Starmer's "Phase 2"

 

Alright, let’s tear into Keir Starmer’s “Phase 2” nonsense with the sharpness it deserves, while keeping it grounded in what’s out there. Starmer’s recent claim that his government is moving into a “second phase” of governance is a masterclass in political sleight-of-hand, a flimsy attempt to repackage a floundering administration as some grand, strategic evolution. The absurdity lies not just in the vague buzzword bingo of “Phase 2” but in the inconvenient truth that there was never a discernible “Phase 1” to begin with—just a mishmash of U-turns, half-baked policies, and a leadership style that’s as inspiring as a soggy spreadsheet.

Starmer’s announcement of this so-called “Phase 2” came during a reshuffle of his Downing Street team, framed as a bold step toward “delivery, delivery, delivery.” Sounds snappy, sure, but it’s a hollow mantra when you unpack it. He’s admitted to being “frustrated” at the pace of change, yet insists he’s not “angry”—a distinction that feels like splitting hairs when his government’s track record is a laundry list of fumbles. The idea of “Phase 1” being about “fixing the foundations” is laughable when you consider the chaos: a rebellion over welfare cuts that cost £5 billion in planned savings, a chancellor in tears, and a plummeting pound. If this was the foundation-laying phase, it’s a foundation built on quicksand.

What’s galling is the implication that “Phase 1” was some deliberate, coherent strategy. Where’s the evidence? Starmer’s first year has been a parade of reactive pivots—scrapping the Rwanda asylum plan, flip-flopping on Israel policy after electoral losses to pro-Gaza candidates, and backtracking on welfare reforms when his own MPs revolted. He’s not building; he’s bailing water from a sinking ship. The “Phase 1” label feels like retrospective fan fiction, conjured to make his government’s aimlessness sound like a master plan. Critics like economist Paul Johnson have called out this sleight-of-hand, noting the government was “staggeringly unprepared” for power, only now scrambling to plug gaps in expertise.

Then there’s the “Phase 2” rhetoric itself—pure corporate fluff masquerading as vision. Starmer’s big reset involves shuffling staff like James Lyons and appointing Darren Jones to a vague “chief secretary” role to “oversee delivery.” It’s less a new chapter than a desperate attempt to paper over cracks. His claim of moving to “delivery” rings hollow when promises like cutting NHS waiting lists, building 1.5 million homes, and stopping migrant boats are already off-track. And let’s not forget the cringe-inducing video where he declared “Phase 1” complete, mocked as a middle-manager’s fever dream by Tory Robert Jenrick, who likened it to David Brent from The Office.

Starmer’s defenders might argue he’s a pragmatist, not an ideologue, adapting to challenges as they come. But pragmatism without a clear thread looks like opportunism—or worse, incompetence. His “Phase 2” is a rebrand of a government that’s lost authority, with polls showing Labour trailing Nigel Farage’s Reform UK and Starmer himself dubbed by some as the most unpopular PM since records began. The man who campaigned on “change” now clings to phases as if jargon can mask a lack of substance. If this is “Phase 2,” it’s just more of the same: promises without delivery, rhetoric without results, and a leader who thinks reshuffling deckchairs is a strategy. Call it what it is—BS dressed up as progress.