There is something unsettling about the spectacle now unfolding around Keir Starmer.
Not because his political fate is especially surprising, or because his Government has been anything close to flawless. But there’s something in the way it’s being consumed. There is no pity, no restraint; and barely any sense that behind the office sits an actual human being. Even if you can’t stand him, it’s hard not to feel that something a bit unhealthy is going on.
British politics seems to have drifted into a place where dislike is the default setting. The more powerful you are, the more intense the hatred becomes. This isn’t unique to Starmer, but his premiership has made it difficult to ignore. On both the right and the left, he has become a figure of such broad disdain that it can feel oddly detached from the man himself.
Before politics, Starmer was a human rights lawyer, then director of public prosecutions. He was not exactly a pantomime villain. A father, a husband; and by most accounts, personally decent. None of that shields him from criticism, nor should it. But when your net favourability sinks to around -50, and you’re being serenaded with chants of “wanker” at the darts, it does make the ferocity feel, at times, a touch overcooked.
We are not short of things to criticise. The winter fuel debacle, welfare reforms that alienated chunks of his own party and a leadership style that has felt, at best, out of touch; and at worst, ruthlessly managerial.
His political pivot has left large parts of his core vote feeling stranded. The early “freebies” saga set a tin-eared tone, while bringing figures like Peter Mandelson back into the fold looked not just politically misjudged, but morally reprehensible. These are the kinds of decisions that steadily corrode trust, both inside the party and across the country.
So yes, it is entirely reasonable to conclude that Starmer cannot continue. Politics is a results business, and his scoreboard is empty. But recognising failure is one thing. Relishing the demolition of a man is another.
Something fundamental has shifted in how we see our leaders. We no longer criticise them – we recast them as grotesque: corrupt, hollowed out, cartoonish figures, as though stepping into the Houses of Parliament instantly evaporates the soul. Once that happens, politicians stop being people and become targets.
That has consequences. If hatred becomes the price of entry, don’t be surprised when the well-adjusted take a pass. The people who remain tend to be those who can absorb it, or perhaps even quite like it. The fame-seekers, the outrage-merchants, the ones perfectly comfortable being hated. They sound nice. Definitely the ones you want making decisions on your behalf.
There’s a broader cost, too. Britain has churned through leaders at a dizzying pace. With four prime ministers under our belts in the last five years, whatever you think of Starmer, this hardly reads as a functioning democracy.
For most people, this constant turmoil isn’t abstract. It shows up in mortgage payments, in economic underinvestment, in that nagging sense that nobody is really in charge. Watching the political class chew through and spit out another leader doesn’t offer catharsis. In fact, it’s really rather exhausting.
For some, this is all great theatre. Political commentators and insiders treat each resignation as the latest episode in their favourite drama, with their own personal cast of favourites and villains. For everyone else without the luxury of seeing politics as entertainment, it’s just more noise, more drift, more uncertainty.
None of this is to say Starmer deserves to be spared. He has made serious mistakes and seems to have suffered a fatal blow to his leadership. But the lessons here are not just about him. It’s also about us – and the kind of political culture we’re feeding.
If we allow politics to become an arena that strips away any sense of proportion or humanity from our leaders, we will shape what comes next. We will end up with leaders who don’t expect empathy and don’t bother offering it.
Britain may well need a new captain. But if every departure becomes a decapitation, we shouldn’t expect what comes next to be an improvement. Eventually, the way our leaders fall begins to tell you more about the country, than the people leading it.