many. In extreme crises we may even pretend they are manufactured or unreal problems, which makes doing nothing sound like a plan.

In the real world, if we want to protect ourselves, we do not have the option of doing nothing. We must actively anticipate and prepare for problems. Helping people to get the most out of life means cooperating too. Being able to enjoy a holiday abroad, recruiting staff from overseas to work in the health sector, bringing in students to universities, organising strong trade agreements to generate wealth for a country – all of these are achieved through collaboration with others. The first obligation of government – keeping people safe – is built on global networks of like-minded people ready to stand together to deflect danger, to create security and to offer opportunity.

The more effort that is put into pulling together, the better the chances of resolving the problem. Simple in theory, a challenge in practice. At best, leaders disagree about what is important; at worst, they are downright hostile to each other. But using times of relative calm to prepare for future storms makes sense. In an era when plenty argue for going it alone, this is a truth we need to hang on to.

Working with and for twenty-eight countries and different EU institutions was not easy. Their histories, economic interests, fears and experiences were not left at the door when they sat together. Geography also played its part. Countries close to Russia worried more about what was happening in Ukraine in 2014, and less about the problems of Egypt, and vice versa. Nevertheless, somehow, we always got to a position that gave me something positive to work with.

But not everything works best through formal organisations like the EU, North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) or the United Nations (UN). Sometimes a less structured approach works better. I drew many lessons from being part of more informal coalitions brought together to try to resolve or mitigate a crisis. My stories demonstrate this over and over, especially when our collaborations included our most important partner, the USA. Sometimes, as with the mediation between Serbia and Kosovo, their role was a quiet one, hidden for the most part but vital, nonetheless. At other times they strode across the stage, making it hard for us to keep up but rarely going in a direction we disagreed with.

We moaned about each other too – as an intercepted phone call from US Assistant Secretary of State Victoria Nuland once embarrassingly revealed. Frustrated that we were not moving fast enough in support of Ukraine, she said ‘Fuck the EU’. But such incidences reflected the mutterings of disgruntled family members rather than the fracturing of relations. She was swift to apologise, and the EU was swift to put it aside.

Many people complained during his tenure that President Obama was less interested in Europe than former US presidents had been. Yet the fellowship of the Obama administration and his secretaries of state, Hillary Clinton and John Kerry, together with the support he gave to me personally, was extraordinary. But he believed, as did I, that Europe was capable of more and wanted us to be less reliant on the USA. He was not wrong and, as we have seen, his methods were significantly wiser and kinder than those of his immediate successor.

Some collaborations were more unusual. The E3 (France, Germany and the UK), with the remaining permanent members of the UN Security Council (Russia, the USA and China), formed the E3 plus 3 (also known as P5 plus 1 to denote the five permanent UN Security Council members plus Germany) to focus on the single issue of Iran’s nuclear programme. The EU was asked to chair and lead the negotiations. That focus on one issue meant that even when relations became strained and hostile over Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2014, we were able to continue working as a team. We kept at it – in my case for over four years – but our future hopes were dashed by President Trump’s withdrawal from the nuclear agreement we had reached, a move that was categorised by some as an act of pique at anything Obama did, and by others as reflecting a view that an unforeseen by-product of our success was an emboldened Iran. Others just thought it a bad deal, though many could not articulate why, and much negative, ill-informed media coverage at the time did not help. An American colleague asked each person who called to complain about the deal to describe a uranium centrifuge and what it was used for. Most failed. He suggested they call back when they knew.

The format of the E3 plus 3 raises questions about what I term the ‘formal’ and the ‘informal’ structures of international cooperation. ‘Formal’ groupings of countries like the UN, EU, NATO and the World Trade Organization (WTO) require nations to sign on the line, often to complex rules and regulations, with shared principles of democracy and human rights as a requirement of membership. How to turn acceptance into enforcement has proved difficult, as we see in struggles to uphold press freedom and judicial independence across parts of the EU. But ‘formal’ relationships support depth, longevity and stability, allowing policies to develop over time. Over my five years at the helm of the EEAS I became good at knowing where each nation would stand on any given issue, although occasional dramatic changes in government make-up added an element of unpredictability to the mix.

