You’ve got to ask yourself one thing: Just how manyLabourMPs really believe in the concessions – sorry,measures(I keep making that mistake) – that the government has offered on the welfare bill. Who has really thought, you know what, it’s great that existing claimants can get to keep their benefits but anyone after November 2026 who finds themselves in need of help can do without. It’s a question of morality. Either you think no one deserves the full personal independence payments or that everyone does. It’s that binary.
Yet here we were again. On Monday,Liz Kendallhad laid out her measures to try to mitigate the rebellion on her own backbenches that could have sunk the welfare bill at second reading.
The Labour benches had been rammed. Those whose minds could not be changed. Those who were looking for a reason to believe in any olive branch because they were desperate not to vote against their own government. Something with which to salve their conscience. A pat on the back for doing the right thing. A faint hope they could make a difference later. The Conservative benches were almost empty.Welfareisn’t really their thing.
Tuesday was groundhog day. Many of the same faces sitting in the same places. Labour MPs wrestling with their consciences. Tory MPs feet up watching the tennis at Wimbledon. Reform nowhere to be seen. Yet again, this was an entirely domestic dispute within the Labour party. Those who had not come into politics to tip another 150,000 into poverty. Those who could live with that. Collateral damage en route to a brighter, more glorious future.
There was one difference, though. Liz Kendall, herself. The previous day she had sounded committed to her pet project. Regardless of the fact that it appeared to have been hijacked by the chancellor as a means to save £5bn. Regardless of the fact that the only bit of the welfare system her bill would really change were the payments to those that genuinely needed it. It was a bill that seemed totally arse about tit. There were plenty of reforms to be made. Just not the ones the government had in mind.
After her mauling the day before, though, this was a more downbeat Liz. A broken butterfly. A Liz that no longer really believed in what she was saying. As if even she couldn’t face down the surge of reality. She had tried denial but it no longer worked for her. She was on her knees. Though not yet ready to admit outright defeat. Liz still believes in Liz. Sort of. She believes in her own career. Can’t bear to think of life after secretary of state for work and pensions. That this might be the hill on which she dies.
In the opening speech, there was a resignation. A numbness. As if she was bored with going through the same nonsense over and over again. Trying to convince people who were never going to be convinced. Even if they voted with the government they would be doing it under duress. Trying to convince herself. Though the longer she went on the closer she looked to rebelling against herself.
Merely saying the system was broken wasn’t enough. A truism that got you nowhere. Liz had no answer to why it was fine for people to not get the same Pip benefits if they became disabled after November 2026. Other than to suggest that people should make sure they get their disabilities in early. August next year, say. Book now while the sale is on. No answer to why the changes were due to come into place before the Timms report was published. Timms was no more than a Potemkin village. A diversion. Almost the definition of insanity.
Still, all was not lost to Liz. Because, for reasons best known to herself, Kemi Badenoch had strong-armed the shadow work and pensions secretary, Helen Whately, out of the way and chosen to reply on behalf of the opposition. Now Whately is no star at the dispatch box – her efforts on Monday had been spectacularly dismal – but Kemi is guaranteed to be a whole lot worse.
Kemi has no trouble living in her own reality. It’s just not one where the rest of us live. Worse still, she can’t help but be shouty and angry. Her arrogance is a real political turn-off. It’s as though she thinks she is doing the rest of us a massive favour by just breathing.
Everything was better under the Tories, she said, before going on to moan about the Labour party having done nothing in opposition to plan for a system that wasn’t working. No idea of the contradictions in what she was saying. Just the certainty she was right. Thanks to her, several wavering Labour MPs would now be rowing in behind the government.
Next up was Rachael Maskell to speak in favour of her reasoned amendment. Content to merely reiterate the obvious flaws while calling the government’s attitude Dickensian. We would also get to hear George Orwell and Nelson Mandela quoted. Maskell begged the government to have another think. It was a matter of basic decency. Liz left the building the moment Rachael sat down. Her conscience had had enough.
The one Labour MP to speak in favour of the bill was Meg Hillier. A former welfare refusenik. She was keen to bank the concessions. Try not to think about the consequences. Live entirely in the present.Disabilityas we know it could effectively end in November 2026. This cut no ice with Marie Tidball, the only visibly disabled MP in the house. She made the speech of the day. Passionate. Just the right side of angry. Labour was meant to be on the side of vulnerable people.
Midway through the afternoon, rumours began to emerge. The Labour whips were worried. The disability minister, Stephen Timms, was due to make further, er, measures to see off therebels. His review wouldn’t be a placebo after all. The new four-point rules for claimants after November next year would not come into force until after Timms had consulted with disability groups. A climbdown that should have been made days ago. In the interests of logic as much as conscience. The bill would pass. But at a massive cost to Liz and Keir Starmer’s authority. Not to mention the autumn budget.