The New, sterile Statesman

The extraordinary sensibilities of Peter Wilby about his position as the editor of the New Statesman have been on public display lately. Since an article I wrote about the state of the political weekly magazines was published in the current issue of the British Journalism Review, Mr Wilby has responded with all the instincts of a cornered animal - which is to say, a great deal of hissing and spitting. There may well be a reason for this.

His main attack upon me as the author of a discursive piece which was quite critical of the current state of affairs at the "Staggers", was that two years ago I had accepted an invitation to the weekly lunch at the New Statesman - or, as he has at least twice somewhat ungraciously phrased it, "scoffed a free lunch". I happily accepted, as I had previously written quite regularly for the magazine, and at one stage light years ago was even asked by the staff to accept their nomination as a candidate for the editorship. (I declined).

Perhaps it isn't all that surprising, given what is going on around him, that Mr Wilby is a little on edge. There are rumours that Nick Butler, the man in charge of policy and development as a group vice president at BP, and someone who also takes a lively interest in Labour Party matters, is seeking to put together a group of investors to revive a bid for the New Statesman.

Things have reputedly reached the point where Butler is actually discussing a possible price with the present proprietor, Geoffrey Robinson - news which I can only hope has also reached Mr Wilby.

The state of his relationship with his proprietor is not the best: " perfectly amicable" was the old code he used in a recent interview with The Independent, and everyone knows

what that means. Mr Robinson has not yet run out of his many millions and has continued to revel in his role as the proprietor-about-town since he bought the magazine.

My information a couple of months ago was that he intended to hang on to it because of his strong commitment to his old friend, Chancellor Gordon Brown. And, who knows, perhaps Gordon would have him back into a Brown government? Stranger things have happened.

In the meantime, the magazine has been losing Robinson's money faster than a newsagent's fist over a fiver. Sales are still a long way from the glory days of the 1960s, when figures of 90,000 were not unknown. Debate rages over the current position, but the most recent official figure - for 2001 - is 22,806, slightly up on the previous year.

But if the picture is so rosy, why the spring relaunch, which, as I suggested in my original article, was not only intended to bring in younger readers but was intended also to save about £150,000 a year?

The NS readership was told that they could now learn to "expect the unexpected". All that it meant was that the design was sharpened up a bit, the use of colour was simplified and there was an obvious desire to provide a younger, more sassy style in the hope of persuading more people to read the thing. It has a

reputation at present for being either dull or silly, while it simultaneously fails to appeal to people who are actually interested in politics.

Wilby is understandably irritated by that assessment, and I'm sorry to convey bad news, but it is a widely held view among those who wish the magazine well.

The Statesman's rows tend to be unpleasant, not enlightening. Although Wilby took the rap and apologised for the row over the "Kosher Conspiracy" issue, which several members of staff regarded as openly racist, insiders say the inspiration for it was his deputy, Cristina Odone. "She'd been trying to persuade Peter to do it for months," said one. Odone, an

American who is the former editor of the Catholic Herald, is not a political animal.

She is good at getting the paper mentioned, knows lots of people on the gossip columns and has introduced an unexpected category of guests to the weekly lunches: Right-wing academics, people from the Palace, posh wine merchants, City types. There's a lot of people calling each other "Darling!".

It's odd, then, that the covers look so seedy. One featured a highly suggestive photograph of a model in a sexy pair of knickers as the comeon for a serious analysis by the then political editor, Jackie Ashley, of the Labour Party's cultural problem in selecting women candidates. Ashley did not get on with Odone and specifically repudiated the cover on a radio programme. When she eventually left for The Guardian, one of her farewell presents was a voodoo doll with a cut-out picture of Odone on the face; members of staff had thoughtfully already stuck some pins in for her.

Things have not changed much since Ashley's protracted departure and her replacement by former BBC correspondent John Kampfner. He still needs time to find his feet but he has a good address book and reserves of energy.

He is not the must-read that the NS needs from a political editor. I should add here - because Peter Wilby has mentioned it - that when I went to the NS lunch shortly before the appointment of Jackie Ashley, her predecessor, Steve Richards, told me he was leaving and suggested that I might be interested in the job. I wrote a thank-you letter for the lunch to Wilby, replayed my conversation with Steve Richards and said that I would be delighted to write for it anyway. He did not reply.

Well, that's journalism for you. It's also rude, in my book. Friends have told me that when they have wanted to put political views with which the editor does not agree, he has dismissed the idea of an article and suggested that they "write a letter". The political sterility of the contents reflects that curt approach.

I like the New Statesman. I admire a few of its regular writers - John Lloyd, for example - but very far fewer than I used to do. The contents list does not have the come-on that it used to contain. I would rather read the reviews by established writers in the back half than anything else - or the food column or the theatre or television reviews. But that should not be what a political magazine does best. I wish it better days to come: and no, this is not a job application.