The ‘informal’ groupings like Friends of Syria and the Libya Contact Group became increasingly common. Created to tackle one issue, they brought together countries that might otherwise have had little in common. Rather than seeking out only those with shared values, the focus was on breadth of support for a solution and a willingness to take quick action. In the wake of threats made by Libyan dictator Gaddafi against his own people, the coalition that President Sarkozy convened in Paris was an example of how different countries could come together to act quickly in response to a specific danger. In time NATO took the lead, but the initial interventions stemmed from the Paris meeting. I have tried to capture how decisions were made in the build-up to military action, and what happened after that.

But the future of Libya will not be decided in any single capital, least of all Tripoli. It will require agreement among many to a solution, and the support of all to a specific plan. Iran’s nuclear future will not be resolved by any single nation either, especially when animosity and mistrust make even the beginnings of a conversation impossible. Serbia and Kosovo need the prize of EU membership to be real and they require the support of others, not least the USA, to make that happen.

I often used to ask colleagues the question ‘And then what?’, to get us thinking beyond the immediate crisis. It was very difficult to see what might happen, but unless we defined our commitment as extending beyond the short term and planned accordingly, the chances of longer-term success were significantly lessened. Somalia’s piracy crisis could not be solved in isolation from the country’s wider structural problems. Young men with few options were enticed into piracy, causing havoc across a huge stretch of ocean and crippling the passage of the 30,000 ships that normally traversed Somalia’s coastline each year. It required thinking well beyond the immediate crisis. As the British admiral in charge of the EU military mission to tackle the problem pointed out, the solution to the problems at sea would be found on the land.

So too for Haiti in the aftermath of the 2010 earthquake that killed over 200,000 people in under a minute. Nations and aid organisations made concerted efforts to provide emergency shelter, food and water, and medical services. But in a country that had received aid for half a century, there were huge challenges beyond the immediate crisis. To build a functioning political system and civil society is a long-term and often difficult process. But without such ongoing commitment, a generation of girls will not get to school, businesses will not thrive, government will not work effectively, nor will people be able to return home.

I was never alone. The EEAS was created by diplomats and experts from all over Europe, willing to leave home and come to serve their nation in this collective adventure. Every move, every decision, every choice was made with them, and Europe owes them a huge debt. They brought hard work, extraordinary talent and lashings of good humour to bear on the most intransigent of problems. And they put up with me. I can never thank them enough. For each mentioned in these chapters, there are many more, including the wonderful officials and foreign ministers who worked tirelessly and supported my efforts. Some I remain closely in touch with, others have moved on to new adventures. Wherever they are, I have not forgotten. My debt is the same either way.

In writing this book I was struck by how often democracy was at the centre of my narrative – the erosion of democracy, aspirations for democracy and the challenges of building democracy. During what became known as the Arab Spring, across the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) I witnessed the cheering crowds full of passion, hope and determination. ‘We want what you have – democracy as a way of life,’ said a young man in Libya, believing in the endless possibilities for a better future. Too often I watched that fervour of possibility disappear from their faces as optimism faded.

It is vital that those who believe in democracy and are fortunate to live in one help those who want it as a way of life. Freedom of the press, an independent judiciary, a police force that works for the people, strong non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and civil society need help to take root, flower and grow strong. These are the essential components of what I call deep democracy, enabling elections to take place in free and fair circumstances, and people to make genuine choices, free from fear. This is the best – arguably the only – answer to those who fear that the overthrow of tyranny will lead to the populism of anti-Western extremism. Europe’s experience tells us that true democracy is the necessary foundation of tolerance, peace and prosperity. In those parts of the world where democracy has yet to flourish, we will not reach that destination quickly, nor do so without setbacks. But deep democracy is the only way we will get there at all.

1

THE JOURNEYTO BRUSSELS

My phone rang again. I hit decline for the fifth time while trying to persuade my reluctant muscles to cooperate with instructions from the fitness instructor.

Afterwards, walking home from the gym, I checked the caller ID. It was a senior BBC journalist. Odd. Early October before Parliament returned was usually quiet, especially for the leader of the House of Lords. I opened the front door to be greeted by my husband, Peter: ‘Come in here, quick. Has your phone been ringing? Mine has for the last hour.’ The living-room TV – and the Sky News ticker tape – told me that Peter Mandelson, the EU Trade Commissioner, was returning from Brussels a year early for a position in Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s government, and I was the name in the frame to succeed him. The news moved across the screen on a loop.

