So nice of Matt Hancock to quit – his only
thought was of us
David
Mitchell
The health secretary’s attempt to adopt the persona of
a man doing the decent thing is grating… but at least he had to own up
Illustration
by David Foldvari of kissing lips caught on a CCTV camera's lens
Illustration
by David Foldvari.
Sun 4 Jul
2021 10.00 BST
Ministers
are keen to find the answers to two questions about that video of Matt Hancock
getting off with Gina Coladangelo, and neither of them is “How badly did her
brother need that contract?!” Question one is: “Who put a camera in the health secretary’s
office?” And question two is: “Who leaked footage from it to the newspapers?”
When that
person (or those people) is found, they’re not going to be congratulated. The
government hasn’t got an OBE waiting for this valiant snooper who exposed hypocrisy
and misconduct at the second-highest level. (The highest level’s already been
done and apparently that’s priced in.) No, they’re going to be in big trouble.
If only someone had videoed them obtaining the footage. Though then that person
would be for the high jump.
This open
animosity towards the leaker seems a bit weird. Isn’t the government supposed
to be pretending it’s glad Matt Hancock’s breach of the rules was discovered?
Obviously
we know it isn’t really glad. The prime minister tried very hard to consider
the matter closed, like a Uri Geller manqué trying to consider a spoon bent.
Johnson didn’t think what Hancock did was any bar to his continuing in the job,
but he apparently didn’t believe that being “totally fucking hopeless” was a
problem either. Hypocrisy, dishonesty and incompetence are minor flaws in a
health secretary during a pandemic – as long as he can keep track of which
crony is getting which contract, perhaps with a simple mnemonic system: sister,
pub guy, girlfriend guy …
So everyone
knows that, from the government’s point of view, it’s not really regrettable
that Hancock broke his own social-distancing laws sucking a college chum’s
face, it’s only regrettable that anyone found out. But I thought the etiquette
of public discourse meant ministers weren’t allowed to admit it. I thought they
would still have to pretend to think a breach of the rules by one of the key
people setting the rules was a bad enough thing to justify the questionable
means of its exposure.
I mean,
it’s not very nice to stare through people’s living-room windows, but if it
interrupts a murder, overall that’s a good outcome, isn’t it? The very moment
the would-be murderer is led away by the police to grateful neighbourhood
applause would be an odd time for the householder to take out a restraining
order against the nosy witness.
It was like a hit-and-run driver who’s been chased for
miles across the country calmly saying: 'I’ve decided to turn myself in'
What
surprises me most is the glaring lapse of hypocrisy when, in general, there
seems to be so much of it about. I was expecting more of a disingenuous “thank
you so much for bringing this to our attention” vibe, rather than what the
Tories are actually saying, which is basically: “Screw Hancock but, leaving him
aside, the system isn’t workable unless ministers can generally get away with
this sort of thing. If we can’t break the law and commit sex acts in the
privacy of our own offices, then we’re going to need a pay rise.”
Hancock’s
own hypocrisy was the key reason he had to resign. Some people are incensed by
his adultery (quickly spun as a “love match” by “sources close to” him in an
effort to make it seem marginally less grubby to everyone except his wife and
children), while others would say that’s a private matter. Some people are
apoplectic about the breach of social distancing, while others would say that
you’ve got to let people snog one another if they want to. But what everyone
agrees is that it was all a bit much coming from the man who went on Sky News
and prohibited sexual contact outside established relationships.
What I
found spellbinding was the contrast between Hancock’s initial desperate attempt
to keep his job and the subsequent affectation of dignity in his resignation
video. It was like a hit-and-run driver who’s been chased for miles across the
country by the police, has crashed his car into a primary school, legged it
over several walls and fences, stolen some clothes from a washing line as a
disguise, splashed through a duck pond, hidden in a sewer and been dragged out
by the arse covered in shit, then turning round to the arresting officers and
calmly saying: “I’ve decided that the responsible thing would be to turn myself
in.”
I don’t
mean to keep mentioning the police. I absolutely don’t think this should be a
police matter (though Hancock himself was all for the Met getting involved last
year when Sage epidemiologist Neil Ferguson was caught having an affair). I
don’t think Hancock’s actions should be treated as a crime, but it’s wrongdoing
and he only said sorry when he thought he might still be able to stay in the
cabinet. In his resignation letter, he just apologised to his “family and loved
ones” before diving into self-congratulation and, in the resignation video, he
didn’t say sorry at all – not even for the boring coniferous backdrop which
somehow still contrived to upstage him.
Apology
absence aside, the amazing thing about the video is that Hancock adopts the
persona of a man who has been wronged: he’s not merely doing the decent thing
out of personal choice, but he’s doing something he shouldn’t really have to
do, but heroically will anyway, because he’s one of the good guys. He thanks
everyone for their sacrifices, he expresses pride in his achievements and ends
saying he’s looking forward to continuing to support the prime minister “so
that this country can fulfil its potential which is so great and I will do that
with all of my heart”. It’s like Dorothy leaving Oz. “Don’t cry, Matt! You’ll
rust so dreadfully!”
Some
commentators took comfort from Hancock’s departure as a hopeful sign that we
might be returning to the days when those in government were occasionally held
accountable for disgraceful behaviour. Any such comfort was undermined by
Hancock’s blatant denial of truth. He behaved as if he were resigning despite
everyone begging him to stay, not because he’d been forced from office after 36
hours of squirming for actions that nobody could defend.
Still, we
should try to enjoy it because the next time a minister does something
indefensible, we won’t know.
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