Councillor Darren Rance appears to have perfected a very modern political manoeuvre: leap first, read the manifesto later.
In a statement announcing his decision to leave Restore and seek readmission to Reform UK at North Northamptonshire Council, Rance declared that Restore was “far more sinister” than he first thought. This, after admitting he joined them without properly realising what they stood for.
One might reasonably ask: isn’t working out what a political party stands for the absolute minimum requirement before signing up?
Rance claims he was “bombarded with desperate messages” and “reluctantly joined”. Yet within a day, he had supposedly uncovered a darkness so profound that he felt compelled to flee back to Reform. It’s a remarkable turnaround; not so much a political journey as a political day trip.
There is, of course, a wider issue here than one councillor’s restless feet. Voters elect representatives on the understanding that they have convictions, judgement and a basic level of due diligence. Switching allegiances once might be explained away as growth or reflection. Switching between parties, described even by critics as hard-edged populist outfits, begins to look less like principle and more like opportunism.
Rance’s criticism of Restore as “sinister” raises eyebrows precisely because of where he is heading back to. Reform has hardly built its brand on gentle centrism. Its rhetoric, positioning and alliances have placed it firmly in the combative wing of British politics. To depart one insurgent-style movement in favour of another suggests not a change of heart but a preference of flavour.
It also invites uncomfortable speculation. If Restore is truly as troubling as Rance now claims, why was he so quick to join? And if he was so easily persuaded once, what prevents him from being persuaded again? Politics is not meant to resemble a revolving door between pressure groups.
More mischievously, some observers will inevitably wonder whether this episode serves another purpose. When a councillor joins a rival grouping briefly, absorbs its internal discussions, and then departs in haste, it doesn’t take a conspiracy theorist to raise the possibility, however tongue-in-cheek, of intelligence gathering. (Notice the oxymoron?). Was this political buyer’s remorse? Or an ill-judged reconnaissance mission? There is no evidence for the latter, of course. But the optics are hardly reassuring.
What is clear is that this kind of volatility corrodes public trust. Local government depends on steadiness. Residents concerned about housing, planning, bin collections or social care are unlikely to feel reassured by ideological musical chairs. They expect competence, not factional drama.
There is also the small matter of accountability. If Restore is “more sinister” than advertised, specifics would help. What policies? What actions? What statements? Vague denunciations after the fact sound suspiciously like reputational damage control. Throwing around ominous adjectives without detail may stir headlines, but it does little to inform the electorate.
Ultimately, the episode paints a picture of political culture at its most brittle: hastily formed alliances, thin vetting and grand statements issued almost as quickly as they are contradicted. If this is the calibre of judgement being exercised, residents might reasonably question whether their far-right councillors are driven by conviction or convenience.
Rance may yet be readmitted to Reform and continue as if nothing happened. Politics has a short memory when it suits. But voters have longer ones. And they may reflect that before choosing between parties alleged to be “sinister” and those hardly renowned for moderation, it would be wise to ask a more fundamental question:
Who exactly is doing their homework and who is simply choosing the least uncomfortable rancid option on the shelf?
