A Week in the Life of Kwasi Kwarteng
A British member of Parliament and author watches ministers singing karaoke, visits the House of Lords and takes Arabic lessons
“What do you do?” People always ask. Even after five years, it feels strange to say that I’m a member of Parliament. When I said that I was a banker, as I was before entering Parliament, I always got the same mildly hostile response. Being an MP seems to elicit even worse ones.
Attended a party in the Palace of Westminster to celebrate the birthday of the deputy leader of the House of Commons—a fun evening with many fellow MPs, although some of the karaoke singing left a lot to be desired. Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborneperformed a duet with my good friend Elizabeth Truss, who now serves as environment secretary. I think they sang Madonna, but the songs all blur into each other. Liz and I both turned 40 recently, so we know all the cheesy ’80s hits.
Sunday lunchtime. A reasonably warm day in my constituency in northern Surrey. I planted a tree in memory of Lia Slade, a 13-year-old girl killed in a traffic accident here almost a year ago; her best friend, Jamie, got in touch with me earlier this year to ask if she could arrange something to commemorate Lia’s life. We held a short and informal but moving ceremony—a tribute, I hope, to Lia’s short life.
Had dinner with my mother, now 71, in north London. She said she wanted to spend a few weeks in her native Ghana over the winter. She came to Britain in 1964. Originally, she’s told me, she wanted to visit Britain as a tourist and see all the sights related to the empire and the slave trade. She now wants to re-engage with the history of the country of her birth. A big consideration, I suppose, is the weather: My phone tells me it is 86 Fahrenheit in Ghana, as opposed to a chilly 37 in London.
In post-Paris debates about the “war on terror,” Labour Party leaderJeremy Corbyn, a well-known pacifist, has been under pressure from some of his own MPs. At 66, he is not exactly young for a leader of the opposition. Still, Churchill held the job in his early 70s and was 76 when he became prime minister for the second time in 1951. The story goes that young MPs were once muttering among themselves as they walked behind Churchill: “People say he is too old.” “People say he is gaga.” “People say he drinks too much.” Churchill turned around and said, “People say he is deaf.”
I have my weekly Arabic lesson with Ali, an Iraqi refugee, at the Royal Festival Hall, just across the river from Parliament. I would say that he is about 32, and he’s lived in London for 12 years, having fled Iraq just before the 2003 U.S.-led invasion. Ali has terrible memories of Saddam Hussein’s rule and tells me, in simple Arabic, how many of his friends were arrested and executed under that brutal regime.
I understand barely half of what Ali says, despite four years of studying Arabic. I have always liked trying to learn languages—probably derived from the fact that my parents, as immigrants from Ghana, spoke Twi in the house when I was growing up. Arabic seems more useful for international politics these days than Twi, which is spoken by only about seven million people.
A series of meetings on parliamentary business. As a liaison between the House of Commons and the House of Lords, I try to keep the leader of the upper house and her colleagues updated about the mood and temper of the Commons. I must admit I enjoy visiting: Unlike the House of Commons chamber, the House of Lords wasn’t destroyed by German bombs in World War II and has kept all of its Victorian, Hogwarts-like charm.
Hosted a reception for local activists in my constituency. It is always fun to see them, I find. If you think otherwise, you shouldn’t be a representative—even though one former Conservative MP once said that happiness is looking at your constituency in the rearview mirror.
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