Why we will all share in the Chancellor's tears

The Herald Scotland

6 hours ago

Rather, I feel drawn to the aftermath. The forced smile, the reassurance aimed at markets. That plus the concession that there is a cost associated with the Commons retreat – 'and that will be reflected in the budget'.
Read More:
A throwaway phrase – but one rich with intent. In the autumn we will all witness spending curbs – or tax increases. Or both. As a consequence of this week's events.
But first those tears. We should all extend sympathy to a fellow being in evident distress. Mostly, the House would assuredly do that, within limits.
In the Commons, there is a commonality of feeling which straddles partisan division. There are more connections and friendships across the aisles than would be thought from the bogus sound and fury of what passes for Parliamentary discourse.
The role of MP can be a relatively lonely one. A tribune of the people, yet subject to the whims and discontent of the electorate. The only ones who truly understand the stresses and strains of the job are other MPs. Hence the fellow feeling.
And those limits? On the subject of the Chancellor's discomfiture, I chanced to be on the wireless broadcasting to an astonished nation alongside Christine Jardine, the Liberal Democrat MP.
Christine Jardine (Image: PA)
She said that she had witnessed the tears – and had felt like crossing the chamber to offer a comforting hug to Rachel Reeves.
However, she stayed in her place. Aware, she said, that protocol in the Commons would frown upon such a fracture of party lines.
I am sure that is right. There are no rules, as such, governing such matters. However, being the Commons, there is accumulated custom and practice. Which solemnly suggests that opposing parties should stay two sword lengths apart.
But what of the Chancellor's own side? Should they not have offered more assistance? How about the Prime Minister?
He explained later that he had not noticed his chum's distress. Prime Minister's Questions, he averred, is 'pretty wired' – and he was focused on coping with that.
Even accepting that, his response was limp. He was explicitly challenged by the Leader of the Opposition to defend the Chancellor. His answer was to list the collective successes of the government, noting that Ms Reeves had led on each and concluding: 'We are grateful to her for it.'
Read More:
Was that it? The best he could do? 'Grateful to her' sounds like the sort of phrase accompanied by a carriage clock and a gentle shove out the door.
But no. Sir Keir plainly realised he had fallen short, albeit inadvertently. In subsequent comments, including at a shared appearance, he went out of his way to stress that she was a star who would light up 11 Downing Street for many years to come.
Which was apparently designed to placate the markets. Sensible folk, dealing with the trials of everyday life, might well advise flaky traders to get real and avoid being spooked so readily.
But, still, I understand. These are deeply troubled times, the age of anxiety. The markets required reassurance not so much about an individual as about the firm fiscal rules that the incumbent Chancellor has promised to observe.
To avoid the problem, should the Chancellor have stayed away from the Commons, aware that she was upset? But that would only have prompted questions about her absence. As she said herself, her place is by the PM's side.
Especially when the government's entire fiscal strategy is under strain.
The cuts to disability benefits were designed to save £5bn by the end of the current term. That £5bn had been factored into Treasury sums – and must now be found elsewhere.
This cannot be resolved by a day-late smile from the Chancellor and a comforting hug from the PM. This is deeply, deeply challenging.
Plus there is another factor. The Commons may assist a member in evident distress. But the House also develops a collective, Darwinian momentum of its own when it detects weakness.
On the government benches, the Prime Minister and Chancellor are now palpably weakened. Not by a few stifled tears or the PM's innocent neglect. But by the complete, chaotic collapse of a core policy, that of curbing disability benefits.
Yes, it will be said that reform has survived to some degree. That the objective of encouraging disabled people into work remains.
But the Labour back benches have risen and rejected the cuts to welfare benefits. They have said no, firmly, to the PM and the Chancellor.
It is all too easy for such rebellion to become habitual. For the discontent to extend to any proposed spending cuts. Or to tax hikes, if they strain credulity.
As I also noted on the wireless, the problem for the PM is that the entire approach to cutting disability benefits ran contrary to Labour instincts – which he appeared either to lack or to disregard.
Further, the Chancellor had already made herself unpopular with the troops by the assertive stand she took on the winter fuel payment.
Yes, I understand, she was, once more, playing to those powerful markets. For a Labour Minister, it was a deliberately counter-intuitive attempt to stress her determination to curb the spending package, to stand firm.
But it left Labour backbenchers unhappy and sullen. The welfare reforms, on top of that, proved to be a step too far. Way too far.
It will now be decidedly difficult for the PM and Chancellor to retrench. To regain the solid support of their MPs while clutching the grail of market confidence.
Difficult but not impossible. Political tears are generally reserved for moments of high emotion – or departure. Moments of turmoil.
Nicola Sturgeon giving evidence to the Covid inquiry. Vaughan Gething fearing an upcoming confidence motion as Welsh FM – which he duly lost.
Weep no more. Sir Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves now need to project certainty and smiling reassurance. If they can.
Brian Taylor is a former political editor for BBC Scotland and a columnist for The Herald. He cherishes his family, the theatre – and Dundee United FC