Sound familiar? (DIMITAR DILKOFF/AFP via Getty Images)

Has Keir Starmer traded in his barrister’s wig for a hammer and sickle? He certainly seems keen for voters to think so, with his repeated pledges to smash “the class ceiling”. The “project” of Labour, Comrade Starmer believes, is to return the party “to the service of working people and working-class communities”, seemingly blind to the fact that Labour has travelled so far from its working-class roots that there is no going back.
We have good reason to be sceptical of Starmer’s attempts to wave the red flag. The thinness of his commitment to working-class interests is demonstrated by his record. It was Starmer, after all, who played a key role in Labour’s disastrous attempt to please everyone and no one by courting supporters of a People’s Vote, ignoring the Red Wall’s steadfast desire to leave the European Union. It didn’t matter that, as an institution, one of the EU’s key purposes was to prevent member states from upturning their economies — precisely what Corbyn’s nationalisation plans, which Starmer signed up to, needed to do. Nor did it matter that the EU boasts a proud history of enforcing anti-union legislation.
Since then, like a good lawyer rather than a good working-class boy, Starmer has revelled in playing both sides — assuring businesses of his “economic competence” while also talking uncomfortably about the needs of the working class. This past weekend, his shadow chancellor, Rachel Reeves, promised that a Labour government would rule out increases in taxes on capital gains and top rates of income. The week before, Labour’s national policy forum attempted to win the hearts of corporate leaders by diluting pledges to strengthen workers’ rights.
This is the essence of Starmerism: a commitment to fiscal discipline that doesn’t scratch, let alone smash, his “class ceiling”. As Steve Hall and Simon Winlow argue in The Death of the Left, “Labour seems even more liberal and metrocentric than it was under Corbyn.” Just wave the flag, tell some anecdotes about your working-class father, and surely no one will notice.
Except that, when they look a bit closer, voters surely will. Consider Starmer’s much-vaunted “Five Missions”, the last of which — “break down the barriers to opportunity at every stage” — is little more than a rehashing of Blair’s behavioural managerialism. Teach people “resilience”, “emotional intelligence” and… “oracy”? That’ll do it. New Labour also demonstrated a strong commitment to reforming working-class behaviours. Regulate daily life, interfere with what people say, do and think, and, somehow, some way, that “class ceiling” will just melt away.
There used to be so much more to it than this. At the turn of the 20th century, the Labour Party emerged out of workers’ attempts to organise as a formidable political force. They weren’t constrained by condescending talk of a “class ceiling”, but saw an entire world for the taking. As Martin Hagglund puts it in This Life, in 1912, a 33-year-old German miner with eight children could describe his involvement in the labour movement thus: “[It] enriches me and all my friends through the glowing light of recognition. We understand that we are no longer the anvil but rather the hammer that forms the future of our children, and that feeling is worth more than gold.” It was this realisation that pushed workers’ parties across Europe towards political power — the recognition that their work built countries and made them run. Contained in this is the core of a working class constituted as a political subject. It is about more than money and “getting ahead”. It is about being a political subject capable of directing everything from the shipyard to the seeming arcane throws of the economy.
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