There was a time when Theresa May cared that the public considered the Conservatives to be the “nasty party”. That time has long past. Now Theresa is ruler of all she surveys. She has created the world in her own image and it is good. With Labour posing little threat and surrounded only by flatterers, the prime minister has absolute power.
And with that absolute power has come an absolute lack of self-criticism. She no longer notices nor cares what people think. She even imagines that saying the word “Inc-red-i-ble” in the manner of a 1970s comedian on the sex offender register is funny. Prime minister’s questions has come to this.
Jeremy Corbyn had chosen to use all six of his questions on the prime minister’s decision to override a court judgment to extend personal independence payments to people with mental as well as physical disabilities. It should have been a good call on the Labour leader’s part, as picking on people with dementia and mental illness is not generally a good look for a government. Theresa, though, was outraged that anyone should dare question her judgment.
“No one is going to see a cut in their payments,” she said, wilfully missing the point that the real issue was the 120,000 people who wouldn’t now be getting the money that the judiciary had said they should have.
Corbyn then accused her of trying to sneak the changes in legislation through parliament without consultation. The prime minister narrowed her eyes. How dare he talk to her like that? How very dare he? Any member of her cabinet who took that tone would be out of a job.
“We made a written ministerial statement to the house last Thursday,” she replied, her voice pure ice. “And the work and pensions secretary left a message on a voicemail.” She didn’t sound entirely sure whose. Or when.
By any normal standards a written statement and a dodgy voicemail could count as sneaking, so Corbyn had another go. “The government has over-ridden an independent court decision,” he repeated. Theresa shrugged. So what? What was he going to do about it? She wasn’t that bothered what the Labour leader did or didn’t think.
Yes, it had been a bit unfortunate that her policy chief had appeared to rubbish people with mental health issues as pill-popping timewasters who sit around at home all day, but he probably had a point. There were too many people moaning and droning about feeling depressed and anxious who just needed to do a decent day’s work. Far better to cut inheritance tax rather than add to disability handouts. Anyone could see that.
As it dawned on him that the prime minister wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in people with mental health issues, Corbyn began to lose some of his focus; the normal rules of human interaction clearly no longer applied and he had no frame of reference. Most people would at least be a little embarrassed at having their indifference shown up, but Theresa was now borderline sociopathic.
Theresa drummed her fingers on the dispatch box. She was tired of talking about people with disabilities. What she wanted to talk about was her fantastic byelection victory in Copeland. Could someone ask her why she was so marvellous? There were any number of Tory sycophants only too willing to oblige.
Andrew Bridgen got in first. Did she agree with him that the Tory success in Copeland was entirely down to the prime minister’s own brilliance? This was much more like it. “Yes,” she replied. It was entirely down to her own magnificence. The idea that winning the byelection might have more to do with Labour being completely useless was just absurd.
But even talking about herself wasn’t enough to conceal her sense of boredom. She wasn’t the only one. As she went on to yawn her way through a tough question from the SNP’s Angus Robertson on devolved agriculture and fisheries powers, large gaps began to open up on both benches. PMQs used to play to a packed house, but May and Corbyn have turned it into something entirely missable.
All-powerful Theresa dispenses with normal rules of human interaction
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