‘Has Gordon rung you?’ Peter asked. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Number 10 seemed to have briefed the media but not the person. For now, it was all speculation, and would remain so until Gordon either called me or someone else was given the job. I was irritated; my future was being decided and I was not party to it.

The Lords were about to return after the summer recess and I had lunch planned with Lord Strathclyde, Tom, my opposite number from the Conservatives, which would undoubtedly be fun. Our aim was to agree on what upcoming legislation was controversial and would be challenged by the opposition. Members of the Lords were loyal, but many were elderly. Using their time well was important. Both of us knew that the agreement would hold for most of the legislation – but not all. It was Tom’s job to defeat me, and mine to anticipate and be ready for his attempts. It was always good to share a joke with him outside the Chamber, but foolish to underestimate his ability to turn you into the joke inside it.

My car arrived and I shouted goodbye to Peter. ‘Good luck!’ he said. ‘Let me know when you hear anything.’

‘Is it true?’ asked Leon, my driver, as I got in.

‘If you don’t know, Leon, then it can’t be,’ I smiled.

Whenever ministers got moved, drivers knew first. A promotion meant a better car; moving departments a change of driver; and departures meant the car disappeared. So the drivers had to know first. But Leon knew nothing.

My journey was punctuated by a series of calls and messages that I ignored. ‘Congratulations!’ ‘Is it true?’ ‘Call me!’ and so on. Until Gordon rang, I officially knew nothing and to admit that would make me look stupid.

Morning in the office passed with something bordering on normality as I continued to avoid questions and joked with my special advisors that Downing Street seemed incapable of getting its act together. Meanwhile my name continued its travels along the bottom of all the TV news channels.

Tom was pleasantly surprised I hadn’t cancelled lunch and had a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket.

‘I’ve heard nothing,’ I announced as I sat down.

Gales of laughter from Tom: ‘Nothing unusual in that. Same problem when we were in office.’

‘But it’s four hours since I first saw it on the news,’ I said. ‘You’d think someone might’ve noticed by now.’

An hour and the bottle of champagne later, my phone rang. It was Downing Street.

‘Can you get the next train to Brussels?’ Gordon Brown asked. ‘You need to get there tonight to make sure we keep trade as the British portfolio.’

‘So, I am going then?’

There was a confused pause. Had nobody rung me? I explained that only he could send me; no one else could do this on his behalf. Brown was apologetic, but insisted I needed to get the train. There was no point in telling him my passport was in St Albans, 40 kilometres outside London, where I lived. No point in mentioning that he was asking me to leave my home and move abroad with no notice, no preparation, discussion or choice. Later I discovered that my interest in Europe had been taken to mean that I would happily work there for Britain. It was true, but a day or two to prepare would have been nice. I wondered later how they would’ve explained my answer if I’d said no. Nobody told me where I would stay that night, where I would live in Brussels, or when I would be home again. I quickly realised I was on my own.

As I was no longer a minister, the car, email address and red box had vanished, and it took a contact of Peter’s to find me a seat on a soldout Eurostar train. There I found Kim Darroch,* our EU ambassador. An old hand at the madness of government and rarely ever ruffled, Kim advised a glass of wine for both of us. He used his fantastic combination of charm and affability to great effect and was already working on making things go smoothly. I relaxed a bit, reassured by his presence. He and his wife Vanessa would continue to reassure me through my years in Brussels.

On arrival Kim and I headed to the UK ambassador’s residence, a beautiful, terraced palace. Its grand appearance was a creaking veneer of ostentatious wealth concealing failing heating and aged electrics. From time to time Treasury officials assessed selling it and moving the ambassador to somewhere more modest, but then the prime minister du jour would arrive, along with other ministers, and declare it should be kept. Kim and Vanessa lived in a small apartment at the top of the grand staircases, itself in need of updating. Vanessa greeted me warmly, understanding immediately how weird my day had already been. It was great to be with them, but even more so to find James Morrison already there. A fellow Lancastrian, he and I worked together in the House of Lords, where James had managed the Lisbon Treaty legislation for the Foreign Office. We made a good team. He was clever, funny and a serious problem solver whom I trusted completely. So it was wonderful to find him in Brussels, preparing to take over the job of chef de cabinet (head of office) of the next British commissioner, who turned out to be me.

