History’s Indictment: How the Spectre of 1962 Toppled Keir Starmer

Since the resignation of Keir Starmer, the media have been addressing the questions of why he failed and how history will remember him. Some argue that his failure was a lack of effective communication about policy, and that he will be remembered as a decent man who lacked the necessary political skill for the country’s highest office. Others argue that his failure was a lack of moral substance, expressed through weakness on issues such as Palestine, and that he will be remembered as a soulless suit. There is a third option: Starmer fell into a sixty-four-year-old political trap and that the Starmer project was the work of Labour’s own conservatism.

Sixty-four years ago places us in 1962, the year of The Beatles and the first-ever James Bond film; it was also the year that Labour ideologue and economist Anthony Crosland wrote The Conservative Enemy. Crosland was known primarily for his earlier work, The Future of Socialism (1956), which set out how Labour’s socialism should evolve and helped to define the principles behind the governments of Harold Wilson in the 1960s and 1970s. The Conservative Enemy, however, was a scathing attack aimed at those who are backwards-looking. Those who define their politics in the pursuit of recreating some ‘golden era’ and refuse to make space for societal progression. An assault aimed at the Conservative Party, but also the Labour left, warning against an obsession with Clement Attlee’s 1945-1951 and refusing to allow their socialism to evolve, tempting electoral backlash.

 The irony is that this jab at Labour’s leftist flank can be applied to the modern Labour right, the same Labour right who attempt to claim the lineage of Crosland. That 1997-2007 became the new 1945-1951. Since the ousting of Blair in 2007, the dominant faction of the Labour right has become obsessed with recreating the 1997 landslide that ushered in a decade of Blairism, refusing to allow Labour to meaningfully look forward. It was this faction, through the scheming of Morgan McSweeney and Peter Mandelson, that orchestrated the suppression of the modern Labour left. It was this faction that was key to the rise of Starmer.

After 2024’s ‘loveless landslide’, McSweeney became Starmer’s chief of staff after veteran civil servant Sue Gray was sacked from the role. Mandelson was fatefully appointed as US ambassador. The influence of both these figures was stark, as Starmer ruled out increases to key taxes in 2024, mirroring Blair’s own commitment in 1997. Chancellor Rachel Reeves’ fiscal rules took direct inspiration from Conservative chancellors such as George Osborne and Jeremy Hunt, strikingly similar to then Shadow Chancellor Gordon Brown committing to stick to John Major’s spending plans. It is this influence that suggests that the Starmer project was indeed the project of Labour’s own conservatives.

There is a case to be made that this is an unfair characterisation, that the Starmer premiership brought progressive change that would be at odds with Blairism. Rail nationalisation and boosting workers' rights are not Blairite policies, but instead represent something different; Starmer’s issue-by-issue technocratic approach, putting people’s best interests first. That logic is flawed. In fact, it is that issue-by-issue approach that damns him, as it is policy tinkering within the neo-liberal fiscal rules and policy aims that were championed from 1997-2007. Workers' rights may have been boosted to appease the trade unions, but the deindustrialisation that harms their members continued regardless, the same deindustrialisation that started under Thatcher and continued under Blair. No big picture for Starmerism existed aside from pick-and-mix Blairism, insufficient to win over disillusioned Northerners or frustrated progressives.

So where does the Croslandite criticism fit with explaining why Starmer failed? The answer can perhaps be found in the dying push of the 1945-obsessed faction, the leadership of Michael Foot. In 1983, his politics gifted Thatcher her largest ever majority. Labour’s loss was so catastrophic that the manifesto was dubbed ‘The Longest Suicide Note in History.’ An electoral battering that killed the faction obsessed with 1945, as the spectre of 1962 echoed its warning of socialist conservatism, Labour moved forward under Neil Kinnock’s new leadership, bringing a new vision. Whilst Foot’s faction was more personally obsessed with Attlee than Starmer was with Blair, Starmer’s backing came from ideological conservatives nonetheless. Resulting in a leader backed by a faction obsessed with the past and that leader being brutally dispatched by an electorate fed up with his conservatism. 

As for how Starmer may be remembered by history, that is dependent on Andy Burnham. After mobilising against Labour’s battering, Burnham enjoyed a rapid ascension to No. 10, yet he faces a crossroads. Does he readopt his habits as a former Blairite minister in siding with the old guard, adopting the same conservatism as Starmer? Or does he choose to take the path of his hero, Neil Kinnock, in putting forward a new vision for Labour in how it can deliver for everyday people in an era of populism, polarisation, and post-truth? For if he chooses the latter, Starmer may be condemned as the Labour right’s Michael Foot.

However, if Burnham caves into his former instincts, his choice may pave the way for a Reform UK government, a surrender to hard-right populism would be a damning legacy for both Burnham and Starmer. A Burnham premiership must therefore face the future to succeed in winning over a disillusioned electorate, or it will be dragged down as the spectre of 1962 seeks to claim yet another victim.

Image: Wikimedia Commons/Number 10

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