It is a peculiar form of masochism to be a Labour Member of Parliament in the year of our lord 2024. Imagine, if you will, the sheer, unadulterated humiliation of waking up, checking your 'lines to take'—those little pellets of government-approved manure—and heading onto a news program to defend a policy with the fervor of a religious zealot, only to discover by the time you’ve finished your morning latte that the policy has been dragged behind a barn and shot. This isn't governance; it's a frantic game of 'Simon Says' where Simon is a panicked focus group in a windowless room in Whitehall, and the players are all suffering from severe inner-ear disorders. The report that backbenchers are starting to wonder if defending the government is 'worth it' is the least surprising revelation since we discovered that water is wet and that politicians are essentially hollow vessels for ambition.

The tragedy—or comedy, depending on how much you’ve had to drink—is that these MPs are only now realizing they are being used as human shields for a leadership that has the structural integrity of a damp napkin. Matt Chorley’s observation that the rank-and-file are feeling 'weary' suggests a level of self-awareness that I previously thought impossible for anyone inhabiting the Westminster bubble. To be weary, one must first possess a sense of direction from which to be diverted. These MPs were sold a vision of 'Change,' a word that has been focus-grouped into such oblivion that it now apparently means 'doing exactly what the previous lot did, but looking slightly more miserable while doing it.' They are tired because it is physically exhausting to maintain a straight face while performing a 180-degree turn every forty-eight hours.

Let us examine the anatomy of the U-turn. It begins with a bold proclamation, usually aimed at fixing some systemic rot that the public actually cares about. This is followed by a brief period of ministerial chest-thumping. Then comes the 'clarification,' which is the political equivalent of a squid squirt of ink. Finally, we reach the full retreat, where the policy is abandoned and the MPs who defended it are left standing in the middle of the proverbial battlefield, holding nothing but their own discredited talking points. The Right, of course, is cackling into their gin, conveniently forgetting that they spent the last decade performing enough centrifugal rotations to power the national grid. The Left, meanwhile, is paralyzed by the realization that their 'principled' leaders are actually just middle-managers with better haircuts and an allergic reaction to conviction.

Keir Starmer’s government has managed to achieve a rare feat: they have turned the 'mandate' into a 'suggestion.' When a government has a majority this large and yet acts with the skittishness of a gazelle in a lion sanctuary, you have to wonder what they are actually for. The backbenchers’ growing reluctance to defend the front bench is not a sign of a burgeoning conscience; it is a sign of survival instinct. Even a golden retriever eventually stops bringing the ball back if you keep throwing it into a woodchipper. These MPs have spent months being told to 'hold the line,' only to find that the line is made of silly string and is currently being retracted by a leadership that is terrified of its own shadow.

The intellectual vacuum at the heart of this is staggering. We are witnessing the final triumph of optics over substance, where the fear of a bad headline in a tabloid newspaper carries more weight than the actual implementation of a coherent platform. The MPs are right to feel it isn't worth it. Why sacrifice what’s left of your personal reputation to defend a policy that has the lifespan of a mayfly? The government treats its own representatives as disposable mouthpieces, expecting them to absorb the public’s ire for decisions that are reversed the moment a Twitter poll trends the wrong way. It is a masterclass in how to alienate your own army before the first major battle has even begun.

In the grand scheme of things, this is simply the natural evolution of the modern political animal. We have moved beyond the era of 'The Thick of It' into something far more pathetic: a state of perpetual apology. The government is not leading; it is reacting to the reaction of the reaction. It is a feedback loop of nothingness. And as for the MPs wondering if it's worth it? The answer is a resounding 'no.' But they will stay anyway. They will keep tweeting the graphics, they will keep doing the regional news interviews, and they will keep looking like idiots. Because in the end, the only thing a politician fears more than being wrong is being unemployed. They are trapped in a cycle of their own making, defending the indefensible until the next U-turn provides them with a fresh set of lies to tell. It’s not just a government in retreat; it’s a political class that has forgotten how to stand still.

So, as we watch the Labour Party perform its daily calisthenics of reversal, let us not feel pity for the 'weary' MPs. They signed up for this. They looked at the vacuous slogans and the lack of detail and said, 'Yes, I’d like to be a part of that.' They are not victims of a chaotic leadership; they are the willing accomplices of a project that values survival over success. The country is falling apart, the institutions are crumbling, and the people in charge are too busy checking the wind direction to notice that the building is on fire. It is a pathetic spectacle, perfectly suited for a pathetic age.