Fighting welfare rebels, Liz Kendall looked like a woman tortured

Spectator

a day ago

That this government is bad at maths will not come as a surprise to many readers. Thus far, however, in its endless parade of resounding successes, this has been mostly confined to miscalculations on the economy. Now, though, government innumeracy seems to have spilled out into its Parliamentary arithmetic too.
Despite having a landslide majority, Labour has managed to find itself, not quite a year into power, with a serious backbench rebellion on its hands. This is doubly impressive: not only is the government's majority enormous, it is composed of an intake of infamously supine backbenchers, desperate for attention and promotion from No. 10. They make the 1997 Labour cohort look like The Few. To have provoked this lot into open rebellion is quite the achievement.
Enter Liz Kendall, whose flagship welfare reform bill has run into choppy waters as backbenchers threatened to torpedo its passage through parliament. Kendall wanted to give the impression she had come with open ears; 'we've listened' being her most oft repeated introit. In fact, an open chequebook might have been more appropriate. More and more concessions were announced – from a rise in Universal Credit to another £300 million in disability allowances. Reassessments for benefits were stripped back, the constraints on those claiming PiP were watered down. This wasn't just a retreat, it was full-scale surrender.
Even so, it was still tough going for Kendall. There were innumerable requests for her to give way, with the queries from her own benches as hostile as those opposite. Labour MPs had self-selected into two groups. Immediately behind Kendall was a gaggle of youthful MPs who looked like the focus group for an acne cream brand. This Praetorian Guard of work experience students huddled protectively to her rear. Next to her were her ministers of state, including a rather melancholy-looking Sir Stephen Timms, on whose upcoming review of the changes Kendall hung much of her argument. Further up the benches were the vultures, Labour veterans of rebellions of yore, greyer and grimmer in outlook. I could swear I saw John McDonnell lick his lips as Kendall struggled to answer for yet another time.
A lot of them had turned out, which didn't help the already hot temperatures. Many MPs resorted to fans: varying from Cat Smith's stylish opera-style number to Kim Johnson's vast fanning device – the size of a tennis racket – which looked like it might have been part of the cooling system at a nuclear power plant.
Also struggling to keep her cool was Kemi Badenoch in her response. Labour goading when she mentioned the Covid pandemic tipped her over the edge. 'I remember sitting on that side of the House and them demanding that we spend more and more money' she bellowed, visibly angry with the hindsight enthusiasts opposite.
Meanwhile the government benches radiated misery. 'I feel sorry for the Right Honourable Lady: she looks like she is being tortured', snapped Mrs Badenoch. Liz Kendall pulled a face which did not exactly dispel that notion.
Mrs Badenoch then motioned at the Starmer and Reeves-shaped craters on the government benches. Indeed, the Leader of the Opposition mentioned the Chancellor considerably more than she mentioned anybody else: for her it was very clear where the blame should be laid. Today is the anniversary of the Battle of the Somme: Mrs Badenoch's thrust was that the tradition of sending people over the top without sufficient support was alive and well.
There was precious little comfort for Ms Kendall from her own side, either. Rachel Maskell, leader of the rebels and whose amendment it is that could sink the bill, accused the government in a carefully-worded speech of 'lacking mercy' and of having their priorities all wrong. 'We know that those with the broadest shoulders could pay more,' lamented Emma Lewell. (Perhaps; they could also just hop on a plane to Dubai.)
Chair of the Work and Pensions committee Debbie Abrahams described the bill as 'a dog's breakfast'. Over on the vulture step, Kim Johnson brandished her inflatable tennis racket and began flapping again. The Lib Dems announced they would be supporting Rachael Maskell, their spokesman, Steve Darling – who is himself blind – accusing the government of creating a two-tier and 'Orwellian' system. They're good at that, it seems.
After hours of ceaseless grumbling, Stephen Timms returned to announce the biggest U-turn of all; gutting the reforms entirely and scrapping the section on PIP. But this massive concession only seemed to enrage the rebels further. 'Ootraaageous!' yelled Ian Lavery, brandishing his order paper at the Deputy Speaker. 'This is crazy, man!'
One Tory backbencher asked how much of the promised £5 billion savings would the taxpayer now be on the hook for, following the government's various U-turns. (The correct answer is surely, 'every penny of it'). Even Mr Timms, a popular figure on both sides of the House, couldn't get away with his next bit of bluster – a cop-out so clear you could see it from space. 'We'll set out these figures in the usual way,' he replied, triggering gales of laughter on the opposition benches.
In the end, the rebels didn't vote down the Maskell amendment – because they didn't need to. The welfare reform was no more! It had ceased to be! It had expired and gone to meet its maker! It was stiff, bereft of life, an ex-bill! Meanwhile, there sat Kendal, the front benches looking more and more like a crater in no man's land and with no sign of a rescue party in sight.