A country only changes direction when the behaviour of its people does. Margaret Thatcher believed this. She is the principal protagonist of the new Adam Curtis BBC documentary series Shifty, a collage analysis of modern Britain reviewed in the New Statesman last week.
In it, Curtis shows her at the depths of the monetarism chaos, telling her party they must think in terms of several parliaments: “We have to move this country in a new direction; to change the way we look at things; to create a wholly new attitude of mind… To shake off the self-doubt induced by decades of dependence on the state as master and not as servant.”
I am not advocating Thatcherism which, during that period, gutted and demolished so many great British companies and industries that might have survived to this day, hollowing out towns and communities which have still not recovered. But there are two things for Keir Starmer’s team to think about in what feels like a crisis that, though very different, is as profound. The first is to keep focused on the middle distance during a blur of terrible headlines and weekly chaos. Real change takes time. Starmer feels this himself, exuding an unearthly private calm as he recites the long-term investments being made, and better prospects for British firms in sectors threatened by tariffs.
It’s almost a “calm down, kids” mood. Leaders are often seen as strange quasi-parents. Thatcher was the revered-or-evil mother, chivvying us along or depriving us of milk. Starmer is the slightly distant father, increasingly derided by his rebel children. But even as he’s told he is too unpopular in the polls to survive, he is thinking of at least a decade to change the country.
He believes we are not broken. We are just a bit too poor. With more money and the dignity, over time, of a better car parked outside the house and a better holiday next year, everything will feel different. That’s it. That’s his vision.
But here is where the more important lesson begins. As in the 1980s, our problems are more structural. Not enough of us are working, and those who are are not working productively enough. We have become entitled. Our communities are fissured by mutual dislike, fear and suspicion. This is a social crisis.
And that, in turn, I think explains the otherwise bizarre loathing of Starmer, a decent, serious and empathetic man. He loves meeting people in their workplaces and at home and recently invited hundreds who had helped inform his politics during his tours around the country back to Downing Street to thank them. I can’t think of another prime minister who has done that. Yet he is not addressing, calling out, naming and providing answers to those deeper, corrosive problems. And angry, unsettled people hate him for that.
The collapse of the welfare bill is an excellent example of what has gone wrong. A system designed for those in wheelchairs, or with severe disabilities that might make it hard to wash, or move around, or dress, has been steadily expanded – particularly since the pandemic – to provide cash for people who are not working because they are depressed, stressed or anxious.
A better, more urgent national leadership would have challenged the country, challenged us, about this: is it right? Real reform would have started a year ago with the Prime Minister relentlessly trying to start a national conversation about benefits, challenging campaigners, engaging MPs, and only then bringing forward “back to work” reform plans.
This is not what happened. Disability groups were left in the dark and became increasingly suspicious. MPs were brushed aside. And in the end, the changes did not make logical sense. In many cases the personal independence payments had kept people in work. The belief spread that Starmer, Rachel Reeves and the Work and Pensions Secretary, Liz Kendall, were going after wheelchair users and those in chronic pain – even some Labour MPs thought that.
Bloodied water under the bridge? The most recent argument, about cuts to special educational needs and disabilities (Send), feels very similar. The way things are going, I predict another government retreat (though details on any changes to Send provision are not expected to be released until later this year), not only because, as my colleague Rachel Cunliffe has explained, MPs get accustomed to the habit of rebellion, but also because there is an imbalance in the public argument.
On the one hand, there are highly articulate, media-savvy voices, campaigning groups and a new far-left group forming around Jeremy Corbyn, with already-suspicious voters at their backs; on the other, there are voiceless civil servants and not particularly articulate ministers. Well, you can see how this is likely to go.
There is an equivalent conversation to be had – which isn’t being had – about migration and the changing make-up of the country. The government is conducting an inquiry into anti-Muslim hatred. Its terms of reference include that any definition of Islamophobia “must be compatible with…freedom of speech and expression – which includes the right to criticise, express dislike of, or insult religions”. That ought to comfort those (such as me) who would resolutely oppose a new back-door blasphemy law that singled out criticism of Islam as somehow more heinous than that of, for instance, Christianity, Judaism or Hinduism.
But because neither Starmer nor any other senior government minister wants to make a big explicit argument about the place of Islam in a fundamentally post-Christian country, conspiracy theories swirl and curdle. As ever, it’s about language, finding the right words, catching attention, winning arguments and wanting to change behaviour, even when it’s hard, even when it’s among minority communities.
What we might call “the Tragedy of Rachel’s Tears” has weakened Starmer. It weakens him because it provides an unforgettable image of a flailing administration and because it forces him to guarantee her job throughout this parliament. That, in turn, makes it even harder to break from previous orthodoxy on taxation – which, as the New Statesman argued last issue, is essential.
But this could be a strengthening moment, too. Starmer privately accepts he needs a far better relationship with his parliamentary party. I hope he is beginning a journey that persuades him parliamentary politics is not a disease but a necessity.
Beyond that, I hope he is starting to understand there are fundamental things wrong in the country which will require more radical politics, and far bolder, sharper public language. More on migration and communities; more on crime; more on Europe; more on tax and fairness. Money in our pocket is not the only solution.
To achieve the fresh start that is now so plainly and obviously needed, Starmer needs more instinctively political people around him. Morgan McSweeney is a brilliant and loyal operator, but he can’t do everything. The cabinet needs to step up and start to operate as a political council. There are some exceptional ministerial and back-bench talents that need to be tutored, brought in and listened to harder.
The author and former policy wonk Torsten Bell, for instance, is a future chancellor – if he can be shaped into the political beast he’d need to be. If Starmer is looking for help with a clearer narrative, I’d recommend his battle-hardened Trade Minister, Douglas Alexander. And the Scottish parliamentary party is brimming with underused, potentially helpful talent.
Because – in a final throwback to that early Thatcher speech – there is a lot of time left, plus what is, still, a majority most previous prime ministers would have given all their teeth for.
It is a bit early to be writing them off. The government has done good work. It’s also been far too bad at politics, too inarticulate. It has been raw, and inexperienced. It’s made bad mistakes. But the only truly lethal mistake is not to learn from them.
[See more: Netanyahu bends the knee for Trump]
Content from our partners
Related
This article appears in the 09 Jul 2025 issue of the New Statesman, The Harbinger