Kim and I were soon summoned to see José Manuel Barroso, the Portuguese president of the European Commission. Like all members of the Commission, he was appointed for five years, and his job included deciding which country got which portfolio or area of responsibility for the five-year term – including financial services, energy, trade and justice. Brown wanted Britain to keep the trade portfolio for the remaining year of the current term, though many other countries would have liked it. Barroso wanted to increase the number of women in the Commission and had told Brown that if Britain sent a woman, and quickly, it would help.

Barroso and I had twice seen each other recently. While I was taking the Lisbon Treaty* through the Lords, Brown had asked me to fly to Peru for a meeting between European and Latin American/Caribbean countries, leaving on Thursday to return the following Monday. At the formal dinner in Lima, Barroso and I were seated next to each other, and he asked how the treaty was doing. Exhaustion and a couple of pisco sours added to my willingness to bore him with details and reassure him we’d get the Bill through. It was a reassurance he remembered, and turned out to be correct, but I fear it was born of Peru’s favourite drink rather than certainty on my part.

The second time was, bizarrely, only the previous week. I’d been in Brussels to toast the successful conclusion of the Lisbon Treaty and had seen both Barroso and Mandelson while I was there. In our meeting Mandelson told me he was interested in getting back to the UK, and I expressed an interest in possibly serving in Brussels in the future, an idea put to me while attending justice and home affairs meetings on behalf the UK government. But neither of us had known what was about to happen. The press, believing my visit was no coincidence, assumed otherwise: how could two people who were about to move have been sitting together in an office in Brussels, meeting all the key people who would be involved and not have known? But it was genuinely coincidental. I’d planned my visit to Brussels with my team in the Lords. Even if Mandelson had an inkling, I’d had no idea at all.

Barroso’s room in the Berlaymont building that housed the European Commission headquarters was rather stylish. He was a serious art lover and the walls reflected that. He said he was willing to allow the UK to continue to have the trade portfolio but wanted to know what my style would be like. I smiled to myself. Mandelson was a strong personality and was sure to have ruffled some feathers. I told him I worked in my own way. It seemed enough, and I returned to the residence having become both the first British woman to be a European commissioner and the first woman to hold the trade portfolio in the EU. I had, of course, no idea that within the year I would become the first HRVP of the European Commission. Nor did I have a clue that the job would claim the next six years of my life. Just as well – it had been a difficult enough day.

Commissioner for trade was a great job if you liked travel, difficult and complex discussions, and working with really smart people. The Brussels trade team were fantastic. They did the grind: details of tariffs, non-tariff barriers and phytosanitary issues. I, meanwhile, learnt the language of trade and discovered I didn’t suffer from jet lag. I negotiated the endgame in the South Korean trade deal, opened the Canada trade negotiations aimed at getting rid of most tariffs, or taxes, on imports in both directions, and resolved some long-term problems with the USA over beef and bananas. In Brussels I tried to be a collegiate commissioner, responding to the European Parliament and learning to view my own country (in Commission speak ‘the country I know best’) from an offshore position. On occasion I would try to explain UK national positions, putting the best spin on the pronouncements while making sure not to become the UK mouthpiece.

In January 2009 we faced a problem over the EU’s refusal to allow hormone-treated beef into its markets, which infuriated the USA. As tensions escalated, one of the products threatened with a reciprocal ban was San Pellegrino water, a massive Italian export to the USA. While I was dealing with this during a trip to Rome, Prime Minister Berlusconi invited me for an audience. In an ornate room we sat on gilded chairs beside a small table on which lay cake from his local bakery. Small and mahogany-hued, he spoke Italian with a broad grin and flourish of his hand and joked about his strength and determination to outlive and outlast his opposition as he urged me to resolve the dispute. Then, official business done, he relaxed and showed me photographs of the new university he was in the process of putting together. I’d been warned that, no matter where the conversation started, some reference to sex would inevitably appear. Sure enough, as he told me he wanted there to be equal numbers of female and male students, he pointed to long grass and secluded spots around the buildings, saying he hoped they would find things to do there together. His officials shuffled their feet, uncertain whether he would elaborate further. Instead, he showed me the room where he met with his senior ministers, joking that he didn’t let them sit so they would not linger in discussions.

