On April 12, 2025, the House of Commons was recalled for a rare Saturday session to debate emergency legislation aimed at securing the future of British Steel’s Scunthorpe plant. The vote was critical, no question—thousands of jobs and a cornerstone of British industry hung in the balance. But for Labour MPs, it seems the real priority was not just saving steel but ensuring their followers on X knew they were heroically turning up to work. The flurry of self-congratulatory posts, complete with train selfies and hashtags like #LabourSavesSteel, was less a call to action and more a shameless exercise in virtue signalling. Meanwhile, millions of Britons work Saturdays and antisocial hours without feeling the need to broadcast their efforts to the world. Labour’s MPs should take note: doing your job isn’t a photo op.
Let’s set the scene. Parliament was summoned after Chinese owners Jingye threatened to halt raw material shipments, increasing fears of the plant’s collapse. The government’s response—rushing through a bill to take control of the blast furnaces—was a pragmatic move, backed by cross-party support. Yet, Labour MPs couldn’t resist turning a serious moment into a social media circus. Anna Turley, MP for Redcar, posted a sunny video from a train platform, lamenting missing her local football match but assuring followers she was off to “save our steel.” Sarah Sackman KC MP shared a snap from the Northern Line, gushing about the “moving” sight of MPs and staff “dedicating their weekend to democracy.” Preet Kaur Gill MP joined the parade with a train selfie, proclaiming she was “racing” to Westminster to “safeguard British jobs.” The pattern was clear: Labour MPs wanted the public to know they were sacrificing their Saturday for the greater good.
Contrast this with the reality for millions of Britons. Nurses clocking into 12-hour shifts, delivery drivers navigating dawn traffic, hospitality workers serving brunch crowds—Saturday is just another workday. Firefighters, retail staff, and factory workers don’t pause to tweet about their commute or demand applause for showing up. According to the Office for National Statistics, over 10 million UK workers regularly take on weekend or shift work, often in gruelling conditions, without a single hashtag. A&E doctors don’t post selfies en route to saving lives; bus drivers don’t film themselves steering through rush hour. Yet Labour MPs, earning £91,346 a year plus expenses, seem to think their one-off trip to Westminster merits a digital pat on the back.
The hypocrisy is glaring. These same MPs rarely highlight the daily grind of their constituents—many of whom work antisocial hours in industries like steel, ironically the very sector they were voting to protect. Where are the X posts championing the Scunthorpe steelworkers who’ve toiled weekends for decades? Instead, we get curated glimpses of MPs’ “dedication,” framed to maximise likes rather than reflect reality. It’s not just tone-deaf; it’s insulting. As one X user put it, “You’d think they’d cured cancer after seven days down the pit, not walked through a lobby to vote.” Another quipped, “Labour MPs demanding praise for a Saturday shift while their policies kneecapped steel in the first place—rich.”
This isn’t about denying the vote’s importance. Securing British Steel’s future matters deeply, and MPs should be there to make it happen. But the self-aggrandisement cheapens the moment. Posting selfies doesn’t save jobs; it signals a disconnect from the people Labour claims to represent. If Turley, Sackman, and Gill wanted to show solidarity, they could’ve amplified the voices of steelworkers or pushed for long-term industrial strategy, not staged a social media stunt. The #LabourSavesSteel hashtag feels less like a rallying cry and more like a branding exercise, especially when Labour’s broader record on industry—think decades of globalisation policies that hollowed out manufacturing—invites scepticism about their sudden zeal.
The steel vote deserved better than being reduced to a backdrop for MPs’ egos. Labour’s leaders should rein in this performative nonsense and focus on substance. Next time, skip the selfies and do the job you’re paid for—quietly, like the millions who don’t need a camera to prove they’re working.
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