PMQs sketch: Cameron gets pulled back into the doldrums

Miliband decided to split the torture in two today.

One of the great mysteries of modern politics is how the leader of the Labour Party manages to smuggle a sharp pointy stick past Commons security every week to poke the Prime Minister. Ed produced it with his usual flourish just after noon today and proceeded to chase Dave around the dispatch box for the 30 minutes of the fun known to regulars as Prime Minister's Questions.

We all know the PM has been in the doldrums since the Chancellor produced THAT budget six months ago, but each week he hopes to recover. In fact, so good, relatively speaking, were last week's economic indicators that he had high hopes this would be his week. But such is the disarray within Tory ranks the every time he thinks he's about to climb out of the smelly stuff one of his own pulls him back in again.

You could tell treachery was afoot by the volume of support he got from his own side during today's spat with Ed Miliband over that most unifying of party policies - Europe. The latest row is over a planned increase in the EU budget, which has Tory sceptics snarling and ready to force a vote this evening demanding it be cut instead. Spotting this passing bandwagon, Labour climbed on board leaving Dave, as Ed was happy to point out, with only his embarrassment to keep him warm.

With Ed and his cohorts ready to join Tory rebels in the lobby this evening, the sound of support for the PM from those who intend to vote against him doubled in decibels, leading Speaker Bercow to call for calm. But there was even more pleasure on the opposition benches as the Speaker took his own opportunity to remind Dave that PMQs were not questions from the PM but for him."I've told him ten times," he said as Dave slumped in his seat.

Normally, Ed takes his full six questions to turn the screw as tightly as possible on the PM, who seems to have abandoned any attempt to hang on to his temper. But he decided to split the torture in two today, leaving Dave sweating over the second bout as he paid lip service to MPs whose questions filled the gap. To Labour's great pleasure, the day had begun with another clash between the coalition partners over energy policy. Just last week, the Lib Dem Energy Secretary, Ed Davey, had gone into a major sulk when Dave announced plans for energy companies to give everyone the lowest tariffs - although he didn't really mean it. 

Well, Davey had his bottom lip way out again today when one of his Tory juniors appeared to announce the end of the Lib Dem plan for renewable supplies by sticking a wind farm on every street corner. What was the policy, demanded Miliband, and none of your business was the reply. But even Dave knew this was merely another pre-lunch taster on the way to the main course.

Six months ago, when Chancellor George was still in the game, he commissioned Michael Heseltine to take a look at the economy in a move intended to demonstrate his confidence in criticism. And so it was with some pleasure that Miliband read out this paragraph from Lord Hezza's conclusions: "The message I keep hearing is that the the UK does not have a strategy for growth and wealth creation."

George stared off into the space reserved for those who have uttered the immortal phrase, "beam me up Scotty", only to find out it does not work. By now, the volume button had been turned up so high that the Speaker uttered the dire warning that if it continued they would be kept back after class. The thought of being late for lunch clearly worked, and MPs headed off to work out how to vote on Europe later. Dave looked like someone planning a sandwich at his desk.

David Cameron poses on the door of number 10 Downing Street after buying his remembrance poppy from army officers. Photograph: Getty Images.

Peter McHugh is the former Director of Programmes at GMTV and Chief Executive Officer of Quiddity Productions

Getty
Show Hide image

What happens when a president refuses to step down?

An approaching constitutional crisis has triggered deep political unrest in the Congo.

Franck Diongo reached his party’s headquarters shortly after 10am and stepped out of a Range Rover. Staff and hangers-on rose from plastic chairs to greet the president of the Mouvement Lumumbiste Progressiste (MLP), named after the first elected leader of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Diongo, a compact and powerfully built man, was so tightly wound that his teeth ground as he talked. When agitated, he slammed his palms on the table and his speech became shrill. “We live under a dictatorial regime, so it used the security forces to kill us with live rounds to prevent our demonstration,” he said.

The MLP is part of a coalition of opposition parties known as the Rassemblement. Its aim is to ensure that the Congolese president, Joseph Kabila, who has been president since 2001, leaves office on 19 December, at the end of his second and supposedly final term.