At the end of January 2009, I set off for the first time to Moscow with eight other commissioners. We arrived to a temperature of minus 15. The hotel was close to Red Square and, as a treat, the team took me on a midnight walk to see the square, the Kremlin and St Basil’s Cathedral. It was Moscow as I had imagined it, snow-covered, freezing-cold and beautiful. But beneath the beauty the Russian economy was in trouble, with over 30 per cent of reserves gone in the recession. The trade minister, Elvira Nabiullina,* wanted to get Russia into the WTO so future deals could be conducted under WTO rules, which would make some negotiations easier. It was an old refrain that many European businesses hoped would become reality, though we were not hugely optimistic. I had promised to raise this with Prime Minister Putin.

Our discussions with the government were held at the Kremlin. Green-malachite stone pillars in the formal rooms stood near doors that rose to the high ceilings, which were ornately covered in gold. Portraits of past Russian leaders looked down from the walls. President Medvedev and I had spoken at a conference in Nice a few weeks before, so we had a passing acquaintance. We moved from him to where the power really lay, or, as I wrote at the time, ‘oozes from him’: Putin.

We sat together and ate lunch and Barroso invited me to speak first on trade and the economy, something Putin was always interested in. There is nothing more fascinating to me than sitting opposite someone who is completely different from most of the people I encounter. The first thing I do is to watch – how do they react, what their style is. Everyone has a ‘tell’, a way of being, that you can learn from. All these years later, whenever anyone asks what a particular leader was really like, the chances are it will be Putin. He fascinates and disturbs people – with good reason.

He looked just as he does on TV or in photos – not taller or shorter or different in size. He has noticeable blue eyes, but they’re neither piercing nor shark-like as some have suggested; I am wary of the tendency to imbue certain leaders with extraordinary physical characteristics or seemingly magical powers. He rarely smiles; there is no sense of warmth. In all my meetings with Putin he gave no sign that he recognised a shared future on the European continent. For him the sense of grievance went deep: Mother Russia had been invaded, sacrificed its millions and suffered over centuries. He was not there to offer friendship. His interactions with the EU were about the usefulness of a relationship that one day – possibly soon – would not offer enough to make it of value. When that day came he would abandon it without a backward glance.

He looks intently at whatever is holding his interest. On this occasion it was the small cards he had in front of him. I imagined that each contained a potted history of the people sitting in front of him, but that was probably my flight of fancy. Most likely it was a list of who they were and a short note about what he wanted to say. When I spoke he focused on me, nodding briefly when he agreed but otherwise giving nothing away. None of that was particularly remarkable, and yet it was clear he was in charge. As I was to discover again and again, controlling the time was part of his strategy. On this occasion everything overran, and we had to race back to our plane; on other occasions we would be kept waiting for ages for the meeting to start. Rarely would he arrive on time. Whichever it was, he was in control. I encountered him many times in the years ahead on issues where our interests coincided – the Iran nuclear deal being the most consistent example – or where they sharply divided, as over Ukraine.

The trade portfolio brought me to the attention of the capitals of Europe. Any deal required the agreement of all twenty-seven states (this was before Croatia joined the EU), and each was heavily lobbied by its own business sector. Many understood the overall benefits of a thriving and growing economy, even if a particular company gained little from a new trade deal, but politically it was tough. I spent a lot of time in Berlin and Rome talking to the car industry, particularly when it came to the South Korean deal.

James had an extraordinary depth of knowledge of how the Commission worked and what member states were thinking. He also had a passion for restoring old Mini Coopers. Strangely shaped parcels were constantly arriving from eBay or a Mini collectors’ club at his home in Brussels, or at our Berlaymont office. His enthusiasm for a piece of misshapen metal from a 1960s Mini was endless and infectious, and there were always at least three cars being rebuilt somewhere in a field in England. James would visit to discuss and work on the cars himself; if I ever wanted to doze in the back of the car or needed a break, asking about his latest find or purchase would elicit a detailed analysis of his progress . . .

