In the dazzling circus of British politics, where flip-flopping, hypocrisy, and rank incompetence reign supreme, we are blessed with two main acts: the Tories, an outfit that frequently appears to be a pantomime troupe, and Labour, a team that would struggle to organise a pub quiz let alone a government. For years, the British electorate has been tossed between these two titanic mediocrities, as if we’re eternally damned to a pitiful game of ping-pong where the paddles are broken and the ball is missing.
And into this arena of political absurdity steps the prime minister, Sir Keir Starmer, a man whose defining feature is, well, that he’s not Boris Johnson. Or Liz Truss. Or Rishi Sunak. Not exactly a glowing CV, but in the current political climate, that seems to be enough. Starmer, the knighted former lawyer who once prosecuted criminals but now seems determined to bore the public to death with his law-abiding blandness, has managed to become not only the leader of the Labour Party but of the country. This is an achievement on par with winning second prize in a beauty contest when you’re the only contestant.
Starmer’s Labour has one singular, standout defence for its existence: we’re not the Tories. That’s it. That’s the entire pitch. It’s the equivalent of trying to sell a used car with the slogan, “Well, at least it’s not on fire.” It is both mind-numbingly simplistic and hilariously accurate.
If you ask a Starmer supporter why he’s the right man to lead the country, you will inevitably be met with an awkward silence, followed by some vague mutterings about “electability” and “competence.” Press further, and the conversation will inevitably veer back to the true bogeyman: the Tories. “Well, at least we’re not them,” they’ll say, in hushed, terrified tones, as though simply uttering the word “Tory” will summon Jacob Rees-Mogg to your doorstep in full Victorian garb, ready to bore you to death with anecdotes about his nanny.
Labour under Starmer doesn’t so much have policies as it has postures. The party’s approach to leadership can best be described as “strategic dithering,” where bold positions were considered, toyed with, and then promptly discarded for fear that they might actually offend the establishment or big business or. If Boris Johnson’s government was an anarchic whirlwind of bluster and corruption, Starmer’s Labour government is thus far a damp squib of timidity, U turns, hedging its bets, and cowering at the first sign of a difficult question.
One can’t help but notice that Starmer seems to have mistaken inoffensiveness for leadership. His approach when in opposition was to stand up in the Commons with all the charisma of a malfunctioning satnav, gently suggesting that perhaps, maybe, the Conservatives might want to reconsider their approach to governing, if it’s not too much trouble. It’s like watching a substitute teacher try to control a classroom full of delinquent MPs, armed only with a stern frown and a PowerPoint on fiscal responsibility. Meanwhile, the Tories ran amok, knocking over desks and setting fire to the economy.
Of course, the Labour faithful have leapt to his defence since July 7, saying that Starmer is playing the long game, that his cautious, deliberate approach will pay off and that the public will reap the rewards. Thus far he has blamed some mythical black hole. It’s a comforting thought, if only it didn’t rely on the premise that Starmer is actually capable of inspiring anyone to do anything. Watching Starmer try to motivate the Labour Party is like watching a man try to herd cats with a PowerPoint presentation about workplace productivity.
It’s easy to see why Starmer supporters cling so tightly to the “we’re not as bad as the Tories” argument. It’s all they’ve got. There’s no great vision of a new Britain under Labour, no bold policies that will transform the country. Instead, they offer a pale imitation of competence, a sort of managerial grey goo. All this while still maintaining the bare minimum of credibility. It’s a bit like being served a meal of unseasoned boiled chicken and being told you should be grateful because, hey, at least it’s not raw sewage (and there is plenty of that about).
Starmer’s Labour is the political equivalent of a microwave-ready meal: bland, safe, and utterly forgettable. But hey, at least it’s not Boris Johnson’s cookery class, where half the ingredients are missing, the oven’s on fire, and Lucrezia Borgia, the chef, is nowhere to be seen because she’s busy hosting a wine-fuelled quiz in the Downing Street bunker. When placed in such a context, it’s almost understandable that Labour supporters cling to their one consistent defence: “we’re not them.”
Yet this defence, for all its repetition, is as hollow as a politician’s promise to “level up” the country. “Not as bad as the Tories” is not a rallying cry for change; it’s the feeble protest of a party that knows it can’t inspire real enthusiasm. It’s the political equivalent of a child saying “at least I didn’t set the house on fire,” while standing in the middle of a room they’ve somehow managed to flood. Yes, the Tories unleashed a tsunami of incompetence over the last decade, but Labour’s response has been to offer a leaky bucket as a solution.
