It was meant to be a moment to celebrate. A year ago, after nearly a decade and a half in the wilderness, the British Labour Party returned to power — and the man who led them there, Keir Starmer, became prime minister. Yet the anniversary of that achievement has been anything but joyous, soured by rebellion and steeped in bitterness.
A month of mutinies, forcing the government into successive humiliating U-turns, lie behind the miserable milestone. The most recent really stung. When the government announced cuts to welfare payments for 800,000 mostly disabled people, it surely assumed, with its large majority in Parliament, that the legislation would easily pass. Instead, as one estimate suggested the change would push 250,000 people into poverty, discord in the party only grew, hardening into a full-scale revolt of over 100 lawmakers. Desperate to stave it off, the government made last-minute concessions — twice — and just managed to pass the bill.
Crisis, for now, has been averted. But the whole affair is expressive of the discontent that surrounds the government — and most of all the man who just 12 months ago promised Britain a “reset.” Rather than renewal, Mr. Starmer has overseen decline, his first year suffering a steady drop in authority and approval, both among the public and his own party. In fact, a curious phenomenon is taking place: Before Britain’s eyes, Mr. Starmer appears to be losing not just political weight but material substance, too. After just a year in office, Britain’s prime minister is fading away.
This impression is partly his own doing. Domestically, Mr. Starmer’s modus operandi is to leave his parliamentary flock to liaise with an unpopular and heavy-handed gaggle of advisers, courting accusations of absenteeism. “He’s never here,” a Labour lawmaker complained recently. “And his team patronize and infantilize us.” Public opinion is hardly better. In June, the number of Britons rating Mr. Starmer as “incompetent,” “indecisive” and “weak” reached a high, while his overall favorability rankings have dropped to a new low.
Even with four years of his term to go, there’s a palpable feeling in the air that Mr. Starmer’s time may be coming to an end. Any momentum brought about by Labour’s landslide victory last July was halted by his bizarre decision to begin the new era with somber warnings about things “getting worse before they get better” and announcements of imminent cuts to public services. The prime minister accepts that this communications strategy was a mistake, but the damage was done.
Now the phrase “one-term government” is being bandied around and many political observers are actively looking to 2029, when the country goes to the polls again. Commentators and researchers alike are already speculating over whether Nigel Farage, the longtime right-wing firebrand, can lead his Reform UK party to national power. Such a thing was once thought impossible. But given that the most recent polling shows his party would win the most seats if an election were held tomorrow, it’s no longer a far-fetched scenario.
Much of Mr. Starmer’s focus, by his own admission, has been on the world stage. Yet things there, for all his efforts, are little better. His bland competence feels out of step with the tenor of these strongman times, where statesmanship demands more than just the ability to hit tried-and-tested diplomatic notes. While his suppliant approach has won some plaudits, the sight last month of him scrambling around at President Trump’s feet, trying to pick up papers the president had dropped, seemed to symbolize his subordinate role all too starkly.
Part of the issue, to be sure, is not of Mr. Starmer’s making. In recent years, Britain has churned through prime ministers — six in a decade — at an alarming rate. Where once prime ministers could withstand anything but the gravest of crises, now the cue for their downfall is much easier to hit: Any misstep can be fatal. Such vulnerability naturally undercuts authority both at home and abroad. And the waning of Britain’s influence on the global stage, of course, long predates Mr. Starmer’s premiership.
But Mr. Starmer is grappling with a more existential problem, about his purpose and ability as a political figure. He has deliberately cultivated the public persona of a diligent technocrat, with little room for passion or insight into his actual beliefs and motivations. Ironically, this comes from a point of principle: Mr. Starmer apparently despises the use of his personal life as a prop. But the result is a narrative void. Filling that gulf are other government characters, who cast a much larger shadow.
They range from the miscast — such as the chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves, seemingly shellshocked by the task ahead of her — to the Machiavellian, like the prime minister’s chief of staff, Morgan McSweeney. Even before Mr. Starmer took office, many suspected that it was Mr. McSweeney who was really directing the show and that Mr. Starmer was merely a frontman. This year a best-selling chronicle of how Mr. Starmer came to lead the party, crushing a previously ascendant left faction in the process, only entrenched the impression.
Even the gossip coming out of Westminster tends to exclude Mr. Starmer. It’s focused instead on the struggles of the Treasury, the identity of a publicly liked minister so internally unpopular that swathes of staff have jumped ship and the “bunker mentality” in Downing Street. It’s odd. No matter how dramatic events are, or how large Mr. Starmer’s role in them, he seems to fall by the wayside. Unlike one of his predecessors, Boris Johnson, he is made less of Teflon than of cellophane.
Perhaps Mr. Starmer’s personal shortcomings could be remedied by a well-articulated vision for the country. Sadly, the Labour Party has repeatedly failed to put one forward. Last summer, vague campaign pitches didn’t woo a fatigued electorate; the Conservatives lost the election rather than Labour winning it. Since then, the message filtering through to the public has been one of gloom. In contrast, under the ebullient Mr. Farage, Reform UK has a pitch that combines febrile nationalism with the hope of a brighter Britain — a dangerously seductive blend.
The problems on Mr. Starmer’s desk seem to multiply by the day. The question, as he enters his second year in office, is whether he can reverse his affliction and become a solid presence at the heart of Westminster. If he doesn’t, he risks becoming a footnote in a chapter of Britain’s history he was supposed to write.
Moya Lothian-McLean is a contributing Opinion writer and an associate editor at Mill Media.
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