During this year as commissioner for trade I had every expectation it was just an interlude. As autumn 2009 grew closer, I packed up, literally and emotionally, to go home. I’d managed to combine my UK life and Brussels pretty well, though most weeks involved travel outside both. The Lisbon Treaty, now successfully agreed by all twenty-seven countries, was coming into force and the search was on for the first people to take on two new positions: president of the European Council and the EU top diplomat, the HRVP.

It is difficult to understand the constant tug of war between individual countries’ desire to maintain control and their willingness to invest action in the EU without also understanding three of the main EU institutions: the Commission, Council and Parliament. Members of the European Parliament (MEPs) are directly elected by voters under a system of allocation that ensures smaller member states receive more seats than if they were simply assigned according to population size. Overall there are 705 MEPs, including the president of the Parliament. The Parliament has legislative and budgetary control as well as power over who is appointed to the Commission. It can require commissioners to attend its plenary sessions and committees. Established in 1962 and still immature in character, it had not yet developed the tools to keep parliamentarians from behaving badly in the Chamber or making ‘hit-and-run’ accusatory speeches to the hapless commissioner forced to reply to their debates, and then promptly departing to brief the press rather than waiting for a reply. Thanks to a ‘gentleman’s agreement’ on non-scrutiny with the Council, it never disclosed its own expenditure details, though it had a rabid interest in everything the Commission did.

The Commission consisted of a president, appointed by the member states and ratified by Parliament, and one commissioner from each of the other member states. Each commissioner was allocated a portfolio determined by the president. A great deal of lobbying went on behind the scenes as member states attempted to get the most important, or most relevant, portfolios or to keep them out of the hands of another country. Once allocations were finally made, each commissioner had a few weeks to learn their portfolio before being scrutinised by a committee of the Parliament. These meetings were often brutal. Parliament had the power to veto the whole Commission, so any commissioner who failed to impress would be dropped and another would take their place. For Parliament the hearings were an opportunity to extract promises for the future, in the hope that desperate candidates would agree to anything to ward off difficult questions. Commission officials devoted large amounts of time to explaining to candidates that, despite the temptations, under no circumstances must they commit to anything that gave MEPs more power or more oversight.

The European Council was made up of the leaders of the twentyseven member states, who met quarterly. Before the Lisbon Treaty came into force, each country took the rotating presidency of the Council, including chairing the European Council, for six months, bringing their own priorities to bear as well as continuing with existing work. So, for example, during Vladimir Putin’s first eight years as president of Russia, the biannual summits with Russia were chaired by sixteen different EU Council presidents. Each time the EU’s issues, priorities and style would change, as would Russia’s relationship with the presidency country. It was messy.

Following the Lisbon Treaty, the newly appointed president of the European Council, chosen by the member states, would chair European Council meetings, represent all member states internationally, work with the president of the Commission and provide direction and continuity to the EU’s agenda for up to five years (two terms of two and a half years). At ministerial level, other formations of the Council, such as justice and home affairs or finance, would continue to meet under the chairmanship of the rotating presidency, giving each country a chance to take the lead on a particular policy area for six months. The exception was foreign affairs, which, post-Lisbon, would be chaired by the HRVP for a term of five years. Foreign ministers would also no longer attend the meetings of the European Council alongside their leaders. Instead the HRVP would represent the views of the Foreign Affairs Council.

The HRVP role brought together three distinct jobs: the chair of the Foreign Affairs Council (and chair of Defence and Development Ministers’ Councils, who met less frequently as a subset of Foreign Affairs); the high representative for the Council, essentially a full-time job managing foreign policy on behalf of the member states; and the external relations commissioner, responsible for the Commission’s work across the world – especially important in terms of relations with Turkey, the Middle East and the Balkan countries.

It was a challenging role. The job was, uniquely, half Commission and half Council. Each half had different rules and different areas of ‘competence’. The Commission side was responsible directly to the European Parliament, which was eager for more say and control. The Commission had authority stemming from its powers to propose initiatives. But, in Foreign Affairs, it relied on member states giving it the power to act. The Council worked purely inter-governmentally, requiring unanimity in its decision-making and without referring to the European Parliament. It had no wish to delegate to the Commission nor to involve the Parliament, especially on defence and security issues. The Commission meanwhile wanted to increase its delegated authority, believing that would support better long-term decision-making. Each side viewed the other with suspicion. On paper the HRVP was intended to be a unifying force, but would be watched closely by all three institutions for signs of favouring one camp above the other. Whoever took on this new role would be battling with themself while fighting a war on three fronts.

