Quotes of the Day

When Tony Blair's motorcade swept into the Royal Courts of Justice last Thursday morning, he knew he faced a more searing spotlight than any he'd stared down before. The Hutton Inquiry into the apparent suicide of biochemical-weapons expert David Kelly — and the government's alleged dissembling on the road to war — had already transfixed Britain for more than two weeks, and the Prime Minister's testimony was bound to be its climax. Clusters of antiwar protesters were ready with jeers, Pinocchio-style noses and placards reading weapon of mass destruction: b.liar. Blair emerged into that maelstrom from a black Range Rover wearing a dark blue suit, a businesslike burgundy tie and a tight smile. Just before he slipped inside the building, he gave the slightest glance to the phalanx of photographers and cameramen, as if to say to them and the rest of the world: I know you're watching. And I'm ready.

He was. In 21/2 hours of apparently frank testimony — always thoughtful and reasoned, passionate when passion was called for — Blair gave a masterful performance. In that lawyerly environment of "My Lords" and obsequious nods, Blair was a winner — we can now believe that Downing Street did not knowingly mislead the public by inserting into a dossier the shaky claim that Saddam Hussein could launch weapons of mass destruction within 45 minutes. But though he won that battle, the larger war for public trust is not going so well. According to an ICM/Sunday Telegraph poll released prior to his testimony, 67% of Britons believe Blair's government misled them about Iraq's WMD. In a YouGov/Daily Telegraph poll, only 22% describe the government as "honest and trustworthy," down from 56% in 2001. And in what has become a monumental showdown between the government and the media, a TIME/CNN poll found that only 6% of Britons consider the government a more trustworthy source for facts about war than the BBC. On Friday, when Alastair Campbell, Blair's communications director and most trusted adviser, announced his long-rumored resignation, he left Blair in charge of a government whose relationship with the public was fundamentally and perhaps irrevocably broken.

The p.r. war is far from over. Lord Hutton will not issue his findings until October, but his inquiry has already laid bare the media-obsessed ways of Blair's government, opened a window into the secret world of the intelligence services, and raised vexing issues about leadership, transparency and trust. Now Blair faces the huge challenge of winning back his credibility without resorting anew to the spin tactics so identified with Campbell. To understand what Blair must do to reclaim his premiership, it's helpful to see how it all went wrong on the road to Iraq.

Last September, when the Prime Minister presented the intelligence dossier that included the claim that Iraq could unleash WMD within 45 minutes, the response was muted. Analysts shrugged, saying it contained little new information. As the war wound down and coalition forces searched in vain for WMD, Blair's repeated claims — he called the threat "serious and current" — became political tinder. That ignited when BBC reporter Andrew Gilligan alleged in late May that the government had released the dossier knowing that, according to "one of the senior officials in charge of drawing up that dossier," the 45-minute claim could be untrue. That source was believed to be Kelly, who was found dead on July 18.

Lord Hutton's official mandate is "to conduct an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of Dr. Kelly," who, in this strange saga, is the closest thing we have to an Everyman. He did his job, and he was good at it. Britain's premier expert on Iraq's weapons, he was a knowledgeable source for the government as well as the media, which frequently turned to him. But when the BBC ran its report (which Kelly later claimed misstated his views), and when Whitehall unleashed its ham-handed strategy of not naming Kelly, but giving hints and then confirming him as the alleged leaker, the scientist was thrown into a hostile arena. The stress of being handled as if he had a giant red S for source emblazoned on his chest apparently killed him. Some who watched this drama unfold couldn't help wondering: Is this what happens to good men who get caught up with the wrong crowd?

Politicians' interest in self-preservation is, of course, understandable, especially if they feel, as Blair told the Hutton Inquiry last week, that "had the [BBC's] allegation been true, it would have merited my resignation." It was, he said, "an absolutely fundamental charge ... [that] we had behaved in the most disgraceful way." But in parrying that charge, he didn't answer for another one: that flawed strategy of outing Kelly, which revealed the lengths to which his government would go to defend its own image. Blair said that Kelly had seemed a person "of a certain robustness," and he and other witnesses argued that Kelly's name was bound to come out anyway. But just how the government went from that conclusion to its plan remains murky, and Lord Hutton will no doubt dig deeper in later sessions.

Testimony so far has revealed that Campbell considered leaking Kelly's name to a friendly newspaper, and talked over options with Defence Secretary Geoff Hoon. According to Campbell's diary, these also included a possible "plea bargain" for Kelly in response to his unauthorized leaks, meaning he could avoid demotion by coming clean about his talks to the press. Ministry of Defence director of news Pam Teare went so far as to draw up an information sheet for her press officers entitled: "Q&A: Who is the official?" It detailed clues to his identity that could be divulged, and noted that his name could be confirmed if provided by a reporter.

Given the doggedness with which the Prime Minister has defended his decisions on Iraq, it is no surprise that Downing Street's p.r. machine reserved its fullest wrath for the BBC. According to Blair, its report changed the whole tenor of the Iraq debate: "The whole thing since then has been not 'Did the Government make the wrong decision?' but 'Did the Government dupe us? Did the Government in a sense defraud people over it?'" Gilligan's main allegation appears discredited. If anything was "sexed up," it seems to have been the charges against Downing Street, not the dossier itself. There were no lies; there was questionable intelligence, but the spies have accepted responsibility for that. The compilation of the dossier was a frenzied search for the strongest possible evidence, but one that seems less sinister than Downing Street's opponents hoped, and than Gilligan suggested. Throughout that process, insisted Joint Intelligence Committee chairman John Scarlett, "I was in charge." But the paper trail shows that Downing Street clearly hardened up the dossier's language in its zeal to make its case. For instance, on Campbell's suggestion, the claim that the Iraqis "may be able to" launch WMD was strengthened to read "are able to." The JIC also took a small step back from the dossier, insisting that it be credited not as "the work of" the jic, but as "based, in large part, on" the JIC's work. The point was fine enough, at least to Blair, that he could still testify: "It was essential that we, hand on heart, could say: this is the assessment of the Joint Intelligence Committee."

