QUENTIN LETTS: Why President Zelensky’s speech in Westminster made me mourn for our political class

There’s something rarely said these days: a statesman gave a stinging speech in the Houses of Parliament this week. The audience was stunned by his expression of national pride and military defiance. He never once apologized for his culture; nor did he whine about the ‘opposing party’ or ‘the mess we inherited’. He just delivered the “I can” message in a way that was as distinctive as it was exciting; With that he sat down to an explosion of cheers.

Yes, a true statesman in our dilapidated, cobwebbed, rat-infested Parliament! The optimist in question was inevitably not one of our own. No such luck. He was Volodymyr Zelensky, the president of war-torn Ukraine, who was in London to meet Sir Keir Starmer and was invited to Westminster by Speaker Hoyle. Downing Street was not keen on this happening, such was No 10’s disdainful view of our legislature, but the Speaker insisted.

So, as the shadows on the Thames lengthened and the mid-March chill set in, Ukraine’s 5ft 1in leader stood in Committee Room 14 to deliver two vital messages: Iran and Russia are ‘hateful brothers’ with whom we must fight to save our way of life; He stated that Kiev has the expertise to stop Iran’s drones and is ready to help the West in the Persian Gulf.

As a parliamentary draft writer, I’ll let others chew on the geo-strategy of it all. What impressed me was Zelensky’s attitude, his theatrical presentation and his inner courage. The president’s short stature and guttural English also helped. They emphasized his terrier-like tenacity.

This wasn’t a technocratic smoothie showering the audience with buttery compliments and reflecting on his own intelligence. It flew straight into blunt depictions of life beneath the anti-bomb networks in Kiev. He pulled out an iPad and demonstrated how, late at night, he could watch live-time diagrams of incoming missiles and Ukrainian defense drones flying to pick them off.

Its citizens showed their fortitude against difficulties. Ukraine had preserved its reputation by acting quickly (at the direction of the ruler, if we can imagine such a thing here). The speech ended with a few diplomatic comments about Britain being a ‘great country’ with a ‘strong navy’.

Quentin writes that Sir Keir was a man of process, a clerk who locked himself in his Downing Street study to study the fine print. Authority is not in his heart

Those last words were shameful. The Royal Navy has been weakened over the last 30 years in a way that brings our governments into terrible disrepute. Is Britain really still great? Especially our politicians? Do we have any Zelensky? As applause poured in on the president on Tuesday, it was demoralizing to compare this intense, urgent Ukrainian to the middlemen and sycophants of our current politics, the chatterboxes and childish finger-pointing. Where are the names that will deserve more than a line in the records in the years to come? Where are our history makers today?

Sir Keir was sitting next to Mr Zelensky in Committee Room 14 and I was wondering what was going on in his mind. Sir Keir is a man of process, a writer who locks himself in his Downing Street study to study the fine print. That’s why the answers are written by others. Authority is not at his heart. This lies in the legal textbooks and briefings of the internationalist Attorney-General, Lord Hermer. By his own admission, Sir Keir is not dreaming.

Although he is a native of these islands, he speaks English with less enthusiasm than the foreign-born Zelensky. According to Sir Keir, tongue is a product that is not more textured or tangy than unsalted porridge. This is the man who rules our land in this frightening hour.

What will his cabinet be? Chancellor Rachel Reeves this week gave a defeat-conceding Mais lecture, claiming her policies had succeeded despite Brussels begging her to bail out. Our deputy prime minister, David Lammy, is so alert that he calls Typhoon warplanes ‘Businessmen’ and thinks Cyprus is a member of NATO, but it is not. Foreign Secretary Yvette Cooper is said to be a giddy grievance jockey who is said to be conspiring with Ed Miliband, her ‘nightmare ticket’, to replace Sir Keir.

In this she will compete with Angela Rayner, who was sacked from the Cabinet just six months ago in a tax scandal but is hurtling through Westminster with a stylish makeover and a handful of cash from the corporate speaking circuit. Public sector unions want Ms Rayner to take power not because it will save our country, but because it will allow them to work shorter weeks for more of our money.

House of Commons Speaker Lindsay Hoyle greets Mr Zelensky before his speech to MPs… Downing Street was not happy about the incident but the Speaker insisted

So what about the other parties? Reform’s Nigel Farage has brio (make that Chateau Brio), but the crew below him can sink the ship before it leaves port. The Conservatives’ Kemi Badenoch is promising but little more than a sapling. The Greens’ Zack Polanski showed in his economic speech on Wednesday that he had made little progress since his days as a hypnotist who claimed he could enlarge women’s breasts by looking at them. Polanski comes across as a coin-flipping charlatan, a dreamer and a political hustler.

