Why did the Prime Minister show such a lack of sympathy for the clearly distressed Chancellor, asks TERRY MURDEN
Amid the usual tribal battle cries ringing around the Commons chamber during Prime Minister’s Questions one woman’s quiet distress appeared all too obvious. Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor who has offered her own thunderous declarations from the despatch box, was reduced to a lonely, almost silent figure, but nonetheless managed to dominate proceedings.
PMQs can be an unforgiving part of the parliamentary timetable for those incapable of a quick response with a lasting and decisive message. The political point-scoring that seems to be its purpose conceals the real business of forcing the Downing Street incumbent to account for his or her policies, actions and inactions. It is part political theatre, part conflict, in which performances can create or destroy reputations and careers.
Those who sit on the front benches are literally on the front line of this battle. Their very body language can convey the mood of the party and whether it is winning or losing the argument. In the case of poor Ms Reeves, her tears and very obvious distress went deeper still.
We were told that her problems are of a “personal” nature, though there was some sort of confrontation with the Speaker Lindsay Hoyle before PMQs began which may have contributed to it. That seems unlikely to be enough reason for an experienced politician to be so visibly upset.
The bigger questions surround the behaviour of the Prime Minister himself. Not only did he fail to back his Chancellor when asked to do so by the leader of the opposition Kemi Badenoch, he sat alongside a sobbing Ms Reeves for almost an hour without any attempt to comfort her.
This seems odd, given their close working relationship and how he had patted her on the shoulder after she delivered her first Budget speech in October. Sir Keir’s willingness to show physical and emotional support on that occasion seemed to have deserted him during this latest episode. As he addressed MPs, rebutting criticism of the Welfare Bill and his first year in government, Ms Reeves was left to look up at him, offering some support, but perhaps waiting for him to show just a little kindness and acknowledge how she was feeling.
The Welfare Bill and the problems the government now faces balancing the books must have seemed of no relevance to her as she focused on whatever it was that had led to this extraordinary situation. We remember Margaret Thatcher leaving Downing Street with a tearful wave from the back seat of her car and Theresa May sobbing as she also left “the job I love”. Otherwise, such public displays of personal distress should remind us that politicians are not just there to have abuse thrown at them.
Had Ms Reeves been blamed by the Prime Minister for the setback over the Welfare Bill that had left him humiliated? Maybe that is part of the story still to come out, though the PM later insisted it has nothing to do with politics.
This may disappoint those who reacted to the Chancellor’s tears with a somewhat brutal assessment of her damaging policies on businesses. For her opponents her breakdown has been seen as an opportunity replace her with someone who has a better grip on the effects of high taxes. One critic said the fact the markets moved on the sight of the Chancellor crying – perhaps fearing a less fiscally-prudent replacement – revealed the sort of friends she keeps, and they are closer to the City than the country’s corner shops.
What we do know is that behind the generally benign, sometimes overly innocent disposition Sir Keir is known to be quite ruthless. Whether or not there has been a falling out, it does seem odd that he showed so little concern for his colleague’s plight. In that, there is surely a deeper message.
Terry Murden held senior positions at The Sunday Times, The Scotsman, Scotland on Sunday and The Northern Echo and is now editor of Daily Business
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