If the politics of the institutions weren’t tricky enough, there was also the party politics of Europe to contend with. There were three main groupings, roughly translatable to UK politics as conservative (EPP), liberal (ALDE) and labour/socialist (PES). Depending on who came out on top during the European elections, the assumption was that the winning political grouping would take the top jobs. In other words, the winning group would choose the president of both Council and Commission, and the HRVP job would go to the next-largest party. The role of president of the Parliament, also up for grabs, was increasingly shared between the two biggest groups for half a term each.

Alongside party politics was the hierarchy of EU countries. The founding six members – Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Germany, Italy and the Netherlands – expected to claim one of the big roles. Smaller nations like Portugal or Ireland wanted to be represented, while Eastern European countries also wanted a stake, knowing that if they didn’t get a top job this time they could expect it next time, as happened when Donald Tusk, former prime minister of Poland, became president of the European Council in 2014. It was a careful balancing act between size, geographical location and political group, with occasional mention of the need for gender balance.

Following the 2009 European elections, which the conservative EPP won, the puzzle was pieced together. Barroso would remain Commission president for his expected second term (conservative, Portugal, South, small country). Jerzy Buzek became the first of two presidents of the Parliament (conservative, Poland, big country, Eastern new member state) followed by Martin Schulz in 2012 (socialist, Germany, big country, founding member).

Meanwhile, discussions were quietly under way as to who should fill the new job of president of the European Council. Most assumed that it would go to one of the small founding countries – Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg – in part a reflection that the key part of the job was to chair proceedings, while national leaders, especially from the bigger countries, retained their authority. The European Council met to make its decision on 19 November 2009 and appointed the Belgian conservative Herman Van Rompuy as its first permanent president. As prime minister of Belgium, the cerebral Van Rompuy was highly respected and well used to finding creative solutions for a country with a population divided between French- and Flemish-speaking communities. His capacity to reconcile conflicting positions was an important key personal quality, especially as the financial crisis started to take its toll across the EU. Both Commission and member states were worried about Greece in particular. Given his deep interest in economics, Van Rompuy’s appointment signalled that member states saw the new presidential role above all as chair and coordinator of their political and economic debates.

Although based in Brussels, NATO is a completely separate institution, but its next secretary general appointment was also factored into the ‘top jobs’ equation. NATO has a separate membership that includes the USA and Canada and excludes a number of EU member states. By tradition the secretary general has always been a European, and the choice was made at roughly the same time – August 2009 – as the other European jobs. The former prime minister of Denmark, Anders Fogh Rasmussen, was appointed to the position (conservative, Scandinavian, small country).

The role of HRVP was a different rank – foreign minister-level – and so came at the end of the list of considerations, by which point certain elements of the choice were already in place. First, the other roles were all taken by men – there had been no serious female contenders for the top jobs once Chancellor Angela Merkel made clear she was not interested in being president of either Commission or Council. This made the pressure to appoint a woman as HRVP quite strong. Second, all the other positions had been taken by conservatives (apart from the second half of the European Parliament presidency from 2012). The socialist group, which had done very well in the European elections, therefore felt the role should be theirs. As a strong third party, the liberals (ALDE) also felt they should get a major role, but the other two were not interested in sharing. Lastly the British, having thought for a while that Tony Blair might be appointed president of the European Council with the strong support of France, now had none of the ‘top jobs’. There was quite a lot of support for the UK to have something, provided the candidate was right. The push for a woman to be appointed was meanwhile gaining momentum.

At a meeting in India some weeks before the decision was taken, President Barroso asked to see me in his hotel room and came straight to the point. ‘For the HRVP job we need a Brit and a woman from left-of-centre politics.’ He smiled. ‘Those deciding across Europe will not know many – but they will know you.’ I laughed – it seemed utterly ridiculous to me; there was nothing from Downing Street suggesting I was in the running, and I didn’t think I had the right background for the job.