It’s telling that Starmer’s most passionate speeches are always about what Labour won’t do, rather than what it will. Won’t raise taxes for the many. Won’t reinstate free movement. Won’t nationalise energy companies. Won’t get within ten feet of anything that might be considered socialist, or even mildly left-wing. The party of Keir Hardie has become the party of Keir Careful, where radical ideas are as welcome as a fart in a lift and ambition is something that gets politely ignored until it goes away.
When you ask Labour supporters what they actually like about Starmer, their responses are often laced with painful hesitations, awkward pauses, and then, predictably, a return to the same old refrain: “Well, he’s better than the Tories.” It’s as if they’ve been so conditioned to expect the worst that the idea of having a leader who actually inspires hope is as foreign to them as a clean river or a functioning rail system.
It’s worth pointing out that Labour’s inability to stand for anything meaningful isn’t entirely new. The party has spent decades oscillating between tepid centrism and outright surrender to Tory narratives. Tony Blair may have won elections, but he did so by essentially adopting large swathes of Conservative policy, and the legacy of that strategy haunts the party to this day. Only Jeremy Corbyn offered anything hopeful for the country and look what they did to him. Under Starmer, Labour has become so risk-averse, so terrified of saying anything remotely controversial, that it has effectively ceded the ideological battlefield to the Conservatives and Reform. Instead of taking on these ideological, lying psychopaths it is almost as if they are preparing the country for a neo liberal authoritarian takeover.
But don’t worry, because Labour’s answer to every criticism is the same: “At least we’re not the Tories.” Yes, the Tories have slashed public services, underfunded the NHS, botched the handling of the pandemic, and generally treated governance like a personal plaything for their wealthy backers. But Labour’s response is not to offer a compelling alternative vision, but simply to remind us, over and over again, that the Tories are no longer not in charge.
It’s a strange sort of defence, when you think about it. Imagine going into a job interview and saying, “Well, I may not have any relevant experience, but at least I didn’t burn down my last workplace.” That’s essentially what Labour supporters asked the British public to do: vote for us because, sure, we’ve got no big ideas or inspiring leadership, but at least our can of petrol is a tad smaller.
And let’s be honest, for some people, that argument worked. After years of Tory misrule, there was a certain appeal in voting for a party that broke many of its promises before it was elected and offered nothing more than basic competence and an absence of scandal. Yet, within weeks it failed on that too. But is that really all we should expect from our political leaders? Shouldn’t we, perhaps, ask for something a bit more ambitious than “not being terrible”?
Starmer’s Labour doesn’t seem to think so. They’ve made a conscious decision to play it safe, to avoid the kind of bold, transformative policies that might scare off Daily Mail reading middle Englanders. In doing so, they’ve effectively reduced themselves to the role of a political caretaker, there to mop up after the Tories and keep the lights on until the establishment decide it is time for them to step aside again.
The Labour Party used to be a vehicle for change, a force that fought for social justice, equality, and the rights of working people. Now, under Starmer, it’s become a party that’s content to tinker around the edges, offering minor tweaks to the status quo while studiously avoiding anything that might be considered remotely radical. It’s the politics of incrementalism, where the best you can hope for is that things don’t get noticeably worse.
But hey, at least they’re not the Tories, right?
That’s the refrain we’ll keep hearing from Labour supporters as the country continues to fall apart. They’ll tell us, with a mixture of resignation and desperation, that Starmer may not be perfect, but he’s better than the alternative. It’s a low bar, but one they seem determined to clear, even if it means sacrificing any sense of genuine vision or purpose.
In the end, though, the “we’re not the Tories” argument is as much a confession as it is a defence. It’s an admission that Labour has nothing else to offer, that they’ve given up on inspiring hope or change, and were content to win by default. 33% of the electorate chose them, remember. 67% told them to bugger off. It’s a damning indictment of a party that once stood for something, but now seems to stand for nothing more than a desperate desire to be less terrible.
But make no mistake: a Labour victory being built on the flimsy foundation of “we’re not as bad as them” is a hollow one. Because in the long run, a party that defines itself solely by what it isn’t is a party that stands for not a lot that is of any use to the many. It will remain however a blessing to the few.
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