The problem with permanent secretaries

Sir Olly Robbins is trying to take a lawyer to court. Backed by the senior civil servants’ union, the former Foreign Office Permanent Secretary is seeking a judicial review of Keir Starmer’s decision to dismiss him for overruling official advice to deny Peter Mandelson security clearance. 

No matter how much schadenfreude we might derive from seeing Starmer hauled over the coals, Robbins ought to maintain a dignified silence.

A six-figure payout was reportedly on the table — an extremely generous sum, if true, considering Sir Olly was in post for just 15 months.

Yet, despite briefing that he would not seek a record-breaking settlement out of respect for the taxpayer, Theresa May’s former Brexit negotiator now claims legal action would have been “unnecessary” had Starmer “made amends for the distress and cost” his dismissal caused. Even if the case does not reach a hearing, the government could rack up hefty legal bills.

If his sole aim is to damage Starmer, Robbins needn’t bother. Not content with publicly humiliating him, Starmer’s party is itching to rip up his legacy, while his reluctance to fund the Defence Investment Plan surely rules him out of the running to succeed Mark Rutte as NATO Secretary General. It’s in all our interests to leave him to pore over legal journals in peace.

Nor should we take at face value the FDA’s claim that it is backing Robbins to defend “the core values of a professional and impartial civil service”. His case, and the entire Mandelson saga, reveals a lack of understanding of the role of a modern-day permanent secretary. 

As I saw during my time in government, the top civil servants in each department have become politicians in all but name. They have large private offices that move with them across departments. They brand and empire build; their patronage ensures more junior officials put their priorities first. The phrase “Perm Sec says that’s not possible” is repeated ad infinitum to curtail ministers’ proposals.

This could have laughable consequences. Soon after becoming Health Secretary, Wes Streeting expressed a desire to host a drinks reception. Without hesitation, he was told the Perm Sec’s rules were clear: there could be “no alcohol on the public purse”.

Although Wes eventually got his wine, this tale demonstrates the extent to which permanent secretaries’ power bases have grown to rival ministers’. Sadly, it makes a degree of sense. When a minister surviving a couple of years is considered a good run, why wouldn’t ambitious officials align themselves with a permanent secretary who could stay in post for almost a decade?

More shocking was how much time DHSC’s top mandarin, Sir Chris Wormald, spent dealing with presentational issues. He attended communications meetings and routinely rewrote responses to media enquiries. Both he and the Chief Medical Officer, Sir Chris Whitty, took an unhealthy interest in how policies they saw as their own were perceived. 

Most pertinently for Robbins’s case, as Labour came into office, I saw top officials take a laissez-faire approach to policing appointments, allowing a raft of political figures to be parachuted into civil service roles. 

How did this happen? Because by giving ministers what they want on black-and-white issues like appointments, officials appear to be onside while keeping the whip hand over long-term policymaking.

And the same pattern was repeated across Whitehall. Comically, Jess Sargeant moved from Labour Together into the Cabinet Office’s Propriety and Constitution Group. 

Turning a blind eye does mandarins’ career prospects no harm either — just take Wormald. Months into Labour’s tenure, he was promoted into the top job of Cabinet Secretary, replacing the Conservatives’ pick, Simon Case. 

In this context, it’s not difficult to see why Robbins was keen to get Mandelson into post. The circumstances might have been unusual, but the principle of ministers getting their way over appointments was long established. 

Sir Olly only got the Foreign Office’s top job after David Lammy ditched his predecessor, Sir Philip Barton, before his tenure was due to end. Having himself benefited from ministerial patronage throughout his career — let’s not forget that he was once Theresa May’s personal “Brexit sherpa” — Robbins cannot credibly present himself as the defender of an impartial civil service. 

Equally, permanent secretaries cannot wield vast amounts of political power one day, then claim to be mere functionaries the next. Robbins was a willing participant in Mandelson’s appointment. It’s dishonest of him to lay the blame solely at Starmer’s door. 

Starmer didn’t advise Sir Olly not to read the security briefing on Mandelson; nor could the Prime Minister have imagined that the official who briefed Robbins orally had not seen it either. FCDO record keeping the Foreign Affairs Committee described as “appalling” was Robbins’s responsibility, not Starmer’s.

While he was still permanent secretary, Sir Olly had the chance to give MPs his department’s full account of events. Instead, he gave evidence the committee said “revealed very little” and formed part of a response it condemned as “evasive”. Whatever the merits of his dismissal, he should shoulder his share of responsibility with good grace.

Such is the privilege of a permanent secretary: all the power, and none of the accountability

Robbins has done rather well out of the civil service. His reward for botching the Brexit negotiations was becoming a managing director at Goldman Sachs. He will have amassed a pension pot most workers can only dream of, and a lucrative return to the private sector beckons. Were it not for this legal action, the public would already have forgotten all about him.

Such is the privilege of a permanent secretary: all the power, and none of the accountability. Robbins should count his blessings and walk away.