In the past decade, Britain has churned through leaders faster than the average fringe revolutionary sect. Earlier today, Keir Starmer became the sixth prime minister to announce his resignation since 2016. He managed just over 700 days in power.
Departures from Downing Street have become so frequent that Starmer’s announcement followed a well-established grammar: A lectern was dragged in front of the black door of Number 10, the doomed leader’s loyal staff gathered at the side of the road, and an irritating protester disrupted the speech by blasting music outside the gates. Two years ago, an activist named Steve Bray greeted the departure of Starmer’s predecessor, Rishi Sunak, with D:Ream’s song “Things Can Only Get Better.” Today he played Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” People often talk about how this is a country paralyzed by inaction, where nothing can get built and, as in the sketch show Little Britain, the computer always says no. Our failure to prevent moments of national importance—and personal devastation for the politicians involved—from being interrupted by one guy with a boom box and a very basic record collection is all the proof you need that this is true.
Starmer’s departure became inevitable late last week, when Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham won a special election in Makerfield that allowed him to return to Parliament—a precondition for becoming prime minister. Burnham had framed the election as a verdict on Starmer’s leadership of the Labour Party and the country, and he won even more votes than pollsters expected. From the moment Burnham’s victory was declared—as he stood between a man dressed as a fox, and another wearing a trash can on his head, because British politicians are expected to endure ritual humiliation—he became the prime-minister-in-waiting. Over the weekend, as Starmer considered what one minister called “political realities,” there was a notable absence of any rear-guard action to defend him. In his resignation speech, he said that he had asked Labour members of Parliament whether they wanted him to lead them into the next election. They clearly did not, and he said had accepted that answer “with good grace.” He has promised to leave the prime ministership before the fall, once Labour has chosen a new leader.
The speech was, by some distance, the best that Starmer has ever given. He had three main points. First, he reminded listeners that he had inherited a “politically, financially, and morally bankrupt” Labour Party—a reference to the election losses of his predecessor, the socialist Jeremy Corbyn, and the anti-Semitism that flourished under his leadership. Second, Starmer acknowledged that he had lost the backing of his own party. Finally, he set a timetable for the contest to replace him that allows other contenders to challenge Burnham, if they wish. (This seems unlikely.)
[Helen Lewis: Britain’s next leader has emerged]
Starmer’s voice began to wobble as he thanked his wife and children, reminding me of the moment when Theresa May fought off tears in her own resignation speech, as she expressed her pride in leading the “country I love.” In time, I suspect Starmer will be remembered as May is: as a decent person who proved wholly inadequate to the political demands of the job. Starmer also promised to help his successor with a smooth transition, something that made me glad, once again, to live in a country where such democratic norms still apply, rather than in one led by a politician who—just to pluck an example out of the air—refuses to accept defeat and goes on ranting for years about fraud and betrayal.
As it happens, Donald Trump deprived Starmer even of the ability to break the news of his own resignation, which the president announced last night on Truth Social. “He failed badly on two very important subjects- IMMIGRATION AND ENERGY (OPEN NORTH SEA OIL!). I wish him well!” As well as being shockingly graceless, the post was inaccurate: Labour has cut net migration by 50 percent since 2024, and significantly reduced the number of asylum seekers living in hotels while their claims are processed. Dealing with Trump’s tantrums is one part of the job that Starmer will not miss.
Since Burnham’s victory last week, I’ve been stewing on the exact cause of Keir Starmer’s downfall. One word springs to mind: Epstein. Starmer’s public persona was crafted in his earlier role as head of the crown prosecution service, the public body responsible for criminal justice. He has always presented himself as a process-lover, a consultation-haver, and rules-follower. So why did he appoint Peter Mandelson, a known associate of the pedophile financier Jeffrey Epstein, as his ambassador to Washington? After all, his own civil service questioned Mandelson’s elevation. The generally agreed explanation is that Mandelson was friends with Morgan McSweeney, the strategist behind Labour’s 2024 election victory, who later became Starmer’s chief of staff. In this telling, Starmer was simply following orders from his subordinate, McSweeney. Not the best look for a leader.
