There is something almost awe-inspiring about the modern Labour politician’s relationship with the truth. Not in the moral sense, of course, but in the athletic sense. The speed, the agility, the breathtaking flexibility. One moment a solemn declaration is made, chest puffed out, finger wagging at the nation from a television studio. The next moment, after a glance at polling data from a nervous constituency, the same politician performs a pirouette so violent it could power the National Grid.
And now comes Andy Burnham, the latest star pupil at Labour’s Academy of Convenient Amnesia.
Last year, Burnham was openly talking about Britain eventually rejoining the European Union. The language was warm, flirtatious, wistful. The old romance with Brussels was alive and well. But then reality intruded. Makerfield, the constituency he now desperately needs to win, voted around 65 per cent Leave.
Suddenly, the great European evangelist discovered a new respect for Brexit.
Now he says Britain should not reopen the argument about rejoining the EU. Now he says he respects the referendum result. Now he wants everyone to move on.
What changed? The national interest? The economic facts? Some dramatic revelation from the heavens? No. The electorate changed.
That is the point. Labour politicians do not move according to principle, they move according to pressure. They are political weather vanes spinning wildly in the winds of focus groups, terrified of offending whichever demographic happens to matter that week.
Just look at Andy Burnham’s extraordinary contortions on trans issues. He previously and very publicly criticised guidance protecting women-only spaces. Now, after public opinion hardened and the Supreme Court ruling clarified the law, he has suddenly repositioned himself once again, speaking solemnly about implementing biological-sex protections in toilets and changing rooms.
One can almost hear the frantic screeching of tyres as Labour performs yet another emergency U-turn.
One can almost hear the grinding of gears in Labour HQ.
The pattern is painfully familiar. First comes the fashionable slogan. Then comes the applause from activists on social media. Then comes the polling panic. Then comes the inevitable U-turn wrapped in the language of “clarity”, “pragmatism” and “listening”.
Listening? They were not listening before?
This is the enduring problem with Labour. The party treats politics not as leadership, but as performance art. Conviction is temporary. Principle is negotiable. Every issue becomes a costume change.
And nowhere is this clearer than with Keir Starmer.
Starmer entered the Labour leadership contest wrapped in promises. He pledged to scrap tuition fees. Then he abandoned it. He supported public ownership of utilities and rail expansion on an ideological basis, then quietly retreated from large chunks of that agenda. He spoke warmly about free movement and a softer Brexit posture, then hardened his language the moment Leave-voting constituencies became electorally useful.
The man has changed positions so many times that one suspects even his sat-nav gives up halfway through a sentence.
This is a Prime Minister who once spoke endlessly about restoring trust in politics, about integrity, about seriousness. Yet his government has become synonymous with reversals, recalculations and retreat.
And the most exhausting part is the sheer sanctimony.
Labour politicians never simply change their minds. Oh no. Every reversal is presented as an act of profound statesmanship. Every contradiction is supposedly evidence of “growth”. Every abandoned pledge is framed as mature realism.
The public are expected to forget what was said five minutes earlier. But people remember.
They remember promises about light-touch government followed by endless interference in daily life. They remember soaring rhetoric about protecting Britain’s interests abroad while negotiations over the Chagos Islands leave taxpayers facing the absurd possibility of effectively paying to lease back territory Britain already controlled. They remember pledges made with theatrical certainty during campaigns, only for those pledges to evaporate once the ministerial cars arrive.
And this is why public trust keeps collapsing. Because voters can tolerate politicians who are wrong. What they cannot tolerate are politicians who appear to believe absolutely nothing at all.
At least with conviction politicians, even ones you disagree with, you know where they stand. With modern Labour, positions are written in pencil. Every principle comes with an expiry date.
It must be exhausting being a Labour strategist. Every interview is a risk. Every old clip is a potential catastrophe. Somewhere in Westminster there are probably junior aides frantically deleting tweets and searching archives like Cold War officials burning state documents before the walls cave in.
And still they get caught. Because eventually reality arrives. The internet remembers. Voters compare speeches. Contradictions pile up. The mask slips. The tragedy is that the country pays the price.
Businesses delay investment because they do not know what Labour actually believes from one month to the next. Communities feel ignored because promises made to them vanish after election day. Public debate becomes poisoned with cynicism because people conclude, often correctly, that politicians will simply say whatever is necessary to secure power. That is the real damage.
Politics without conviction becomes marketing. Democracy becomes a sales pitch. Elections become exercises in emotional manipulation. And Labour wonders why people are leaving them in droves.
The lesson for voters is brutally simple. Ignore the speeches. Ignore the slogans. Ignore the carefully staged campaign launches with rolled-up sleeves and rehearsed empathy. Look instead at the record.
Look at what they said before they needed your vote. Look at what they say after they get it. Look at how often the story changes.
Because with Labour, the pattern never really changes. Say whatever wins votes. Then U-turn once power is within reach.
Same old Labour.
