Latest news with #Jezbollah
Telegraph
25-07-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
The return of magic grandpa Corbyn is no laughing matter
There is certainly something laughable about Jeremy Corbyn and Zarah Sultana's new political party. The launch went badly this week when, despite appearing to call it Your Party, they insisted it wasn't called Your Party. Well, you wouldn't want to upset 'they' and 'them', would you? Some have suggested The People's Republic of Upper Street; others, simply: Jezbollah, in recognition of the MP for Islington North's historic 'friendliness' towards the terror group. One Telegraph reader likened these two figures of Westminster ridicule to Steptoe and Daughter. Another suggested the Hate Britain Party. So far, so cringe, and yet it's really no joke, is it? Something has actually gone seriously wrong with British society if a party such as this could poll at 18 per cent, according to YouGov. However disillusioned the country is, the answer can surely never be a man whose leadership drove Jews out of Labour and a woman who once wrote of her support for 'violent resistance' by Palestinians and described the police as 'thugs'. The solution to all of the UK's ills cannot possibly be a pair of pseudo communists purporting to want equality for everyone (except Israelis). It was only five years ago that Labour under Corbyn was condemned by the Equality and Human Rights Committee for having an anti-Semitism problem. Then an investigation by Martin Forde KC showed that the party also discriminated against people of colour, Muslims and the disabled on his watch. Yes – that's people of colour, Muslims and the disabled. But who needs an in-depth, 138-page report into the horrors of Corbynism when mere progressive 'feelings' will do? Strangely, all this was missing from Corbyn's X post announcing a 'new kind of political party' on Thursday, promising to 'end injustices'. He insisted the movement was for 'people of all faiths or none', but I can't see many Jews signing up, can you? Or Christians fighting against persecution in the Middle East. Last month, I wrote that 'the new Corbyn-Sultana party may be the most sinister Britain has seen in decades'. And that was even before Labour's idiotic decision to allow 16- and 17-year-olds to vote at the next general election. All the pollsters now agree that as well as benefiting Reform, which has 4.4 million likes on TikTok, the move plays into Corbyn's hands as 'the politician teenagers view most positively', according to Merlin Strategy. Who can blame them, when they haven't had to work or pay any bills yet. Remember Glastonbury and 'Oh Jeremy Corbyn'? They're selling a mirage but it works. Apparently, Compo and co had an average of 500 people per minute signing up and only five hours after their official launch, they had 80,000 members. Jezza now claims it's 200,000 but he only got two Es at A-Level, so who knows? Whatever the figure, Labour has clearly underestimated the threat posed by an anti-establishment movement that supports migrants, having disenfranchised the hard Left with its stance on welfare, winter fuel, and crucially, Gaza. (Foreign Secretary David Lammy's new-found ' we must recognise Palestine ' rhetoric this week is likely in direct response to this pinko splinter group.) Such is the Government's hubris that its response to the Not-Your-Party-Party this week was feebly to declare: 'The electorate has twice given its verdict on a Jeremy Corbyn-led party', seemingly forgetting that the OAP got more votes in 2019 than Two Tier Kier in 2024. According to YouGov, he's disliked by fewer people than Starmer, which admittedly, isn't saying much. But just as the worse Labour appears to the working classes, the more it benefits Farage, it can also be said that the less Starmer appeals to Muslims, people on welfare, indoctrinated students and champagne socialists, the more Corbyn can cash in with his ludicrous taxpayer-funded promises. The problem is not that Corbyn stands much chance of actually becoming prime minister (the bookmakers currently have him at 100/1). It's the influence he and his bunch of Bolsheviks can wield on actual government policy as Labour's loveless landsliders struggle to maintain their grip on the electorate. Corbyn has called them 'control freaks' and he's not wrong. Starmer is now fast resembling Gordon Brown, a Labour prime minister of whom someone once famously said: 'When a control freak loses control, all you're left with is a freak'. We've already seen Labour bending to the Corbynistas with U-turns on benefits, winter fuel and now, Gaza. Talk of a wealth tax – once dismissed by Chancellor Rachel Reeves – has reared its ugly head again after former party leader Lord Kinnock recently suggested one to two per cent on assets over £10m, in an echo of Corbyn's quest to 'tax the very richest in our society'. Project Placate Our Union Paymasters continues apace with Angela Rayner's anti-business Employment Rights Bill and will now be given rocket fuel in the face of Corbyn's 'mass redistribution of wealth and power' pledge. The timing of the junior, or 'resident', doctors' strikes suits him perfectly. We were already facing a summer of discontent and now we can add in endless pay claims and walk-outs by emboldened public sector workers. And, in a desperate bid to fight off the Sultanas of this world, along with the already entrenched Gaza independents – redefining Islamophobia now appears a near certainty. Sure, this kamikaze clamour for Corbyn is the result of successive government failings. It's a rebellion against the broken status quo. But this is also on our useless prime minister. Had Sir Keir just been a little bit better – and not so weak and spineless in the face of the rebels in his midst – then there would be no second coming of Corbyn. People would not have started viewing him as the next Messiah but instead remembered he is just a very naughty boy. The trouble for Starmer is that his former shadow cabinet colleague standing for something – now with a degree of political legitimacy – makes it even more obvious that the man running the country doesn't stand for anything at all.
