There’s a particular freedom when a usually calm technocrat reaches his boiling point, and this week, Prime Minister Rishi Sunak did just that. Known for his composure, Sunak was visibly upset as he called a sudden press conference at Downing Street to tackle the latest round of infighting within the Conservative Party. He was clearly furious.
The plan for the week had been straightforward: follow up Monday’s significant legal migration crackdown with a bold new announcement by week’s end, unveiling what was touted as the ‘toughest anti-illegal immigration law ever.’
However, the unexpected resignation of Robert Jenrick on Wednesday night disrupted those plans significantly. Was Jenrick’s departure a principled stand or a calculated move to undermine the government? That remains unclear.
What was undeniable was Sunak’s frustration. His irritation was reminiscent of a Basil Fawlty outburst, minus the slapstick. Typically the epitome of calm, Sunak, occasionally referred to as “Dishy Rishi,” showed a rare glimpse of raw emotion, echoing the words of Liverpool poet Adrien Henri: ‘I’m just about at breaking point,’ he exclaimed.
Rishi Sunak speaks to the media during a press conference at Downing Street following the resignation of immigration minister Robert Jenrick
There is something rather liberating when a polite technocrat loses his rag. Boy, Rishi Sunak was cross. Normally tolerant to a fault, the Prime Minister called an emergency Downing Street news conference to address the latest Tory infighting. He. Was. Seething
Sunak’s anger was palpable and genuine, contrasting starkly with his usual calm demeanor. His response was reminiscent of his reaction to the Supreme Court ruling against his Rwanda policy. On both occasions, his genuine frustration resonated more authentically than his usual empathetic gestures.
Addressing the issue of small boats, Sunak expressed his indignation: ‘We play by the rules, contribute our fair share, and wait our turn. If others bypass this system, it not only compromises border control but also erodes the foundational fairness that upholds trust in our system.’ He voiced strong confidence that his proposed legislation would overcome the frustrating legal hurdles currently in place.
Mr Jenrick, alas, does not share that confidence, and says that is why he quit. It is possible the Tory Right will now refuse to support this Bill.
Reporter: ‘Will you throw them out of the party if they defy you?’
Mr Sunak: ‘No.’ But they were daft to think the Bill could be made any tougher, because that would lose us Rwandan co-operation. Words flew out of him at a hundred miles an hour. He bit on his lower lip, bellowed his bullet points, bristled at naysayers and said ‘blocked’ seven times, con forza, as he ran through the loopholes his Bill would close. Not being a lawyer, I admit they sounded pretty good to me. But The Law is unto itself.
To be sunk by the small boats? There would be a certain grim irony in that. No wonder he was a-boil.
Raymond Chandler once wrote of ‘a blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window’.
The transformation here was of a different magnitude. Gone was the doe-eyed Rishi who sees every side to an argument. Absent was the gloopy empathy, the ivory smiles, the ‘you guys’ and ‘hey, everybody’ approach of the Silicon Valley executive. He spat out his words and kept saying ‘right? right?’
Robert Jenrick’s departure on Wednesday night threw an almighty spanner in the works
He glowered at suggestions he might no longer have the numbers to get this Bill through Parliament. Steaming? Too right he was steaming. He was steamier than a Cantonese wok. Steamier than a French prop’s jockstrap.
Irritation geysered out of him. As he raced through his speech and took media questions, he threw his head to one side repeatedly, woodpeckering his arguments. ‘You’d better believe it!’
He scorned the pathetic, opportunistic Labour party for having no policy. ‘I’m not hearing from anyone else that they’re got a plan.’ The public wanted the small boats stopped ‘and I share their frustration, right? My patience has worn thin.. I’m absolutely committed to this. We’re about getting stuff done.’
With which, after 20 dizzying minutes, in which we had seen signs of a party leader who might truly energise voters, he went striding from the room, as if assailed by a sudden jet of the most appalling dysentery. Or by a desire to seize the nearest frying pan and bring it down, hard, on Suella Braverman’s head.
