The hospital without patients; a triumph of her majesty's civil service.

• Author: Jay, Antony

THE HOSPITAL WITHOUT PATIENTS

In 1985, WETA, Washington's public television station, imported another one of those BBC series. It was called "Yes, Minister' and portrayed the relationship between the elected officials of Britain and its permanent civil service. The program was not wildly popular in Washington, possibly because both the bureaucracy and the politicians found it too true to be funny. Later, it played on 46 of the nation's 280 public TV stations. It wasn't too popular out there either: nobody outside Washington believed that government could possibly be run that zanily.

The book that the show inspired consists of the fictional diaries of James Hacker, an aptly named member of parliament whose party has just won the elections and who finds himself a cabinet minister in charge (or so he thinks) of the Department of Administrative Affairs, which was created to control the civil service. Hacker's diaries are supplemented by those of his aide, Sir Humphrey Appleby, the senior civil servant in the department (who has no doubt about who's in charge), and by the recollections of Bernard Woolley, Hacker's private secretary. Appleby's and Woolley's notes are important because, as Lynn and Jay observe, Hacker was once a journalist, and has no particular talent for reporting facts.

Make a few allowances for the differences between parliamentary and presidential government, and Yes, Minister tells you a great deal about how America is governed. In Sir Humphrey's parlance, "permanence is power'; it is the civil servant, not the political appointee, who has tenure. The average minister lasts only 11 months; the term expectancy of a U.S. assistant secretary is slightly more than 18 months. These people, who are just passing through, cannot be permitted to interfere with the smooth running of government. The object--nay, the duty--of the civil servant is to "housetrain' the politicians or political appointees who have wandered into their midst. A new man is considered housetrained when he sees things through the eyes of the senior civil servants.

For instance, Hacker's party has come to power having pledged, among other things, to slim down the civil service; as head of the Department of Administrative Affairs, Hacker feels obliged to set a proper example and instructs Sir Humphrey to study how many people could be trimmed. Humphrey accepts the job with his usual, "Yes, Minister.' Soon a story appears in the Daily Telegraph, noting with glee that Hacker has recruited 400 new civil servants in his "economy drive.' Humphrey is astonished that Hacker is upset: "You demanded a complete survey. . . . If you create more work, more people have to be employed.' Humphrey then points out the advantages to his boss. Hacker can put out a press release announcing that, because of the successful conclusion of the economy drive, the staff is now being trimmed by 400 people.

On the pleasure-pain principle of behavior modification, Hacker finds himself paying increasing heed to Humphrey's guidance. Or, as Hacker puts it, a certain warmth has developed in their relationship--as between a terrorist and his hostage. The day will come when an apprehensive Hacker will be called to No. 10 Downing Street. There the Prime Minister's political advisor will tell him the civil service is now saying he's a pleasure to deal with. "That's what Barbara Wodehouse says about her prize-winning spaniels,' the advisor will add.

The following excerpt from Hacker's diaries comes from an earlier point in his training, when the minister is still tugging at his leash. We pick up the story as Hacker is telling of his embarrassing performance that day before Parliament.

--Leonard Reed, contributing editor

March 15th

I can hardly believe it. Parliamentary questions today were a disaster! A totally unforeseen catastrophe. Although I did manage to snatch a sort of Pyrrhic victory from the Jaws of defeat. The first question was from Jim Lawford of Birmingham South-West who asked me about the government's pledge to reduce the number of administrators in the Health Service. I gave the prepared reply, which was a little self-congratulatory --to the civil servants who wrote it, of course, not to me!

Somebody had leaked this wretched paper to Lawford. He was waving it about with a kind of wild glee, his fat face shining with excitement. Everyone was shouting for an answer. Humphrey--or somebody--had been up to his old tricks again, disguising an increase in the numbers of administrative and secretarial staff simply by calling them by some other name. This looked like it was going to be a real political stink. Had it stayed secret, it would have been seen as a brilliant maneuver to pass off an increase of staff by 7 percent as a decrease of 11.3 percent-- but when leaked, it suddenly comes into the category of a shabby deception. What's more, an unsuccessful shabby deception--quite the worst kind!

Thank God one of my own backbenchers came to my rescue. Gerry Chandler asked me if I could reassure my friends that the inquiries would not be carried out by my own department but by an independent investigator who would command the respect of the House. I was forced to say I was happy to give that assurance.

March 16th

This morning started none too well, either. Roy picked me up as usual, at about 8:30. I asked him to drive me to the Ministry, as I was to spend all morning on Health Service administration. He started needling me right away. "Chap just been talking about that on the radio,' he said causually. "Saying the trouble with the health and education and transport...