Leaders have always used intelligence to serve political ends. But in Britain, the intelligence services have traditionally remained deep in the shadows. Parliament did not have an intelligence committee until 1994. Until the early 1990s, the government never publicly named the heads of MI5 and MI6, and the services were always considered unbreachably apolitical. But the lines that were so clear in the past have been blurred, says Malcolm Rifkind, Defence Secretary and Foreign Secretary under John Major. "All the material could have been used by the Prime Minister and his colleagues in public, but without referring to it as intelligence material."

Blair knew that this would have been less effective. His government, more than any other, has been all about presentation and salesmanship — or in the more ubiquitous and less charitable term, spin. Hoon told the inquiry that intelligence gathering "tends not to be in the form of a large volume of material submitted at any one time. It is a series of individual pieces of information that build up into a picture." The individual pieces of information presented at the inquiry have only confirmed the public perception that, to this Government, image is everything and anyone who threatens the image must be defeated, even destroyed.

Strangely out of synch with the spinmeisters last week was Hoon, the hapless Defence Secretary, who had been tipped as the fall guy even before he had set foot in the inquiry room. From the witness chair, Hoon repeatedly shifted responsibility to underlings in his department and to Downing Street, earning the title Secretary for Self-Defence from the Daily Mail. On the MoD's Q&A list for queries about Kelly, Hoon said his approach was hands-off: "I would not expect to be consulted about that kind of material." And on overruling Kevin Tebbit, the MoD permanent secretary who did not want Kelly to give evidence to a parliamentary committee, Hoon said: "I was certainly aware that the Prime Minister took essentially the same view that I did." By the time he was done listing all the things he did not do and redistributing responsibility, one wondered whether he had any left to head his own Cabinet department. The laconic judgment on one protester's placard: "ain't nothin' but a hoon dog."

Blair's testimony, on the other hand, was a master class. Only the second Prime Minister ever to testify in a judicial inquiry called by his own government — Major was the first, in a 1994 investigation into whether arms were exported illegally to Iraq under Thatcher — Blair glowed with sincerity and a tan acquired on a recent three-week family holiday in Barbados. His performance was polished, reminiscent of his weekly gig at Prime Minister's Questions, but without the Tory-targeted barbs. He accented his testimony with rueful smiles, polite honorifics and hand gestures for emphasis. It was the performance of a man who knew the papers would pick over every word and gesticulation the next day. In contrast to Hoon, Blair twice confirmed that he was ultimately in charge, saying, "Responsibility is mine in the end. I take the decisions as Prime Minister." Sometimes he did share that responsibility. For instance, he noted that the decision to make public Kelly's appearance before a parliamentary committee followed the advice of David Omand, who coordinates intelligence in the Cabinet Office. But he left the session with his reputation if not intact, then at least no more scathed.

The Hutton Inquiry continues this week with what is expected to be emotionally charged testimony from friends and relatives of David Kelly, including his wife Janice. They should be able to paint a clearer picture of just how the vise of political pressure closed on their friend, husband and father during his last days. But barring bombshells during the inquiry's last month of testimony, when Hutton may recall witnesses for further questioning, Blair's appearance last week was the high point of a still unfinished drama — the word from the man at the top.

Blair is also the one with the biggest job to do in the coming months. Like any successful politician, he has a knack for sensing the public mood, and there's no reason to believe it has abandoned him. He remembers the sleaze of the Major era that doomed the Tories and ultimately led to his own rise. He recognizes the opposition he faces within his own party, including ex-minister Glenda Jackson, who told TIME that she frequently calls for his resignation because of "the damage that is being done to the country as much as to the government" and says, "I don't think, whatever transpires at the end of the Hutton Inquiry, that the trust will be easy to rebuild." Blair knows. Having built his government on the foundation of his own credibility, this Prime Minister understood that its undermining would bury not only his Iraq policy but also the rest of his agenda. That includes a potential euro referendum — now on hold, presumably until Blair regains his public standing — and, should he choose to run again, his chances in an election that he'll have to call by 2006.

Can Blair repair the damage? The departure of Campbell will help the PM's image — though Blair may feel he's lost his left arm. Stepping in will be David Hill, a mustachioed former Labour spokesman whose pluses include his dry humor, a spin-free reputation and the fact that he arrives with few enemies. Hill will not wield anything like the power that Campbell did, but will be the senior figure in a restructured Downing Street communications operation that gives an enlarged role to civil servants — a move meant to reflect a clean break with the strategies of the recent past. Earlier this summer, reporters were told that Blair planned to announce "the end of spin" at this month's Labour Party Conference. But announcing the end of spin is, of course, a form of spin. If he's serious, Blair must refocus on domestic policy and make headway on vexing problems like schools, hospitals and transportation. "The best way to establish trust is to do what you've promised," says backbench M.P. and Blair loyalist Barry Gardiner. "Spin is about short-termism."

In his testimony last week, as he recounted the government thinking on Kelly's outing, Blair concluded: "It was better just to be open." The words rang hollow to some of his former supporters. When asked if he could say anything to regain her trust, Diane Monk, a fiftysomething teacher outside the court who was fiercely loyal to the PM until the Iraq war, muttered three words that, repeated often enough and translated into votes, could spell the end of Blair's impressive political career: "It's too late." Downing Street has to hope that most Britons will sooner or later disagree.

• JEFF CHU
• Can Blair repair his tarnished image?