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Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter.
I listened to Shostakovich’s ninth symphony on the way back from Labour’s party conference in Liverpool. The prime minister mentioned the composer in his speech as the one he turns to “when the reviews aren’t so good” — and its stirring melancholy suits him. People should stop being surprised by Sir Keir Starmer’s inability to do “hopey changey”: that was never his thing. He probably thinks that if he delivers real change, he will generate real hope: but to do that he needs the centre of government to stop fighting itself.
I’m a bit of a sucker for sober realism. After the inane boosterism of the Johnson years, it’s refreshing to hear a leader tell the voters that reform takes time. It’s clear from talking to ministers that a lot of work is going on in departments. But the lack of an overall narrative — and unforced errors — means that it has become less clear, not more, what this government is for.
The interminable wait for the Budget on October 30 has created something of a vacuum. But the government didn’t need to fill it with basic mistakes. Bunging money to rail unions without a quid pro quo and appeasing teaching unions by changing school ratings looks more like the “easy answers” that Starmer slams than the “difficult decisions” he seems to think no one else in office has ever taken. Cutting winter fuel allowance to pensioners provoked fury among his MPs and a hostile vote at Labour’s conference. Taking money for clothes and spectacles from a party donor who was given a Number 10 pass suggests a tone-deaf sense of entitlement at odds with what we thought was Starmer’s straightforward integrity.
None of this will prove disabling for a government with a huge majority. But it points to something which could derail Starmer’s ability to drive through change: problems at the very heart of government. Number 10 Downing Street is always a bit chaotic, due to the fast-paced nature of government and the kind of clever, pushy young men who infest every administration, irrespective of political tribe. Under Boris Johnson, it became a cesspit. But Starmer’s Number 10 is already racked by warfare between characters who are briefing against each other, clearly distracted from the job.
Number 10 is failing to manage the parliamentary party, to project a coherent story to the electorate, and if the civil service rumours are true, even to properly brief the prime minister. There are always fierce battles over access to the leader: when I worked for David Cameron, my authority was partly measured in the distance between my desk and his.
But the country is best served when the prime minister sees the right people with the most relevant knowledge. That is often the private secretaries, who have the best grip of policy detail and can explain the nuances, for example, of why something hasn’t happened. There is nothing more dangerous to a prime minister than not being given the full picture. Theresa May, for whom Starmer has expressed admiration, relied far too heavily on two close aides.
Every prime minister quickly discovers that without a strong push from the centre, his or her priorities get bogged down. The minute you take your eye off the ball, Whitehall drifts and individual ministers pursue pet projects. Number 10 sometimes felt like being part of a guerrilla movement trying to cajole, deceive and plead our way through the jungle of Whitehall, vested interests, and the arms-length bodies who will be there long after your lot has been ousted.
In Liverpool, Ed Miliband wryly quoted Jack Straw as having once said that in government, “there are a thousand decisions it’s easier not to make”. Starmer’s “mission boards”, to drive cross-departmental reform, will simply slump under the weight of process, like the old Cabinet committees, unless there is a relentless focus — and arm-twisting — from people at the centre who can genuinely claim to know what the prime minister wants and what his instincts will be.
When the staff become the story, there is a problem. It took months for Dominic Cummings, Johnson’s chief of staff, to hit the headlines. It took only weeks for Sue Gray, Starmer’s pick for the role. There is a longstanding animosity between Gray and Simon Case, the mercurial cabinet secretary, and there are reports (denied by Downing Street) that Labour’s head of political strategy Morgan McSweeney also clashes with her. Allies of Gray claim she is the victim of bullyboy misogyny; opponents say she has overplayed her hand and is trying to control everything. I suspect there is truth in both.
It feels as though the wrong people are in the wrong jobs. Starmer picked Gray because she is a formidable operator who could help him navigate the chess board of Whitehall. But two of the most important chess pieces are missing. The vital post of principal private secretary is vacant, after a row over who it should be. Case has been plagued by illness and is leaving in January: he should be replaced sooner, through an open competition. For her part, Gray knows little about policy or party. It might have been wiser — and safer for Gray — to have kept her in the civil service.
Why isn’t Starmer gripping this? Uniting the Labour party must have been far harder than sorting out this soap opera would be. He wants his role to be setting high-level direction and aims, and expects everyone else to get on and do their job. But Number 10 is a court, not a bureaucracy. It is good to have a leader who finds solace in classical music: but unless he conducts the orchestra, the public will see the kind of manoeuvring and plotting it has just voted to avoid.