Last year, that decision backfired spectacularly upon the revelation that Mandelson had been far friendlier with Epstein than he had ever publicly admitted, and that their personal and financial relationship had continued after Epstein’s conviction for child sex offenses. McSweeney duly resigned over recommending him for the post. Afterwards, the government seemed even more listless than before, vindicating the suggestion that Starmer had no real political beliefs or strategy of his own, and had outsourced all such matters to his svengali.
But really, the Mandelson affair was just evidence of a bigger problem: Starmer was a curiously passive figure in his own government. He struggled to connect with voters or tell a coherent story about how he planned to change Britain. The manner of his election victory doomed him to failure: in 2024, he won 411 seats out of 650 by appealing to what McSweeney called “hero voters”: elderly, social conservatives who lacked university degrees and in many cases voted for Brexit. None of these characteristics apply to Starmer, a former human-rights lawyer and principled Remainer, and his attempts to appeal to his supposed base always came across as inauthentic. Even worse, the demands of these hero voters were very different from the instincts of his own party, who did not want to cut welfare benefits or make life unpleasant for immigrants. In trying not to disappoint anyone, he alienated everyone.
Heading into the 2024 election, Starmer and his shadow chancellor of the exchequer, Rachel Reeves, were mindful of Labour’s reputation as a tax-and-spend party that enjoyed giving away other people’s money. (In the latest dump of Mandelson-related files, one of Starmer’s most loyal ministers, Pat McFadden, expressed his exasperation with that tendency: “Every meeting I have is: ‘Who can we tax in order to pay benefits to others?’”) To neutralize this fear among voters, Reeves and Starmer promised not to raise the most high-profile taxes: income tax; national insurance, which pays for the health service; and the value-added tax, the British version of sales tax. But Labour still needed to find money, given Britain’s huge debt repayments, the big spike in working-age welfare claims after COVID, and demands for more defense spending after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
[Idrees Kahloon: British politicians still have shame]
Instead of imposing broad-based tax hikes to address the woeful state of public finances, Reeves nibbled away at the winter-fuel payments given to older people, raising little money but causing huge resentment; slapped an inheritance tax on family farms, leading to protests from those who were asset-rich but cash-poor; and increased the tax paid by employers, leading businesses to complain that hiring had become too expensive. Reeves also continued to freeze the income thresholds at which higher rates of tax are paid, dragging more Britons into the 40- and 45-percent brackets, even as inflation ate away at their spending power. The government endured enormous political pain without giving the sense that anything was changing for the better: Britain is as poor as Mississippi, its economy is growing more slowly than that of Poland, and, worst of all, the country seems unable to rouse itself to do anything about it.
You might have noticed that some of those problems are not of Starmer’s—or even Britain’s—making. Every developed country is wrestling with the consequences of supporting older people, who vote in large numbers, on the taxes paid by a labor force that makes up a shrinking portion of the population. Keir Starmer didn’t back Brexit. He didn’t cause COVID. He didn’t invade Ukraine or Iran, leading to energy price increases and persistent overall inflation. But I can’t help seeing the original sin of his premiership as the failure to make difficult spending decisions, to explain their necessity to voters, and to convince his party to back them. This is a man who started out with a huge majority but had to abandon his proposed welfare cuts because of a triple-digit backbench rebellion. By the end, only 6 percent of Britons said they were “very clear” what he stood for.
In all likelihood, Andy Burnham will face a coronation rather than a contest to succeed Starmer, and will serve out the remaining three years of this government rather than calling a snap general election. That deprives Labour members, and British voters, of a chance to argue about what direction the country should take. So far Burnham’s policy platform has been both expansive and vague: he campaigned to the left of Starmer, but has said he accepts the government’s economic rules and crackdown on illegal immigration. His time in office will therefore be defined by challenges from populist parties on both the right and the left. Better keep that lectern—and the boombox—handy.