In his first talk since losing the Tory leadership election, Rory Stewart seemed quite liberated. He wasn’t in the Book Festival’s big tent to make a point, grind an axe or defend the government. It was only at the end of the interview that his new book was mentioned

The interview ranged freely over a raft of issues: addiction, communities, foreign affairs, philosophy, prisons and of course Brexit.

He also looked different: the media like to show close-up photos of Mr Stewart, emphasising his sunken cheeks and sad eyes, making him look slightly mad. He reminds me of Peter Cushing who used to play softly spoken, but deeply sinister, characters in old horror films.

But viewed from the back of the big tent Rory Stewart looked great: he has the lean frame of a serious hillwalker (no sign of a politician’s beer belly); he has a full mop of black hair which isn’t bad for a 46 year old; from afar he actually looks quite handsome.

Rory Stewart’s Big Tent Approach to Politics

I’m not quite sure when Mr Stewart first became famous, but I suspect it was when he wrote a book about walking through Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan.

In Iraq and Afghanistan, where he worked, he would have come across the “big tent” approach to politics: you get all the local leaders, as well as outside experts, into a big tent, in front of a big crowd of locals; and then go through all the political options until coming to an agreement. It’s all about compromise and inclusion, but in a genuine and simple way.

During his Tory leadership bid he proposed such an approach to Brexit, quoting success stories from Ireland and France, but it came across all wrong. Such an idea doesn’t come across well in a media interview format where journalists are looking for mud to sling at the other politicians.

But in this one-hour slot in the Book Festival, I realised that maybe this eccentric-looking hillwalker could have been the one leader who made sense of Brexit (an idea that didn’t occur to me when he was in the running; in fact, until this talk, I thought nobody could make sense of it).

I was left with a bittersweet aftertaste. On the one hand he described a Parliament that is so polarised he only has about ten people who want to hear his ideas on compromise; on the other hand, he made a convincing case for keeping the United Kingdom united.

He cleverly dodged questions about Boris Johnson but said politicians are empty vessels and “have no soul”.  His reasons for joining the party were based on eighteenth century ideals of community and I could feel my cynicism rising; but then I realised it’s better to have people like this in the ruling party so they’re not all just paid hacks of big business.

Rupert Wolfe Murray
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