When political scandals become a brambled tangle of allegations, a sketch writer must merely describe the parliamentary moment, the faces and frowns of frontbenchers, the theatrical hush (or otherwise) of the House.
Here is what I saw when Sir Keir Starmer, MP, KC, PM, rose to his hind legs to try to ambush Kemi Badenoch on the Jonathan Powell-‘China spying’ affair.
Sir Keir was permitted, unusually, to preface PMQs with a statement about the scandal. This way he perhaps hoped to neutralise anything the Tory leader was about to ask him. He could also avoid the much longer scrutiny that a normal Commons statement would entail.
‘This is very important to me,’ said Speaker Hoyle. Important to Sir Keir, too. Remember the hoopla he made about Boris Johnson fibbing about a birthday party. To lie about the National Security Adviser (Mr Powell) would be worse.
Hence that frisson – a pert peril in the air – as he began to read his statement.
Silence descended. If the PM was making this announcement, Downing Street must indeed be worried. Sir Keir claimed to be ‘deeply disappointed’ that the case against the alleged spies collapsed. Disbelieving laughter.
Up in the VIP gallery sat the Speaker of the Ukrainian parliament, a solid gent in military-style garb. Bigger than his bodyguards.
Sir Keir Starmer rose to his hind legs to try to ambush Kemi Badenoch on the Jonathan Powell-‘China spying’ affair
Kemi Badenoch flicked through her PMQs script and scratched out whole lines during PMQs
If our Ukrainian guest was frowning with concentration as he followed Sir Keir’s curlicued sentences, none could blame him. His disavowal of impropriety had more small-print than a car rental agreement.
The PM’s voice was clipped, sterile. Yet not without a political tang. He blamed the scandal on the Conservatives. At least he did not try to pin it on Brexit.
David Lammy was delighted. He jumped up and down on his seat and kept guffawing and saying ‘ooh!’.
When Sir Keir singled out former Foreign Secretary Sir James Cleverly, attributing to him some quotation about China not being a threat, Mr Lammy boinged up and down with renewed glee.
He pointed at Sir James – three jabs of his left forefinger. Mr Lammy has not yet mastered the Elysian serenity expected of deputy PMs.
On Sir Keir’s other side: Shabana Mahmood and Yvette Cooper. No bouncing from them. Just expressions of cool severity.
Ms Mahmood’s Home Office represents MI5, which exists to stop spies. Her admiration for Mr Powell is, ahem, limited. As for Yvette, she and Powell have history going back to the Blair-Brown battles.
While Sir Keir was speaking – and while Labour MPs were perhaps thinking ‘this stunt should torpedo Badenoch!’ – the Tory front bench was a disturbed ants’ nest. Kemi Badenoch flicked through her PMQs script and scratched out whole lines.
Neil O’Brien, a PhD in Powell studies, scooted over to sit beside Mrs Badenoch. He briefed her urgently. Time was pressing. Once Sir Keir finished, there would be roughly 30 seconds before Mrs B had to open her questions.
Somehow she retained her calm. She put numerous questions and expressed scepticism about Sir Keir’s truthfulness. This seemed to sting him and he snapped: ‘She’s not a lawyer or a leader!’ In Sir Keir’s book, to be ‘not a lawyer’ is to occupy a low rung on the evolutionary ladder.
Labour MPs cheered that particular insult but the rest of the time they looked less happy. Sir Keir’s gambit had not succeeded in killing Mrs Badenoch.
She had responded to this with more composure and aplomb than expected. Then: a point of order from Sir James Cleverly. Following Sir Keir’s attack he had flown to his mobile telephone to check the remark that had been attributed to him.
It turned out that Sir Keir, great stickler for legal exactitude, had badly misquoted Sir James. Whingey points of order seldom work but this one was effective. It compounded a suspicion of rumness. Of, let us say, factual infelicities.
Sir Keir hastened from the chamber, casting to the Tory benches something between a smirk and a grimace while they shouted ‘False! False!’ at his retreating heels.
