Humility and humour, jags and jabs: Remembering John Prescott

By Cianan Sheekey

The death of former Deputy Prime Minister John Leslie Prescott, aged 86, in November of last year, marked a sombre day for personality politics. Our legislators sparsely possess fascinating personalities; being interesting often provides too much electoral ammunition for opposition salvos. Yet, for Prescott, it was impossible not to serve without the working-class fire which fueled him. His humility would never allow him to serve as anyone other than himself - and if that meant the odd protestor caught a left hook, then so be it. In the words of Tony Blair, “John is John”, an endearing reflection of the authenticity for which the Labour Party cherished him.

Prescott rose through the ranks of the National Union of Seamen in the 1960s, acquiring the Union’s sponsorship and becoming an MP for Hull East in 1970. His subsequent Parliamentary rise saw him ferociously champion for his constituents, including a notable swim down the Thames to protest Thatcher's policy of dumping nuclear waste at sea, a stand for the protection of maritime ecology and the fishing industry vital to his constituency’s local economy. Fighting for Hullians, the people of a Northern town reeling from the Cod Wars, EU accession, and governmental abandonment in the years of Thatcherism forged a bond between Hull and the Labour Party, evidenced by its becoming of a brick in the ‘red wall’ ever since.

Prescott’s commitment to the environment persisted throughout his career. Al Gore, 45th Vice-President of the United States, hailed then-Deputy Prime Minister Prescott as an “unwavering champion of climate action” for his commendable role negotiating the 1997 Kyoto Protocol, where he “fought like hell” - the BBC even dubbed him the “Kyoto deal breaker”. Suppose you needed proof that substance can outweigh style in politics: John Prescott, son of a Welsh railway signalman, most well-known for decking a member of the electorate, the unlikely most influential climate figure in British political history.

No remembrance of Prescott can omit the punch.

As the millennium loomed, UK politics changed forever with Labour’s landslide 179-majority in the 1997 General Election, which marked a return to government after an 18 year stint of eternal opposition. The New Labour train steamed into Downing Street - its riders proprietors of Third Way socialism and divisive modernisation. Although not a Third Way socialist himself, Prescott’s potential value was not lost on Prime Minister Blair, who appointed him Deputy Prime Minister. Utilising “humour and grit to unite old and New Labour”, Prescott fostered cooperation between the warring Blair and Brownite factions. New Labour’s record, whether it be the longest unbroken streak of economic growth since before the industrial revolution, with a 1.42% yearly GDP per capita growth between 1997 and 2010, extensive constitutional reform, or the conclusion of enduring conflict in Northern Ireland - whilst not wholy unblemished, may not have been half as accomplished without the cohesive role of Prescott.

No remembrance of Prescott can omit the punch. While visiting a Labour rally in Rhyl,

Wales, he had an egg ferociously hurled at his head. Instinctively, Prescott launched a mighty jab at the instigating egg thrower before engaging in an uncoordinated scuffle. The whole episode reinforced his salt-of-the-earth reputation. His reaction was unlike that of other politicians in that it was distinctly ordinary, which, alongside previous antics such as downing a pint on the campaign trail, cemented him as a working man for the working people.

By no means perfect, he lived a life intimately intertwined with his humble origins, achieving monumental feats for which he is retrospectively lauded.

Such a reputation would, however, not persist through Prescott’s latter years. Maintaining the image of a humble lower-class warrior becomes challenging when you acquire the nickname ‘Two Jags’ for your ownership of two Jaguar cars. Or when you accept a peerage despite vowing never to do so. Or when you commit adultery on your long-term partner. Perhaps, serving as Britain’s longest-serving Deputy Prime Minister, surrounded by figures and institutions mired in power and affluence, was always going to dim the fire of humility which warmed Prescott’s earlier self, a dire affliction of political osmosis.

Remembering John Prescott is a polarising affair. Immoral flaws seeped into his character, eroding the deeply likeable working demeanour with which his career kick-started. He achieved swathes in politics, from enabling New Labour to personally securing one of the most crucial climate agreements in history. For much of his life, he retained his down-to-earth, passionate demeanour, building a long-standing affection with many in the process, and none less than the people of Hull, who fondly remember him as “a man of the people”. By no means perfect, he lived a life intimately intertwined with his humble origins, achieving monumental feats for which he is retrospectively lauded.

Rest easy, John.

Image: Flickr