That leaves us with: human cannonball Rupert Lowe, whose one-man party Restore sounds like a can of furniture polish; Jeremy Corbyn, 76, the resilient young driving force of idiots like Your Party; and Sir Ed Davey of the Liberal Democrats. God, did you see that idiot at Spring Conference last weekend? He lolled around the stage in sunglasses, moving his shoulders to the music of Daddy Cool. After unburdening herself with a forgettable speech, she disco danced to the Gen Z pop hit Hot To Go. The man is incorrigibly young.

Until recently it was better served by British politics. I started sketching when Margaret Thatcher was prime minister and I was in the Commons Press gallery when she made that speech just before she left office.

‘I’m enjoying this!’ he roared, brandishing an elbow and turning to flash his torch-flame glare at those in the back row who had toppled him. It was amazing. Their cabinet included many big names, including Nigel Lawson, Michael Heseltine, Norman Tebbit and Willie Whitelaw.

It was fashionable to belittle the Labor Party of the day, but it too had considerable talents. Neil Kinnock was a rare orator. Michael Foot, John Smith, Roy Hattersley, Bryan Gould; all were of a caliber far superior to today’s non-events. Why would this matter? Isn’t politics superior in politics? Tony Benn used to say we should concentrate on the ‘isos’; yet Benn was a dazzling communicator. He had a hinterland larger than today’s Cabinet members combined (and among them is his son Hilary, a thoughtful but reserved soul).

In the late 1940s, US Secretary of State Dean Acheson argued that ‘the first requirement of a statesman is that he be stupid’. Acheson’s president, Harry Truman, added that a statesman was ‘a politician who died 10 or 15 years ago.’

Am I just guilty of nostalgia? Am I being snobby? We are innocent in both cases, Your Honor. Sir Keir claims his Cabinet is working class, but so is Clement Attlee’s cabinet. The Secretary of State was Ernest Bevin, who was for a time a driving agent in Bristol. She weighs a fraction of Yvette Cooper’s weight. Attlee’s Minister for Health was Aneurin Bevan. Wes Streeting is an interesting kid, but please no Nye.

I never voted for Tony Blair but at his best he held the essence of our nation in the palm of his peacock hand, writes Quentin Letts

Today’s ministers are such boring professionals, people who know little outside political work. How different is the background of Ukrainian Zelensky. Ten years ago he was an actor and TV producer. Our politics is steeped in careerism.

Readers might quite reasonably raise another objection: isn’t Sir Keir Starmer’s dullness inhospitable compared to Donald Trump’s obnoxious boasting? Benjamin Disraeli, himself flamboyant, expressed his desire for composure in Britain’s leaders. ‘A parochial country exposed to fog and with a strong middle class needs serious statesmen,’ murmured Dizzy. There is nothing inherently bad about gravity. But this alone does not make a leader.

Statesmanship is difficult to define. A statesman represents his people in some way. A statesman has the ability to command immediate attention and express the hopes and instincts of the country. These go beyond tax and regulatory issues, and they go beyond party loyalty. I never voted for Tony Blair, but at his best he held the essence of our nation in his peacock palm. Gordon Brown did bad things to our pensions and spent billions on the welfare state, but his speech to the US Congress in 2009 made my neck ache.

Even the unflappable David Cameron, with all his sweet arrogance, managed to transcend party lines and promote the idea of ​​British manners and competence. The current resident of 10 Downing Street cannot access any of these notes. It is a gap, a missed shot, an empty helmet on a wooden stick in a forgotten trench.

The reason why this matters was on display in Parliament’s Committee Room 14 on Tuesday afternoon. Our stocky, bearded visitor from Kiev laid out the moral imperatives of defense more clearly than any Western head of government. He did this with the power of a quicksilver force that we might call character, charisma, courage or statesmanship.

Volodymyr Zelensky, in his unstable English, clearly explained why the ayatollahs in Iran pose a threat to our security. He didn’t use any clichés. He didn’t make pancakes. He just spat. It also offered a sense of hope that had been hitherto missing from the egomaniacal Dr Strangelove in the White House and the busload of bespectacled accountants considered to be NATO’s leadership. Morality and hope will eventually prevail over the evil and despair of Moscow and Tehran.

Britain could indeed learn from Ukraine, but not just in terms of drone technology. We can learn from the administrative speed that Zelensky mentioned. Kiev had to be nimble in its response to the war. Our bloated public service has become suicidal. The Ukrainian people may have been cold and hungry, but they found camaraderie in hardship. When we examine our own country’s fractured conflicts, we should be humbled by their resilience.

Which came first, the statesman or the sense of national purpose? Chicken or egg? President Zelensky is not without his critics at home. Like every politician, he is shaped from human dough. But he walks with his head held high and speaks with the voice of his nation. We must somehow find a Zelensky of our own, or Great Britain will die.