TWO weeks ago I met Rachel Reeves at a party and she was warm, gentle and touchingly self-deprecating.
She spoke about her kids with real motherly love, reminding me that behind the tone deaf political persona, she is a real human and above all, a decent human one.
Pixel8000Rachel Reeves’ tears at the House of Commons, looked like crocodile ones — or worse, tears of self-pity[/caption]
Pixel8000Weeping Ms Reeves wipes her eyes during a tense PMQs[/caption]
The problem, though, is she has shown little to no warmth to the British people, her people.
So yesterday’s tears, so incongruous in the showboating House of Commons, looked like crocodile ones – or worse still, tears of self-pity.
Across social media people are asking where, then, were her tears when she was trying to withdraw winter fuel payments from pensioners?
Where were her tears for the hard-working British farmers whose livelihoods she threatens to destroy?
And where were her tears for the hundreds of thousands of workers whose jobs are at risk thanks to insurmountable NI hikes?
So many wheres, so few whys.
In his treatise, Politics, Aristotle insisted women were inferior to men on the basis they were “more easily moved to tears, at the same time more jealous, more querulous, more apt to scold and to strike.”
The Greek philosopher’s observations began a lazy trope that would go on to be a mainstay of sexist science for the next 2,375 years.
Unfortunately, Rachel just confirmed every last one of those last, lingering suspicions.
Whilst the gender pay gap shows no sign of abating, whilst women have to work doubly hard to prove their worth in the workplace, women in 2025 simply cannot afford to be emotional.
That wobbling top lip, those two, plopping tears – they have done no favours to the sisterhood.
Of course, we don’t know exactly why she cried – her spokesman said it was a “personal matter”.
In which case, no one would have blamed her, then, had she sat this PMQs out and dealt with whatever else might be going on behind the scenes.
And on a human level, we all hope she is ok.
This display of raw, unfiltered emotion is more empathy than we’ve seen from her in the past 12 months – a 12 months that appear to have aged the poor woman immeasurably.
While she pledged to be an ‘Iron Chancellor’, this display is more Cryin’ Chancellor
Rachel‘s unrelenting stint in Number 11 has left her looking shell-shocked, and knackered. Again, her appearance is something people on X are commenting on in a way that they probably wouldn’t, a man. Yep, it really is quite s*** being a woman.
If she is struggling with something, a family matter perhaps, away from toxic Westminster, then watching her desperately trying to hold back the tears is heartbreaking. We have all been there, and never has she been more human, less autopilot politician.
Few would be brave enough to swap places with her.
Whatever your politics, the video doing the rounds, of her crying, is a tough watch. But while she pledged to be an ‘Iron Chancellor’, this display is more Cryin’ Chancellor.
If I were her, I’d want to cry too. But I wouldn’t. Because I would save it for the Commons’ loos afterwards – anywhere but on the hallowed green benches.
Unfortunately, in an unjust world, one that judges us women so harshly, her tears seem like a sign of political weakness. Such a showing instils no-one with confidence and, sure enough, the pound tumbled yesterday, bond markets similarly in turmoil.
I’d be a monster to say I don’t have sympathy for the poor woman. Of course I do. And, in a way, it’s finally made her touchingly fallible.
But, as a woman, I wish she could have just, well, kept a lid on it. Sure, Margaret Thatcher, a woman harder than drywall nails, shed a tear as she left No10 for the last time. And another former PM, Theresa May, did likewise upon announcing her resignation.
But both were on the way out: Rachel remains in prime position as the most powerful woman in the UK.
This display undermines all that.
It’s ok to show emotion at work
Says Caroline Iggulden, Associate Editor, The Sun
IT was pretty predictable from the minute chancellor Rachel Reeves’ eyes moistened that having a cry in the House of Commons would prompt a national outcry.
Markets tumbled, the pound plunged, the cost of borrowing shot up and Westminster watchers pronounced the Chancellor’s goose well and truly cooked.
Pixel8000We watched Sir Keir publicly lay all the blame at Reeves’ door by refusing to back her, says Caroline[/caption]
Pound falls against the dollar following Rachel Reeves’ tears in the House of Commons
But I was left thinking, is it really such an awful thing to show genuine human emotion at work?
Up until now, Reeves has very much been presented to the electorate as a hardened economist, sharp suits and lots of very deliberate shots of her looking serious behind boardroom tables.
Now she will probably be forever more known as the Tiny Tears Chancellor. But ironically, for me, only at the moment of her almost certain professional demise did I actually warm to the woman.
I have no doubt Reeves will be feeling utterly mortified tonight that she cracked in the Commons.
But let’s face it, we have all experienced that moment where you can feel your lip quivering and feel yourself starting to go, despite fighting it with every fibre of your being not to.
Of course I know it isn’t a great look – the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the most senior woman in the land bursting into tears during PMQs.
It isn’t helpful for the sisterhood, or the stability of the country. But I can’t lie, my heart went out to her and I don’t believe I am alone.
We have all been there, when you feel tired, stressed, sleep deprived and undermined by colleagues or your boss. And at the absolute worst moment you lose composure and just want the floor to swallow you up.
As I watched the front bench scene unfold I couldn’t help but feel moved and very sorry for Rachel Reeves.
She had suffered the humiliation of being thrown under the bus by a boss determined to save his own skin live TV.
Sir Keir Starmer is the PM — the buck stops with him and yesterday we watched him publicly lay all the blame at Reeves’ door by refusing to back her
Politicians are often accused of being robotic, insincere, unfeeling, and detached from the real world. But here writ large was an unvarnished moment of genuine despair and for me it was heartbreakingly human.
Westminster is a notoriously tough and bruising world where a thick skin is a prerequisite for the job.
But this can also lead to unfeeling policies made by people who never really have to cope with real world hardship or the day-to-day juggle of bills and logistics of family life.
I will never forget the story of the single mother who posted a letter through Dominic Cummings door during lockdown pleading with the government to understand how punishing Covid-rules were on single parents. The rules around forming support bubbles were quickly introduced.
Or I think of the parent of a special needs child despairing at the idea of rumoured plans by the Labour Party to scrap EHCP plans.
Make no mistake, almost straight out of the gate, Rachel Reeves has been the author of her downfall in so many ways.
From the winter fuel fiasco just weeks into the job to this latest humiliating capitulation on welfare.
But Sir Keir Starmer is the PM, the buck stops with him and yesterday we watched him publicly lay all the blame at Reeves’ door by refusing to back her yesterday.
Even Leader of the Opposition Kemi Badenoch expressed pity for the beleaguered Chancellor.
Who knows what slanging matches, dirty tricks and recriminations had been flying around behind closed doors that had led to that point. Not to mention family or personal stress which could lie behind Rachel’s breakdown.
And the the market jitters triggered by the episode are also just as likely caused by the city’s nervousness and lack of confidence in a Prime Minister and government which seems to be unravelling before our very eyes.
It is all just a crying shame.
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