One of the great myths of British politics is that prime ministers and chancellors learn from their mistakes. The opposite is usually the case. When self-inflicted crises erupt, powerful figures in government quietly fume and blame others while insisting publicly that lessons will be learned. Amid such dramas there is always talk of a “reset”, a conveniently imprecise term. Superficial changes tend to include cabinet reshuffles and the hailing of a forthcoming party conference. “We will stagger to the summer recess and come back refreshed in the autumn,” is a hope that has been expressed by senior figures in many a beleaguered government. The autumn is often worse because the fundamental causes of crisis remain: the unyielding attitudes of those at the top of government.
This pattern appears to be occurring again after Labour’s welfare revolt. Despite references to “resets” there is still seething resentment within parts of No 10 and the Treasury at what they see as the self-indulgent fiscal recklessness of Labour MPs. Meanwhile, most of the insurrectionary backbenchers define the divide as one between competent change that they would have supported against an incompetent and rushed version. In response, there will be attempts to formalise a dialogue between Labour MPs and a cocooned Downing Street. This is the easy bit, a mechanism to ensure more contact. But are minds at the top changing beyond this?
Here are some of the briefings since Keir Starmer and others have declared they will learn the lessons. A “government official” is reported as saying, dismissively, that MPs “think they’re JFK because they delivered some leaflets while Morgan [McSweeney] won them the election”. A Treasury contact makes the front page of the Guardian, insisting that the rebels must own the fiscal consequences of their reckless actions, as if the dissenting MPs will gather in a room to plan the next Budget as a punishment for failing to comprehend that there would be a cost to not supporting cuts. According to another No 10 insider, Alastair Campbell would not last a few minutes in McSweeney’s role. As one minister pointed out to me, this is not the wisest act of provocation. Campbell is trying his best to be restrained on a podcast that I gather attracts quite a few listeners. But all these briefings reveal the insiders’ conviction that they are right and that critics do not understand modern Britain, including that lefty Campbell. The insiders at the top are the ones that follow the focus groups, the polls, the Red Wall voters. The others are all wrong.
This is why learning from a crisis is so rare. Margaret Thatcher was convinced she was right to introduce the poll tax. Tony Blair thought he was correct about Iraq. Boris Johnson did not really believe he did anything wrong during the lockdowns. In each case there was talk of new approaches and changes of personnel. The prime ministers were the same. They were who they were.
I have some sympathy for Starmer and his colleagues in being haunted by voices from the New Labour past. The stars of that era were relatively young and are still active enough today to host podcasts or run global institutes. Campbell and Ed Balls have their weekly shows, while Peter Mandelson was a regular on another until a more glittering offer came his way. Equivalent outpourings in the late 1960s and early 1970s would have tested the wily wariness of Harold Wilson, already accused unfairly of paranoia. But if the current Labour generation is keen on getting out of the hole it has descended into, it would be well advised to listen to the likes of Balls and Campbell rather than fume. There is value in the collective memory of a party that rarely wins elections. History did not begin in July 2024.
One of the reasons the current situation is so compelling is that Starmer and Rachel Reeves might have no choice but to learn the lessons of the recent past, even if those that brief on their behalf remain convinced that Labour MPs are the problem. They are going to have to raise taxes this autumn and to make the case for doing so. If they stay in character, they will stick with the pre-election caution that has trapped them now. There would be no increases in the big revenue-raising taxes. But then they risk stumbling into more trouble if they seek stealth taxes that trigger hysterical protests and do not raise very much money.
Gordon Brown became famous for his stealth taxes, a paradox that eroded his formidable authority. Ultimately, it would be less risky to be bold on tax and opt for big reforms as advocated by Will Dunn in the New Statesman and others: a huge reworking of the insanely complex tax rules that, among many other issues, make it impossible for most voters to recognise the huge benefits of tax they pay. Such a leap would require an epic act of persuasion through a largely hostile media. But the media is angry anyway and the main criticism of this government is that it lacks clear direction.
The economist and historian, Robert Skidelsky, made a brilliant observation of the tottering 1929 Labour government in his biography of Oswald Mosley. The insightful words apply, in varying degrees, to most of the Labour administrations that followed, even those with landslide majorities. “The ever-deepening tragedy of the Labour government,” he wrote, “is the tragedy of leaders whose conceptions were completely inappropriate to the conditions of their time and in whom the character and determination which might at least partly have bridged the gap had been eroded by the belated achievement of respectability.”
That sentence merits a thousand columns. Insecure Labour prime ministers and chancellors have ached to achieve respectability as determined by the markets, the media and those they take to be occupying the mythologised “centre ground”. They had the character to be more daring but clung to the achievement of respectability. Can Starmer and Reeves read the conditions of their time and make the case confidently and accessibly for higher taxes and genuinely radical reform? Can they learn the lessons from the recent past? Starmer showed a willingness to challenge his over-mighty senior advisers by expressing regret at the “Island of strangers” speech, an admission of considerable significance in terms of the internal dynamics within No 10. I am told he is now consulting more widely, beyond his immediate team.
In spite of the feverish, angry briefings of recent days, perhaps Starmer and Reeves will rise to the titanic demands of the time and reflect more deeply about what has gone wrong even if most of their predecessors determinedly failed to learn from crises that arose from their own misjudgements. The nature of those summer reflections and what emerges from them will determine this government’s fate.
Steve Richards presents the “Rock ’n’ Roll Politics” podcast. His next live show is at Kings Place, London, on 17 July
[See also: Starmerism is disintegrating]
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