In the annals of British political history, few figures linger like a peculiar, stubborn odour. Liz Truss, our former Prime Minister for a brisk 49 days, is that odour. She’s the political equivalent of walking into a room, forgetting why you’re there, but being haunted by the faint smell of burnt toast and regret.
While other failed PMs like David Cameron and Boris Johnson have faded into the dusty pages of history, Truss persists. She’s now a former MP, a political ghost who still pops up on YouTube. But what is her point today? And why, oh why, does the stench of her premiership still hover, more potent than a teenager’s first attempt at cologne?
The Unflushable Legacy
Let’s be clear: most political failures get a polite burial. Not Truss. Her legacy wasn’t buried; it was launched into the atmosphere like a particularly noxious weather balloon. It all boils down to the “mini-budget.” This wasn’t your average, boring fiscal policy. No, this was a deregulatory rave where the guest of honour was the bond market, and it arrived with a sledgehammer.
For 49 glorious days in 2022, Truss and her Chancellor, Kwasi Kwarteng, played economic Jenga with the UK’s financial stability. They pulled out the tax block, the regulatory block, and the fiscal responsibility block. The tower didn’t just wobble; it imploded, taking mortgage rates, pension funds, and the pound’s dignity with it. The subsequent U-turns were so violent they caused political whiplash across the nation.
The Truss Theory of Political Persistence
So why does the stench persist? Science (or at least, political satire) offers a few theories:
1. The Lettuce Outlived Her: In the ultimate cosmic joke, a Daily Star livestream pitting a humble lettuce against Truss’s premiership saw the salad green emerge victorious. The lettuce became a meme, a symbol, a truth. You can’t escape a legacy when it’s literally compared to, and bested by, perishable groceries. Opponents still wave them at her. Supermarkets remain political battlegrounds.
2. She Became a Universal Unit of Measurement. Forget bananas for scale. In British politics, we now measure time in “Trusses.” A government scandal lasting “over two Trusses” is considered impressively durable. A meeting that feels “longer than a Truss premiership” is an international human rights violation.
3. The “Deep State” Excuse. In a move that shocked absolutely everyone, Truss blamed her failure on a “left-wing economic establishment”—a mysterious deep state of… checks notes… the Bank of England and the International Monetary Fund. It was like a chef blaming the oven, the ingredients, and the concept of heat for a ruined soufflé. This refusal to accept the blame kept the story alive, transforming it from a failure into a farce.
Her Point Today: A Living Cautionary Tale
Liz Truss’s current purpose is, therefore, profound. She is a living, breathing museum exhibit. She’s the “DON’T TOUCH THIS BUTTON” sign made flesh.
· For the Conservatives: She is the ghost of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, all rolled into one. Every time a backbencher suggests a “bold, growth-focused” policy, a party manager silently holds up a picture of a lettuce. It’s a potent silencing tool.
· For the Public: She is a permanent reminder that yes, things can always get weirder and worse. You think politics is boring? Remember the time a head of iceberg lettuce did a better job of maintaining structural integrity than the Prime Minister.
· For Political Students: “Trussonomics” is now a mandatory module in “How To Not Do It.” It’s a masterclass in how to lose the confidence of the markets, your party, and the vegetable aisle in record time.
The Persistent Pong: A Conclusion
The stench hovers because it was more than a failure; it was a spectacle. It was a short, sharp shock of sublime incompetence that cut through the usual political noise. It was so brief, so catastrophic, and so utterly memeworthy that it became etched into the national psyche.
Liz Truss today is not a powerful political force. She’s a relic, a punchline, and a unit of measure. She is the human embodiment of the “this is fine” dog, sitting in a burning room she enthusiastically doused in gasoline. And as long as people have mortgages, remember memes, or encounter lettuce in the wild, the great stench of ’22 will waft gently on the breeze, a timeless reminder that in politics, sometimes the most enduring legacy is the smell of something that went off very, very quickly.
What’s your favourite Liz Truss meme or memory? Is there a better unit of political time? Let us know in the comments below—just no descriptions of strong and stable aromas, please.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 