Yet the elections that were meant to take place late last month have not been organised. The government has blamed logistical and financial difficulties, but Kabila’s opponents claim that the president has hamstrung the electoral commission in the hope that he can use his extended mandate to change the rules. “Mr Kabila doesn’t want to quit power,” said Diongo, expressing a widespread belief here.

On 19 September, the Rassemblement planned a march in Kinshasa, the capital, to protest the failure to deliver elections and to remind the president that his departure from office was imminent. But the demonstration never took place. At sunrise, clashes broke out between police and protesters in opposition strongholds. The military was deployed. By the time peace was restored 36 hours later, dozens had died. Kabila’s interior minister, claiming that the government had faced down an insurrection, acknowledged the deaths of 32 people but said that they were killed by criminals during looting.

Subsequent inquiries by the United Nations and Human Rights Watch (HRW) told a different story. They recorded more fatalities – at least 53 and 56, respectively – and said that the state had been responsible for most of the deaths. They claimed that the Congolese authorities had obstructed the investigators, and the true number of casualties was likely higher. According to HRW, security forces had seized and removed bodies “in an apparent effort to hide the evidence”.

The UN found that the lethal response was directed from a “central command centre. . . jointly managed” by officials from the police, army, presidential bodyguard and intelligence agency that “authorised the use of force, including firearms”.

The reports validated claims made by the Rassemblement that it was soldiers who had set fire to several opposition parties’ headquarters on 20 September. Six men were killed when the compound of the UDPS party was attacked.

On 1 November, their funerals took place where they fell. White coffins, each draped in a UDPS flag, were shielded from the midday sun by a gazebo, while mourners found shade inside the charred building. Pierrot Tshibangu lost his younger sibling, Evariste, in the attack. “When we arrived, we found my brother’s body covered in stab marks and bullet wounds,” he recalled.

Once the government had suppressed the demonstration, the attorney general compiled a list of influential figures in the Rassemblement – including Diongo – and forbade them from leaving the capital. Kinshasa’s governor then outlawed all political protest.

It was easy to understand why Diongo felt embattled, even paranoid. Midway through our conversation, his staff apprehended a man loitering in the courtyard. Several minutes of mayhem ensued before he was restrained and confined under suspicion of spying for the government.

Kabila is seldom seen in public and almost never addresses the nation. His long-term intentions are unclear, but the president’s chief diplomatic adviser maintains that his boss has no designs on altering the constitution or securing a third term. He insists that Kabila will happily step down once the country is ready for the polls.

Most refuse to believe such assurances. On 18 October, Kabila’s ruling alliance struck a deal with a different, smaller opposition faction. It allows Kabila to stay in office until the next election, which has been postponed until April 2018. A rickety government of national unity is being put in place but discord is already rife.

Jean-Lucien Bussa of the CDER party helped to negotiate the deal and is now a front-runner for a ministerial portfolio. At a corner table in the national assembly’s restaurant, he told me that the Rassemblement was guilty of “a lack of realism”, and that its fears were misplaced because Kabila won’t be able to prolong his presidency any further.

“On 29 April 2018, the Congolese will go to the ballot box to vote for their next president,” he said. “There is no other alternative for democrats than to find a negotiated solution, and this accord has given us one.”

Diongo was scathing of the pact (he called it “a farce intended to deceive”) and he excommunicated its adherents from his faction. “They are Mr Kabila’s collaborators, who came to divide the opposition,” he told me. “What kind of oppositionist can give Mr Kabila the power to violate the constitution beyond 19 December?”

Diongo is convinced that the president has no intention of walking away from power in April 2018. “Kabila will never organise elections if he cannot change the constitution,” he warned.

Diongo’s anger peaked at the suggestion that it will be an uphill struggle to dislodge a head of state who has control of the security forces. “What you need to consider,” he said, “is that no army can defy a people determined to take control of their destiny . . . The Congolese people will have the last word!”

A recent poll suggested that the president would win less than 8 per cent of the vote if an election were held this year. One can only assume that Kabila is hoping that the population will have no say at all.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage