Stephen Kinnock stares into the abyss as he carries can for welfare U-turn

The Guardian

a day ago

You could have heard the cries of despair coming from Stephen Kinnock's house from the other end of the street. He had been safely tucked up in bed when he got the message from No 10 that the government was doing the mother of all U-turns on the welfare bill. The third U-turn in a month or so and by far the biggest yet.
It was Kinnock's bad luck that he had been booked to do the government's morning media round. He had been told it would be a doddle. A chance to talk about better provision for people with poor mental health. The sort of good news slot a minister dreams about.
Now he could forget it. No journalist would be interested in anything but the latest crisis. He would be the one left to carry the can. Even though it was really nothing to do with him. It was the price of being halfway up the food chain. Little power, but all the responsibility for the coming hours. This had better not become habit forming. He didn't want the No 10 communications team to get ideas. He wasn't about to become Labour's Mel Stride.
On Radio 4's Today programme, Nick Robinson could barely contain his excitement. Nick lives for these days when everything a government tries to do comes crashing down around them. This was his idea of fun. The highlight of his Glastonbury weekend. Like headlining the Pyramid stage. He glanced into Stephen's eyes and only saw an abyss of human misery. Better and better.
'So,' said Nick, not bothering with any niceties. Like would you like some Valium? Or intravenous morphine? This late-night U-turn was a complete shitshow, wasn't it. The sign of a government in complete disarray.
Stephen took a deep breath and mouthed the platitudes he had been coached to say by No 10. The U-turn wasn't a U-turn. Rather it was the sign of a positive and constructive debate. Even as the words escaped his lips, he could feel something inside him die a little. He felt grubby. Compromised. But he couldn't stop now. He was committed. His career depended on it. His ambition and self-worth on a fatal collision course.
Here was the moment of weakness. Nick loved the smell of bullshit in the morning. Made it worth the 3am start. Time to go in hard. So let's think this one through, he continued. For months, No 10 had ignored the Labour backbenchers. Then they had panicked when they realised that 126 could kill off the welfare bill at second reading. First calling the backbenchers 'noises off'. Then caving in. How much worse could things get?
There was a pause. Stephen was about to say: 'Hold my beer.' Instead he stared balefully at the miserable script he had been given and carried on. The chaos was a sign of order, he insisted. This was how grownup governments operated. Normally all the arguments took place at the committee stage. By having them now they were streamlining the process. Efficiency savings in action. A government delivering on its promises. Would that do?
It wouldn't. Nick started to sound a little bored. This was all too easy. He had been hoping for more resistance. But Kinnock had all but caved in immediately. Still, there was more time on the clock so he might as well fill it. This wasn't about reform, it was about cost-saving. The changes in Personal Independence Payments had been inserted by the chancellor to balance the budget.
'This is about dignity and respect,' sobbed Stephen. Only just not for him. He had lost both at about the time the interview had started. So this was a pure Freudian slip. As if realising the hole he had dug for himself, he chose to throw Rachel Reeves into it as well. If he was going down, then she could go down with him. However much he was being paid to make himself look a halfwit, it wasn't nearly enough. Over to you, Rachel. You can explain where you're going to fund the £3bn the changes are going to cost. Nothing to do with me.
By now the script that Kinnock had been given was drifting in and out of focus as his heart rate and blood pressure rocketed. Nothing to do but continue. The reforms would now be staggered. Another Freudian slip. He was losing control. The person doing the staggering was him. By now, only semi-conscious. Stephen Timms would be doing a review so why not ask him what he thought in a year's time.
Nick went for the kill. This was the third U-turn after the winter fuel allowance and grooming gangs. Keir Starmer was more of a pushover than a leader. By now, Stephen was on autopilot. Keir was amazing. Had done great things. Was a fantastic listener. Positive and constructive. 'You're smiling,' said Nick.
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'I always smile when I come on your programme,' Kinnock replied. Especially when he had visions of doing unspeakable things to Nick. No hard feelings? Only a few …
Earlier on Today, Meg Hillier had had her own mini-embarrassment as she tried to explain how she was now delighted with the changes the government had made. Meg is not one of parliament's natural troublemakers and had always been desperate for the government to meet her halfway. She had never wanted to cause a scene unless absolutely necessary and was thrilled a compromise had been found.
Only halfway had turned out to be somewhat arbitrary. One rule for those already receiving benefits, another for those who may need it in a year or so. It all made sense to Meg. If no one else. In Megworld, the people with current disabilities are all that count. They should get the dosh. But it was quite right that future stroke victims should be made to suffer. The threat of less money would make them try that bit harder to dress themselves. Create aspiration in a demoralised nation.
It all smacked a bit of desperation. The work and pensions secretary, Liz Kendall, sent a letter to all MPs, whose subtext was, 'Help! I don't know what I'm doing.' Meanwhile, No 10 declared it was a listening government. Everything was going entirely to plan. So that's alright then.