There is some uncertainty and trepidation in these liminal days before the nomination period for the next Labour leader opens. But it’s not about the “who” of the next prime minister so much as the “what”. How different can Andy Burnham be, given that he is bound by the same manifesto, assailed by the same headwinds? It’s widely agreed that he has a vision where his predecessor did not, but each wing of Labour loyalists is projecting their own version of what it is.
Old-school Blairites are seeing one of their own, given Burnham’s hinterland and his announcement of James Purnell as his chief of staff. The Labour right is taking heart from the rumours of Shabana Mahmood as chancellor, and Josh Simons’ role in the policy team. The soft left is betting on Burnham’s transformation – via the Hillsborough scandal, the infected blood scandal, the geographical and economic inequalities of Covid – from New Labour careerist to a new kind of thinker. It feels churlish to point it out, but they can’t all be right.
One thing, everyone agrees: whatever else happens, Burnham will be better at the politics. But what does that even mean? Is it that people on the street seem genuinely pleased to see him, or that he landed with a ready-made power base in parliament? Is it his demonstrated ability to cooperate across party lines, his management of different factions in his own party? Or is it the fact that he can give a speech and sound like he means it?
You could pore over that quality of sincerity alone – every politician strives for it with so much gusto and gesture that we’ve become desensitised. But that doesn’t mean authenticity itself has become inaudible: we feel words are genuinely meant when they sound as if you wrote them yourself, because that’s what you really think. It’s not related to ideology. Boris Johnson had it, David Cameron didn’t; Jeremy Corbyn had it, Keir Starmer didn’t. Nigel Farage has it, as does Zack Polanski. It doesn’t follow that authenticity goes along with extremism or falsehoods, but rather that equivocation is audible and alienating.
So you either have to not care about the sequelae arising out of your pronouncements or you need to be ready for them – you have to be a chancer or a radical. Radicalism just means a willingness to think beyond what is currently allowable. And you often can’t tell if you’re dealing with a charlatan or a radical until their pronouncements are tested. The ability of a prime minister to hold that faith without going into ego-overdrive is another political skill, and it might not be obvious whether or not you have it until you’ve left office and have your own institute.
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And then there is the classic politics that happens inside the party – can you tell the difference between MPs who are loyal and those who support you because you’re winning? Can you bring along those who openly disagree with you using better methods than the brute authority of your mandate? (Corbyn was bad at this, but Starmer, improbably, turned out to be worse.) Can you delegate to others without creating fiefdoms that outgrow your own power? Can you make a decision? Can you withstand unpopularity while remaining receptive to critique?
The grimy, sausage-making aspects of politics – ruthlessness, inconsistency, low cunning, dishonesty – open up a new contradiction. That is, you cannot survive without guile, yet if there’s nothing you won’t sink to, the possibility of leadership evaporates (Johnson is the best example of this). You must do the dirty work, but not get dirty.
It would be an easy story for Starmer to tell himself, for instance, that he was undone by his lack of a base nature. The skill of politics has mechanisms and intricacies, can be elegant and can be ugly, and often functions in a way that rationalists find frustrating. But it’s the absence of mission that brought Starmer down, and the promise of one that Burnham is making. When we say he’s “good at politics”, we cannot know whether he’ll realise that promise, but at least he knows he’s making it.
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Burnham benefits from comparison with his predecessor and, you have to hope, in time, with the five previous residents of No 10. “Good at politics” will never make a legacy, but it can make a start.