Spectator
09-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Spectator
My night at the Spectator summer party
The first rule of the summer party is do not hold your summer party on the same night as The Spectator. It's social fight club. You can only lose. This is a rule, however, that our Prime Minister, among others on 'the left', ignored to offer competing attractions. Zarah Sultana MP went to the most extreme lengths. She chose the same evening (3 July) to launch a new political party with Jeremy Corbyn, by posting something on X at 8.11 p.m. before her party even had a name, or indeed, Jeremy Corbyn. It was Jezbollah minus Magic Grandpa. Total success, as my father says whenever something goes badly wrong. The band Centrist Dad had a gig at The Water Rats in King's Cross. This is an inside-the-Beltway boys' band with Robert Peston and Ed Balls. As Balls says, 'It's not quite Glastonbury' (Peston is on vocals). One person with divided loyalties was George Osborne, who hosts a podcast with Balls. He solved this dilemma by going to The Spec's party in an open white shirt and rocking out both. Even 'Two Tears' Keir was entertaining that night after his week from hell: watering his restive troops in the No. 10 rose garden, just a short stroll from Michael Gove's gathering of the clans in 22 Old Queen Street, which was, of course, my destination. The first person I saw on arrival was Sarah Pochin, Reform's newest MP. It was 6.40 p.m. Nick Ferrari, the LBC breakfast champ, was also arriving. 'You were right to come early,' I said to Sarah P. 'I always do,' fnarred Ferrari. We processed down into the large shaded garden. Champagne bars serving ice-cold Pol Roger and, for the first time ever, a caviar and blini bar awaited our pleasure. As I was downing my first flute, the television legend Michael Cockerell manifested at my elbow. I should say here that from his loins have sprung a fleet of six talented and gazelle-like daughters (the writer Rachel is my goddaughter). 'I heard you mentioned me at your event,' Cockerell opened with. The 'event' he referred to was the 'Living with a Politician' evening with the bestselling author and columnist Sarah Vine and Lord Swire. It was smoothly chaired by Lord Gove of this parish. I had indeed referenced Cockerell, between Sir Hugo's amusingly detailed 'manecdotes' about his political career. 'I heard it was a disaster,' Cockerell continued cheerfully as the party began to roar. As I asked from whom, the image of the biographer Tom Bower popped up in my mind and superimposed itself on the festive glade, which by now was buzzing bee-loud with speculation about why Rachel Reeves had been crying at PMQs. 'Tom Bower,' Cockerell confirmed. All I can say is I'd expect nothing less from the master of the hatchet job. I had worried that the event was not quite as advertised. The only person who'd been 'living with a politician' – if you stop to think about it for a second – was Mrs Gove. I'd felt like a terrible imposter, so had attempted to take over and get Michael (Gove) to talk about his feelings, in vain. After my conversation with Cockerell, I slunk off to the caviar bar and encouraged waiters to horn-spoon the brownish eggs on to the back of my hand to lick off, as a form of self-soothing, while continuing to gulp down the Pol Roger and surveying the scene. Labour had been summoned to Downing Street, yes, but where was the so-called opposition? The closest thing I could see to a top Tory – until Kemi arrived looking a million dollars – was Mrs Jenrick. Reform's top brass, all four of them, were holding court in a roped-off winners' enclosure and making the most of the hospitality. As two small-screen titans, Trevor Phillips of Sky and the YouTuber Piers Morgan, argued about Rachel Reeves's crying jag and then beaming public appearance at a hospital hours later, with open-casket maquillage, I cadged a fag off Ned Cecil. He always has a ruddy Thomas Hardy glow. He pulled out at least six from the carton to give me, five of which I stuffed back into his pocket. 'Thank you,' I said, saying I would remember that generous gesture here. 'Don't mention my name,' he shuddered (which I haven't, as it is in fact something like Viscount Robert Gascoyne Cecil Cranborne). I needed a cigarette because I had been summoned by Lynn 'Demon' Barber to sit with her, as Fleet Street's greatest interviewer is also its last great smoker and she's not that steady on her pins. Before I rush off to another 'event', like any Sloane guest, I must pen my thank yous to Lance Forman, the salmon king, for the excellent bitings, Pol Roger, Allwyn, the sponsors, and the Tipplemill distillery for our liquid party bags. Unlike some we could mention after a year of them not meeting manifesto challenges, The Spectator party always promises a rose garden and delivers, time after time.
