When Labour prime minister Keir Starmer stood up in parliament to apologise to Grenfell victims’ families on behalf of the British state, Rishi Sunak, the former prime minister whom he defeated in July’s election, stood opposite and, presumably, must have had an inkling of how Starmer felt.
It was just four months since Sunak, then in charge, rose to his feet in the House of Commons to apologise to victims following publication of the report of the UK’s infected blood inquiry, on what he called a “day of shame”.
Four months before, Sunak had stood up in parliament to address postmasters who were victims of the Horizon IT scandal, still the subject of an inquiry.
British citizens are in danger of becoming inured to seeing their leaders wearing political sackcloth and ashes, expressing sorrow and shame, so often does it seem to happen these days.
At a time when British politicians complain that people are losing faith in their leaders, a fair retort might be: and who could blame them?
However, the Grenfell disaster, in which 72 people needlessly lost their lives, was on a scale so horrific, and the failings of the public and private organisations involved so stark, it set an entirely new, depressing standard for failure.
What could ever be worse than this? What apology could ever make it right after such an outrage?
Starmer appeared to acknowledge this conundrum when, in his sombre address, he briefly glanced up at victims’ families in the public gallery and admitted that “words can lose their meaning” in such situations.
“The country failed to discharge its most fundamental duty – to protect you and your loved ones, the people that we are here to serve,” said the prime minister. He apologised “on behalf of the British state to each and every one of you”.
Starmer also made an important distinction between truth, which was served by publication of the inquiry report, and justice, which would be served by prosecutions of those responsible.
This distinction chimed with what some of the families said in the hours after the report, when they called for manslaughter charges to be brought against companies and individuals. Relatives of about 34 of the victims, all of them from ethnic minorities, gathered in a hotel to tell journalists that they believed the inquiry had been used to delay prosecutions.
The inquiry’s report was just a “bag of words”, said one woman, Maria Jafani, who escaped from the fire. Her father, Ali Yawar Jafani, did not.
“I took the report home to my mother,” said Maria, her lip trembling. “What can we do with it?”
She swore she would continue fighting until there were prosecutions: “When I die, I don’t want to be shamed in front of my father. He burned and he died, but I want him to know that I fought for him.”
London’s Metropolitan police is investigating 19 companies and 58 individuals over the Grenfell disaster, but if there are trials, they won’t be until 2027 at the earliest.
Irish company, Kingspan, whose products made up 5 per cent of the insulation that burned so quickly, claimed the report showed it was not to blame for Grenfell. Still, it was excoriated by the inquiry for creating a “false market” for its K15 insulation product and because it did “not withdraw the product from the market, despite its own concerns about its fire performance”.
Hardly an exoneration, then. But in the corporate world, sentiments are gauged differently. In the 30 minutes after the report’s release, Kingspan’s share price rose 3.5 per cent. This may give an indication of whether investors think the company may bear further consequences, or not.
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